“Fine.” She was right, and between the SEALs, trainers, and the two of them, he was trying to save almost two dozen lives. “Let’s get you settled and warm, then I’ll go.”

He paced, assessing the safety of the cabin as she changed. The idea of leaving her had him on edge, but he had a job to do.

She entered the living room in clean, dry purple sweatpants that were too short and a University of Washington sweatshirt that was too tight across her chest. She carried a blanket in her arms. “These must be Harriet Jamison’s great-granddaughter’s clothes. Too small, but it’ll have to do. At least the boots fit—cloth, but at least they’re dry.”

“Good. Keep the boots on. You want to be ready to leave in a hurry if necessary.”

She nodded.

“How did you know where the Jamisons hide their key?”

“This cabin was part of an historic property inventory I did for the park. I interviewed the Jamisons for the report. Harriet—who’s in her late eighties—inherited it from her grandfather. Daniel, her husband, is ninety. Given their advanced ages, they don’t visit here in winter or spring. Their kids and grandkids have scattered; the closest one lives in San Francisco and doesn’t get up here that often. Knowing I come this way frequently, Harriet asked me if I could check in on the place now and then during the off-season.”

He raised a hand to touch her cheek, but stopped himself, hand hovering an inch from her face before he let it fall. “I’m lucky to have you with me in this.”

She gave him a twisted smile. “Damn straight.” Then she grimaced. “And I’m lucky to have you. I close my eyes, and I see that guy coming at me with the knife. I see Jeb.”

He took the thick comforter from her hands and draped it around her shoulders, wrapping her in the warmth while being careful not to actually touch her. “There’s cereal and canned goods in the cupboards. Eat something. Rest. But don’t sleep. You need to stay alert. You hear anything out of place, any strange knocks or noises that are unnatural, get your coat on, grab the pack, and be ready to flee.”

“Will do.” She paused, and her eyes showed uncertainty. “Xavier, I—” She shook her head. “Never mind. It can wait.”

“If it’s about what I did last month—”

She cut him off. “No. Now isn’t the time for that.”

“I—I want you to know, I am sorry. But I can’t say I regret it.” It was as honest as he could be.

She flinched. Her free hand formed a fist and pressed to her belly as if his words were a blow to the gut.