“Hey,” he murmurs, his beard tickling my hair. “What’s wrong? What does the gold mean, Fliss?”
“I don’t know,” I lie, and I hate myself for it. But I’ll hate myself a thousand times more if I get him embroiled in my mess and he or—God forbid—Eli gets hurt.
It’s not a total lie.
I don’t know what the gold means, or where it came from, but I think I’d better find out before I make any big decisions.
All I know is that it’s blood money.
And I don’t think I can have that on my hands.
“Do you want to leave it?”
The question hits me hard.
It’s an option.
Leave the gold, forget it exists, and just...
Walk away.
...no.
No, because I might be able to—I don’t know.
Save my bacon?
Something’s telling me that even if I don’t keep the gold, it could still save my life, and Mom’s.
Which is infinitely more important than anything else in this insanity.
I pull back, shaking my head, wiping at tears that never fell.
“No. We should retrieve it, if we can.”
There’s a moment when he hesitates—before his arms fall away, leaving me cold. “Then let’s head for shore and get that crane in place.”
I stare at him. “Wait. Are you going to haul the whole plane up? For real?”
“Nah.” There’s a wickedness to his grin—an excitement, like we’re on some kind of wild treasure hunt. “I’ve got a better idea.”
I don’t know what that idea is until we’re back on shore, and he’s maneuvered the crane down off the back of the flatbed truck to a good spot wedged against a tall outcropping of rocks.
It’s hooked up to heavy steel cables, and he loops their ends around one arm several times before tucking a bright-blue bundle under his other arm.
“I’ll be back soon,” he says. “And then we’ll see what this baby can do.”
He thumps the side of the crane with a hollow boom, and before I know it, he’s gone.
Sinking into the lake, sliding away as silky as a huge sea lion.
I can see his shadow for the longest time until I can’t see him at all.
I pace on the shore anxiously for what feels like hours.
It’s driving me crazy not knowing what’s going on down there, and I keep checking my watch.
Thirty minutes...
Forty...
Forty-two...
Oh, God.
What if something happened to him down—
There’s a distant splash before I finish that thought, and Alaska’s head pops up in the middle of the lake like some kind of freaky dolphin. I suck in a breath, pressing my knuckles to my mouth to stifle my laugh of relief.
He lets out a shout and waves before swimming toward me in powerful overhand strokes, the morning sun gleaming off his black-slicked, broad shoulders.
The moment he comes wading out, he yanks his mouthpiece and goggles off, then grins and beelines for the crane without even changing out of his wetsuit.
“Let’s see what we’ve hooked,” he says, and fires it up with a rumbling groan of the engine.
I’m expecting it to be difficult, slow, but the crane starts winching the cables back easily, sliding so lightly there’s no possible way they’re dragging an entire plane.
But Alaska had a plan, right? So how do you get the gold all the way up without—
Oh.
I realize what the bright-blue bundle was as it broaches the lake’s surface.
A tarp.
Tarps, plural, multiple layers by the looks of it.
He was down there loading up the gold bars on them and twisting it into a giant sack, then attaching it to the cables to haul it all up.
I’ll admit, I didn’t quite think it was real when I saw the photos.
The huge wad hits the shore and digs into the rocky sand with a grinding noise, its own weight dragging it to a halt.
I feel like I’ve been sucker punched.
Falling to my knees in the ice-cold surf on the shore, prying the wet tarp away, I stop and stare at the gleaming bars of shining metal that must be worth lives.
To Paisley Lockwood, probably worth many more lives than my own.
I’m not ready to carry the weight of this, but I guess I don’t have a choice.
Alaska’s hand falls on my shoulder.
Grounding me.
Steadying me.
“C’mon, Fliss,” he says. “Let’s get it loaded up and out of the way, and then we can set up camp.”
I lift my head, staring up at him dully.
“You still want to camp with all of this?”
“Yeah. Your pup’s covered, right?”
I nod. “My cousin’s checking on the doggo.”
Every muscle in his body flexes tight as he hunkers down in a crouch next to me. “Seems to me like you don’t want people knowing about this, and I don’t blame you. So, if we came up here to go camping, they’re going to ask questions if we come back when we haven’t even been gone half a day.”
“Oh. Good point.” I worry at my lower lip with my fingertips, nodding. “We can go back in the morning.”
I feel like that’s bought me a little time to figure out what the hell to do, I guess.
A smidge of breathing space at best.
I already dread returning to Heart’s Edge dangerously “richer” than I ever imagined.
Because the instant I do, I’ll have to figure out what to do with this heap of shining, precious, entirely untouchable murder.
It takes us over two hours to get the gold loaded into the storage area behind the seats in the flatbed’s cab, and at least another hour for Alaska to get the crane on the truck.
By the time we’re done, my arms are sore noodles and I’m ready to collapse.
Leave it to Mr. Polar Bear to keep on trucking like he’s not even tired.
His wicked smile and his mad energy keep me moving.
He really thought of everything, including bringing along two tents—though I catch myself thinking I wouldn’t have minded sharing one. He’s prepared for just about anything life can throw at him.
Anything minus me, probably.
Still, it’s easy.
It’s quiet.
I don’t even know him, but it’s so effortless to be with him, moving in friendly companionship as we set up our tents, start a roaring fire, and then settle in on the shore with fishing poles to catch our dinner.
I take the spot closer to the fire, trying to warm up after changing out of my soaked, frigid jeans and into a dry pair. He’s just close enough that I can feel his shoulder lightly brushing against mine as he casts his line and waits.
Now and then he twitches his line and recasts, gazing off into the distance. His rugged expression mirrors the mountains, his forehead lined, deep in thought.
I can’t help but smile.
“What’s so funny?” he growls, lifting a brow.
“You look like you were made for this, dude.”
“Yeah?” He barks out a laugh. “Guess I don’t mind being a walking stereotype. They don’t call it the last frontier for nothing, where I’m from, and I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t rubbed off.” He turns his head, looking down at me, his eyes crackling with warmth. “I used to sit out back at my dad’s cabin and fish for hours when I was young. Always made the mind go a certain kind of quiet I can’t find anywhere else. You go just as still as the lake waters and let all your worries fade away.”