Then she hopped up, away from him, looked at Ranger, then back at her father. “I can’t believe you did this to me.”

He stood, even as Ranger came over to her, put his arm around her. “Noe, let him explain.”

She rounded on Ranger. “What explanation could there be that even a little justifies making me think he was dead?”

“The one that says your father was asked, by our president, to protect America, and maybe even the world.” The voice came from across the room.

She looked over and the man who stood there looked vaguely familiar, although she couldn’t place him, exactly. “I know you. You . . . you were at the funeral.”

“With President White, yes,” he said, then walked over and held out his hand. “Logan Thorne. And if you give your father a chance, he’ll explain everything.”

“Not before we get Dad to medical help,” Dodge said.

“I’m fine, son.” Barry sat up.

“You’re not fine.” Colt walked over to him, crouching so they were eye level. “You need stitches at the least, and probably some tests to make sure you don’t have broken ribs and internal bleeding.” He grimaced as he looked at his father’s wound.

Barry put a hand on Colt’s shoulder. “Good shooting, son.”

Ranger shook his head, his mouth in a grim line.

“Everyone okay?” Echo said, coming into the room. She walked right over to Dodge and put her arms around him. Tae came in behind them.

Stopped. Looked at Logan. “Now can you tell me what you are doing here?”

Logan turned. Colt rose, something in his expression. “Who is this, Tae?”

“This is my boss. The owner of Project 534. He’s the one who brought me the virus and asked me to create the vaccine. He’s the one who started this whole thing.”

“Then this is his fault.” Colt considered the man. Then he raised his gun. “Start talking.”

She just wanted to circle back to the beginning and start over.

Tae sat on the deck of her tiny cabin that overlooked the lake on Kingston property, the mountains tracing their outline against the magnificent blue sky. The sun shone through wispy clouds, and the scent of wildflowers layered the air.

Beautiful, but oh so far from her houseboat docked in Lake Union, smack-dab in the center of Seattle, with the skyline rising over the horizon. If she closed her eyes and focused on the lapping of the lake on the shore, she might be back on her third-story deck, her boat soft on the waves, taking her morning coffee before she kayaked to her lab.

Simpler, perfect days when she could bury herself in work.

She’d been such a fool.

“You okay?”

Now she did close her eyes, because the last—very last—person she wanted to talk to was Colt.