Our next vehicle is a modest RV—the kind retirees might use to tour national parks.
“Perfect cover,” Martinez explains as we get underway. “Tourist vehicle, common in these parts. We’ll take back roads to a private airfield.”
“Airfield?” I glance out the window. “We’re flying again?”
Jackson nods. “Small plane, off the radar. It’ll take us deeper into Idaho.”
I sink into a seat, exhaustion suddenly crashing over me. Bearimmediately jumps up beside me, his massive head resting on my lap as if sensing my need for comfort. His warmth and steady presence lull me into a light doze as the RV winds through mountain roads, putting more distance between us and the Montana border.
I dream of Mason—his steel-gray eyes, the scar bisecting his eyebrow, the way his hands cupped my face with both strength and tenderness. In my dream, he’s running through endless snow, always just out of reach, always calling my name…
“Willow.” A hand gently shakes my shoulder. “We’re here.”
I blink awake to find Jackson standing over me. Through the RV’s windows, we’ve stopped at what appears to be a small private airfield. A single-engine plane waits on the runway, propeller already turning.
“Time to move.” Jackson’s voice is gentle but urgent.
Bear jumps down, stretching his massive body before nudging my hand. I follow Jackson outside, the cold air instantly clearing the fog of sleep from my mind.
The plane is smaller than I expected—a six-seater.
“Is this safe?” I ask, eyeing the small plane dubiously.
“Yes,” Martinez assures me.
Bear boards without hesitation, somehow squeezing his massive frame into the limited space as if he’s done this a hundred times before. I follow with more trepidation, strapping myself into the seat beside him.
The takeoff is smoother than I expected, the small plane lifting effortlessly into the afternoon sky. Through the window, the landscape changes beneath us—forests giving way to mountains, valleys, and eventually a massive lake gleaming like polished silver in the distance.
“That’s our destination,” Jackson explains, noticing my interest. “Guardian HRS has a facility on that lake. We’ll land on the water and transfer toboats.”
“Land on the water?” I look at him in alarm.
He grins. “Floatplane. Another change in transportation signature to throw off any pursuit.”
The pilot expertly maneuvers the aircraft lower as we approach the lake, the pontoons beneath us now visible as we prepare for landing. I grip the armrests, heart pounding as we descend toward the water’s surface.
The landing is surprisingly gentle—a slight bump, then the sensation of gliding across the lake as the plane slows. A boat approaches.
“We’re almost there,” Martinez announces.
SEVENTEEN
Willow
Bear perks upat the sight of the water, his tail thumping excitedly against the seat. Despite everything, I find myself smiling at his enthusiasm.
The transfer from plane to boat is tricky. Bear leaps into the boat without prompting, turning to watch expectantly as I carefully step from the plane’s pontoon.
The boat—a sleek, powerful craft clearly built for speed—carries us across the lake.
“How are you holding up?” Jackson asks, settling beside me.
“I’m…” I pause, considering the question. “I’m still processing everything. It doesn’t feel quite real.”
He nods understanding. “First extractions are always surreal. Like you’re watching a movie of your own life.”
“Does it get easier?” I glance at him, curious.
