Pappy stomped back to the coffeepot. He struggled with his emotions, trying to understand what it was he was feeling. He’d awakened feeling wonderful. Really wonderful. Why? Because people were returning to the mountain. One person in particular, or just people? He lifted the lid on a large kettle and was going to give the bean soup a stir until his father whacked his hand with a wooden spoon.

Kyros wasn’t finished yet. “The other one, she wasn’t for you. She belonged to that dangerous time in your life when you lived on your adrenaline and your wits. You had it all mixed up in your mind, Kollar. You thought the stolen moments were love. Perhaps for a time it was. It would never have gone beyond that. When you were compromised, did she come here to you? No. Yes, she visited twice. She didn’t like the solitude. What you do here wasn’t dangerous or thrilling enough for her. She wanted no part of it. She no longer saw you as the rakish, daring, covert spy you were. Admit it, and get on with your life. Stop sniffing that scarf. Throw it away. Burn the memories.”

Pappy sat down on a stool and hooked his legs on the rungs. “She saved my life, Pop. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for her.”

“And how many times did you save her life? You were compromised because of her, you said so yourself. That’s the part you refuse to believe or accept. Even then, she was getting sloppy. She lost her edge, and she died. She should have left the organization when you did. The second—and the last—time she was here, she told you she was thinking of leaving, settling into an office. Alpha sensed something even then. He wouldn’t go near her. When she left on the cable car, he didn’t go near it either. I think I’ve given you enough to think about for a while. You can ring the lunch bell anytime you feel like it.”

Pappy stared at his father for a long time without speaking. Finally, his vision blurry, he hugged the old man and walked out to the main room. Alpha was nowhere to be seen or heard. There were no wet dog tracks underneath the doggie door. He opened the door and rang the bell. He backtracked through the dining hall and out to the kitchen, where he didn’t even look at his father. He walked through the snow to his house.

His house. A two-story log cabin. It wasn’t just a log cabin, it was a palatial log cabin with fifty-six hundred square feet. When he built it, he knew he’d be there forever, so he didn’t stint in any way because money was no object.