And Colt was anything but commitment and long-term plans. But his promise kept running around her head. “I’ll come back.”

Then again, he’d also promised not to do anything impulsive. Or reckless. Like hijacking a van filled with a hemorrhagic virus. But . . . he had come back.

And had certainly fought to live.

Aw . . . of course she loved Colt. Loved the way he just knew that, yes, she’d jump off the edge of her houseboat with him. Or climb up the side of a glacier, or even keep him alive with a vaccine she’d conjured up.

He believed in her. In them, given his words in the hospital.

She met her gaze in the mirror. Let it go, Tae. Let God finish the story.

Outside, the crowd roared, so something exciting was happening. The sun had sunk into the horizon.

Tae walked out of the bathroom, heading back toward the stands. Overhead, red smoke drifted down, dragged out of the tail of jumpers, creating ribbons in the sky. She stopped, cupped her hand over her eyes to shade them, watching.

She simply wouldn’t think about Colt—

A burly hand clamped over her mouth.

What?

She got her hands up but was yanked against a body that viced an arm around her neck. A man.

And then she was dragged behind the toothy Thunderbolt.

She kicked back, but the arm around her neck was squeezing off her breath. Her air cut out, black dotting her vision.

How could no one see her? She wanted to scream, but the grip muffled her voice.

No!

She clawed at the hand, fighting, peeled off a finger—two—but couldn’t get air past the hand. Managed to inhale through her nose but by this time, the man had dragged her back, toward the hangar. She shot out an elbow, but it only skimmed his ribs.

“Perestan!”

She froze, even as he jerked her right arm and wrenched it up behind her back. She knew that voice.

No.

Then he kicked open the door and pulled her into the shadowed, hot-as-a-sauna hangar.

“No!” She spun right and found herself face-to-face with the man she’d left in the plane.

Sergei?

How—

He gripped her throat and shoved her up against the wall. Her grip clamped on his wrist, fighting to pry his hold free, even as he moved close, the stink of sweat and unwashed breath casting over her. Then, quietly against the roar of her heartbeat, “You didn’t think I died, did you?”

She spit on him.

He roared, and she was right back in the plane, the moment he’d tried to strangle her, as the pilot fought to keep the plane aloft over the pull of the open door.

“This time you will,” she gasped.

And then he laughed, something sharp and piercing, and shook his head. “You think you’re brave? You’re nothing.”