Page 68 of Crosscurrent

Piper studied the board. “So you’re going to Norway for something we can’t name yet.”

“We’re going to Norway because we know they want us there,” Cara said. “The list is the bonus round.”

“If we can decipher its meaning.” Piper seemed to be talking straight to Skye. “I’m on this. My dad’s not the only one with secret sources.”

Skye shot Piper the first genuine smile Cara had seen from the woman. “I knew you had hidden depths. Very stealthy, little one.”

Blushing furiously, Piper ducked her head, twisting a hank of dark hair around one slender finger. She cleared her throat. “That won’t be my only contribution. I already started a Norway packing list for you, dad. No way you’re going to embarrass the team by dressing like a dad.”

Tom closed his eyes. “Of course you did.”

A ripple of laughter moved around the room.

The laughter ebbed, and Wade's gaze drifted to the duffel slumped against the bottom of the stairs, where Cara had dropped it on her way in.

It was not a small duffel. She'd been loading it since before dawn, and it had reached the size and rough density of a body bag, a comparison she chose not to examine too closely.

"We're going for a couple days," Wade said. "Not emigrating."

"You pack for the trip you think you're taking." Cara didn't look up from the board. "I pack for the one we'll actually end up on."

"What's even in it?"

"A wig. Okay, three wigs. Spirit gum. Laminate for ID on the fly. A little kit of blood squibs I’ve never quite been able to throw away." She finally turned to face him. "Wade. We are flying to a rock in the Arctic Ocean with more polar bears than people." She shrugged. "It doesn’t all have to come home, but I don’t want to be out there without the one piece of equipment I might need. You’re bringing extra ammunition, right?"

Wade looked at the bag a moment longer. "Yeah. You got me on that. But seriously, that duffle’s the size of a Saint Bernard."

"Let her bring the bag, Wade." Gabe didn't even glance over from the monitors. "Trust me on this one."

Cara looked back at the board.

They’d be heading to Norway with only the barest scrap of a plan. Not a plan. Still, for the first time in days, the path ahead felt less like a retreat and more like a decision.

Neptune might be setting a trap, but they weren’t the only ones.

25

Even with umpteen redundant surveillance cameras, at least two of what Tom assured Gabe were the highest quality night-vision military security drones flying overhead, and his Sig Sauer on his hip, the back of Gabe's neck prickled as the pre-dawn chill oozed out of the shadows, wrapping them in Coastal Oregon's version of a gothic mist.

How time flew. A day and a half ago, he'd kissed Cara in this same alley where she was now loading gear into a convoy heading toward people who wanted to kill them.

Yet another reason he was growing to hate this case. Helping Skye—and now Owen—and hoping to score another blow against Neptune were all worthy goals, but there were moments, more and more of them lately, where he wished he and Cara could actually date like regular people.

The lot behind Sugar & Salt at o-dark-thirty was bleak and fog-damp. The three vehicles—their version of a motorized shell game—waited side by side. Gabe walked the line, checking doors and gear. He'd done the same pre-mission walk a hundred times with a badge in his pocket and federal backup a radio call away.

The plan was a good one. Or as good as they could come up with in the time allotted. The three vehicles were the shells, Owen the pea. Neptune would have no idea which vehicle he'd be in. Hopefully, that would divide the bad guys' resources from the opening.

Wade's decoy had a dummy Owen in the rear passenger seat. Reagan had approached the construction with the same competence she brought to the firearms paperwork. Fake Owen wore the spare poly-pro. Piper had handled the glasses with an artistic flair Gabe had no idea the brilliant teen possessed. She'd grabbed cheap readers from Pearl's Mercantile, taping them to the Styrofoam wig head at a slight angle that, Gabe conceded privately, captured something true about Owen's default expression. Wade had looked at it for a long moment and said nothing, which was verdict enough.

After he finished his examination of the last vehicle, Reagan's little SUV, a square of warm light hit the damp pavement.

Diane was in the left window with her coffee. Beside her — the right window, the alley-side one — Piper stood with Agent draped over her shoulder. The cat appeared comfortable. Piper appeared to be pretending she hadn't been awake for two hours.

She hadn't argued about spending the next few days at Diane's, but she had argued that Agent couldn't stand being alone at night. Cara had rolled her eyes. Owen reported that the prevailing research suggested felines were not pack animals. Wade suggested leaving the cat an entire salmon for company. Skye had argued that apex predators, even miniature ones, preferred their alone time. But Diane, being even more maternal than Reagan, had easily acquiesced. Gabe wondered if she wouldn't have taken the feline home every night even without Piper.

Gabe met Diane's gaze. Her smile couldn't compete with the worry lines bracketing the corners of her lips. Yeah. He felt the same. He turned back to the vehicles.

"Running," Tom said through the comlink. "Drones airborne. Route coverage live."