“George Shaw. The tribal elder who lives in a cabin not far from the site, on the other side of Kaxo Creek.” She gave him an exasperated look. “He was in the lodge that night. Remember?”

With that nudge, he remembered. Jae had pointed him out too.

“George has a wood carving shop on lodge grounds, next to the blacksmith shop. What if he saw the looters and confronted them? His whole reason for wintering here this year was to protect the site after it was looted in November. I tried calling and texting him after the cameras cut off, but I wasn’t able to reach him.” Her eyes turned fierce. “I’m worried about George and the site. I won’t leave until I know they’re both safe.”

Xavier glanced up at the gray sky. She was right about the storm. She was right about everything. And as much as he didn’t want her to be a liar, he was also a little disappointed her excuse was reasonable. Part of him wanted this to be on her. He wanted her to be guilty of something too, because otherwise, he was the only asshole standing on these stone steps.

He’d screwed her over, and it would hurt a lot less if he didn’t like her so much. If she didn’t invade his dreams every night. If he didn’t wonder every day what he’d thrown away.

He rolled his shoulders, centering himself with the dull ache in the joint that was a souvenir from his last mission. The team would be wheels up in a matter of minutes. He needed information, fast. Focus on the job and forget Audrey was the messenger.

Later, he’d check her story with Jae, but for now, he could at least confirm her cameras were down. He pulled her key from the lock on the basement door and inserted his own. He handed her the ridiculously endowed key chain.

Who carried that many keys? He didn’t even have real metal keys to his car or house anymore. It was all proximity locks and four-digit code numbers.

She took his flashlight from his belt without waiting for permission. If anyone else did that, he’d have them pinned to the ground for making a move that looked like they were going for his gun. It wasn’t good that she’d taken the item without him even flinching. She threw off his reflexes.

She was kryptonite.

The light beam bounced along the rear wall, landing on the row of breaker boxes. She crouched down and entered the dank space, heading straight for the panel with “blacksmith shop” written in reflective letters on the cover. A green light glowed brightly. She opened the cover to reveal the main circuit breaker firmly in the ON position. “The shop has power,” she said.