Problem was, Tae didn’t really store anything in her brain. “This is why I wanted my journal,” she said to Colt, Dodge, Pete, and Logan while she chopped onions. She didn’t know why, but somehow having something to do, like cook up a big pile of spaghetti, seemed to take her mind off the swirl of what-ifs.

What if she stayed?

Barry had returned home with stitches and a wrap around his chest, but no broken ribs or internal bleeding, and he now sat in his recliner, listening to the hot debate at the island. Or sleeping. Maybe a little of both.

“Are you telling me there is nothing left of her lab?” Colt now asked.

She couldn’t look at him without hearing his voice, soft yet intentional. “Whatever it is, you’re not doing it alone.”

Another reason for her to just stay. Because then Colt couldn’t do what he did best—follow someone into trouble.

“No, nothing was left. They blamed it on a gas leak. Thankfully the explosion happened at night, so no one was hurt,” Logan said. “But I went to check on Zoey, and she was gone.”

Tae dropped the onions into the sizzling cast-iron pan, along with the venison that she’d thawed. “You sure she wasn’t run over by a car?”

Silence, and she turned. “Oh please. I’m not being sarcastic. Remember Faheem?”

Logan looked at Pete, then back to her. “Yes. He was a good man.”

Her eyes widened. “Did he know that the smallpox was weaponized?”

Logan nodded. “I’d met with him the night he died, after he reached out to me. We think that the Petrovs were probably watching him too.” His mouth made a grim line. “We’re taking care of his wife and kids.”

“You’d better be!” She turned back to the meat and onions, her eyes burning. “He used to bring me lunch, homemade from his wife. She made the best butter chicken . . .” She ran a finger under her eye, then reached for the Italian seasoning.

A presence beside her made her turn. “How about if I make dinner.” Ranger.

Fine. She relinquished the wooden spoon and walked around to a vacated stool. Slid onto it. “Faheem took notes.”

“His wife handed over everything. But they’re not complete,” Logan said.

“Mine are at the bottom of a glacier lake.” She glanced at Colt. “Unless you’d like to go swimming.”

“Can you re-create the vaccine?” Logan had slid onto a stool as well.

She sighed. “I don’t know. Eventually, probably. But . . . I’d need Zoey.”

“You don’t know where she is?” Logan frowned.

“Did you hear my story? Cruise ship, airplane crash, hypothermia, hospital stay . . . um, no, not a clue. Why haven’t you found her?”

“Zoey has vanished. We think . . .”

“Please, don’t tell me she’s dead.”