“That’s right,” Rue confirmed, extending a gloved hand. “Expedition leader. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. As far as I knew, the summer crew finished up last week, and there wasn’t going to be an over-winter crew here this year.”
“Plans changed,” Moretti said, and he didn’t look happy about the change. “A winter crew is coming, and someone had to stay behind to hand the station over.”
“And we drew the short straws,” Jess added, brushing her green hair back from her face.
“Speak for yourselves.” Koos grinned, his teeth bright white against his dark skin. “I volunteered.”
“Well, the more the merrier,” Rue said cheerfully. If she was thrown by having three unexpected people on her expedition, it didn’t show in her smile or her voice. She motioned to the rest of them. “This is my team. Dr. Simon Keene and his PhD students, Tyler and Mia. Dr. Irina Volkova, our expedition’s doctor. And Dr. Noah Braddock, geologist?—”
“Just Noah,” Braddock corrected.
Rue did show a flash of surprise at that, but she hid it fast. Elliot only saw it because he knew her, knew every expression, every twitch of her mouth. He’d spent so much time studying her over the last few years, he should have a PhD in Rue Bristow.
“And this is my fiancé, Elliot Wilde,” Rue finished, reaching for his hand.
Elliot laced his fingers through hers, squeezing gently and wishing they weren’t both still wearing their gloves. Yes, it was for show, but also just because he really wanted to touch her.
“I could use some assistance,” Camille called from the doorway of the snowcat, where she hovered like she didn’t know how to get out of it.
Jesus, had she been sitting in there this whole time, expecting someone to roll out the red carpet for her?
“Who’s the princess?” Koos asked, jerking a thumb in her direction.
“Camille Middleton,” Rue answered, carefully neutral. “One of our primary investors. She wanted to see the operation firsthand.”
Elliot watched Koos’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “An investor? Down here?” The man’s grin widened, but something sharp glinted in his eyes. “Well, that’s a first. Usually, the money people prefer to stay where it’s warm.”
“I like to be thorough,” Camille said, finally extracting herself from the snowcat with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. She wobbled on shaky legs, nearly toppling over when her boot caught on the door frame. “Someone help me with these bags.”
Elliot moved forward without thinking, his mother’s voice in his head reminding him to be a gentleman even when every part of him wanted to let Camille topple. He grabbed Camille’s elbow to steady her, then reached for the designer luggage she was gesturing at dramatically.
“Thank you, darling,” she purred.
He bit back a response that would have violated at least three separate sections of the WSW code of conduct. Instead, he nodded tightly and hauled the ridiculously heavy bag from the snowcat. What the hell had she packed? The entire contents of Bergdorf Goodman?
“Koos will give you a tour and show you all to your quarters,” Dr. Moretti said, his voice weirdly flat and lifeless.
“They’re cozy,” Koos said with a wink.
Rue caught Elliot’s eye across the bay, a tiny smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Cozy was code for cramped as hell, which meant they’d be sharing a very small space for the next three weeks.
That wasn’t a problem. He’d shared quarters with operatives before. He was a professional.
Except none of those operatives had been Rue Bristow, with her honey-gold hair and mischievous eyes and tendency to push every single one of his buttons just to see what would happen.
Fuck.
“Come, come,” Koos said and led them into a narrow corridor lined with exposed pipes and electrical conduits. The walls were painted industrial white, scuffed and dented from years of use. Someone, at some point, had tried to brighten the corridor with murals of flowers, but the paint had faded and chipped. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in harsh, clinical brightness that made Elliot’s eyes water after the muted grays of the Antarctic landscape.
The air inside was warm—almost stifling after the brutal cold outside—and carried the smell of diesel fuel, coffee, and something vaguely antiseptic. Elliot catalogued the layout as they walked: fire extinguishers mounted every twenty feet, emergency lighting strips along the floor, and those same security cameras tucked into every corner. Why so many cameras?
“This is Lab B through here,” Koos was saying, gesturing to a heavy door locked with biometric scanners. “It’s off-limits. We’ve been sharing the station with some Russian researchers, and they’re paranoid as hell about their work.”
Elliot’s internal alarms started clanging again. Biometric locks on a research lab? Russians who weren’t mentioned in any briefing materials? He caught Rue’s eye and saw his own suspicion reflected back at him. They both turned to look at Irina Volkova. Could she—or someone else in the Volkov family—be involved with the Russians’ research? Was that why she’d volunteered for this?
“Russians?” Dr. Keene asked, his voice bright with interest. “How fascinating! What kind of research are they conducting?”
“Ice core analysis, I think,” Koos replied with a shrug that seemed too casual. “Above my pay grade.”
