Xavier was worried Audrey was going into shock. She was shaking and alarmingly pale.

George had appeared not long after the gunshots. He took one look at Audrey and said, “Be right back,” and ran in the direction of his cabin.

Minutes later, he returned with a blanket and a wheelbarrow, and Xavier wrapped her tight—even as she complained and said she was fine—and deposited her in the barrow and pushed it down the path.

“I can walk, Xavier,” she complained, and her voice did sound better. Color was returning to her face.

“I’m sure you can, but why do that when you can ride?”

It was a quick, albeit bumpy trek down the trail, which had a groove from all the trips George made along the same path with his trusty wheelbarrow.

When they reached George’s shop, Audrey insisted they take her SUV and not Xavier’s rental the short distance to the lodge. “I refuse to leave my car here again. Call me superstitious, but I’m not taking chances.”

Relieved she was sounding better by the minute, he tucked her into the passenger seat, ignoring his shoulder’s complaints at the required lift.

At the lodge, she climbed out herself. They entered the building, finding it empty of contractors. George remained up at the site, guarding the body, so they were alone in the vast room.

He’d made an initial call to NSWC immediately after the shooting. He’d wanted a medic flight for Audrey, but she’d insisted she just needed to get warm. They’d compromised by requesting an ambulance so she could be checked out by a medic. It would take investigators time to get here. In all likelihood the ambulance would arrive first, and she could be cleared healthwise before being debriefed yet again.

He sat her in front of the great hearth and turned on the gas to start a fire. The fireplace had a gas line to get the fire going without kindling, but burned real wood. The result was a wood fire that put out instant heat, which was just what she needed.

Once the fire was going, he dropped on the sofa next to her, pulled her into his arms, and faced the flame.

“I assume what he said was true. You and Chris both shot Katerina?”

He nodded, that nightmare moment playing again in his mind. The unfathomable sight of a very young pregnant girl—the victim they’d been sent to save—shooting Forsythe before anyone could grasp what was happening. A heartbeat later, she shot Adams before turning her gun on him.