Page 16 of One Last Stand

Yes. Heading south. Going to buy a boat.

It felt like the safest idea—get lost in the blue, keep the Petrovs off her tail.

Ziggy

You sure you don’t want to come back?

The text blinked a moment, and she stared at it.No. Because if she couldn’t have the Air One team, she didn’t want . . . well, maybe the Black Swans had been a family of sorts. But clearly, family cost her. So?—

London

No.

A moment, then?—

Ziggy

Text me when you land.

Whatever. She set the phone down, headed to the bathroom, pulled her hair back, worked on a stocking cap—it had a tiny hole in the back for her ponytail—then grabbed her toothbrush and added it to her crossbody bag.

She felt like the female, real-life version of Reacher.

Not how she’d hoped this restart might end. Wow, she was tired of dying, resurrecting as a new version of herself.

Too many versions.

Especially since this one had in it everything she’d . . .

Well, no use wishing for the happy ending that’d probably never belonged to her. She’d made her choices.

Picking up her phone, she added it to her crossbody bag, then grabbed her backpack and headed out to her Bronco. She’d already vacuumed out the inside, hopefully scrubbing it clean of any DNA, but she’d give it another once-over at the airport, then ditch it.

She absolutely would not drive by his house on her way to the airport. Not only was it in the opposite direction—so that helped—but she’d said her goodbyes.

Said. Her. Goodbyes.

Her throat thickened as she pulled out of the driveway of the condo unit.

Her flight left in three hours.

A layer of ice skimmed the road, the traffic slow as she edged out onto Hickel Parkway, toward the Anchorage International Airport.

Somewhere ahead, in the distance, a low siren whined, although as she looked into her rearview mirror, she didn’t see police or an ambulance.

Ahead of her, the mountainscape to the north rose brilliant white, the sun glistening on the peaks. Her chest tightened. She’d miss this—the view, the rugged allure of the last frontier, the freedom.

The team.

She’d miss the smell of the black spruce and Siberian fir trees, the gorgeous sweep of the golden yellows of the poplar and paper birch against the deep-green conifers of the foothills, the contrast of the deep blue against the white granite peaks. The crisp breeze off the sound, and the deep indigo of the water in summer. Yes, Switzerland had its alpine beauty, but nothing like the sea-and-peak contrast of Alaska.

She could have lived here forever.

Okay, breathe. Calm down. She’d said goodbye before . . .

The whining continued, and as it persisted . . .Wait. It came from her crossbody bag. She turned off the highway and pulled into a Starbucks. Unzipping her bag, she pulled out her phone.

A missed call from Ziggy, but she’d ignore it. Probably just hounding her to get on the plane.

---