Page 81 of Ned

She raised an eyebrow. “Does anyone?”

“No, I suppose not, but…I don’t know. Just the thought of you in that container, cold and scared and me not able to get to you—” He drew in a shaky breath. “And we’re not out of the woods yet.”

“But you did get to me, so—”

“If Moose’s plan worked. But who knows…” Oh, he shouldn’t have said that, because her eyes widened.

He pulled her down, held her. “I’ll get you out of Russia. No matter what it takes.”

“Getusout of Russia,” she said softly.

Yeah. He ran his hand down her hair.

“Ned?”

“Yes. Of course. Us, babe.”

Silence, and she pressed her hand on his chest, her hand warm over his heart.

Fraser, where are you?

“When I was about six years old, I was playing in the backyard by myself. It was fall, and the leaves were out—my parents were hauling in pumpkins. I remember that. We had this old cellar on the farm. It was built into this little hill, with a heavy wooden door and steps leading down to this earthen cave with wooden shelving filled with canned goods—peaches and pears and apples and pumpkin and beans and bins of potatoes. But most of all, we’d store apples down there. And I loved apples.”

Outside, the rain had started to subside, the wind dying a little. Maybe the road had been washed out.

He kissed the top of Shae’s head. Yes, he should have married her long ago. “So, on this day, when my parents were picking pumpkins and my brothers were out in the field—I have no idea where Iris was. Maybe out with them, but I was left to run around the yard, and I got in my head that was I hungry. And I needed an apple. So I went into the cellar. But I also wasn’t allowed to go in, so I pulled the door closed. And immediately, it was dark. I couldn’t see the apples, and I don’t know what I’d been thinking. I tried to open the door, but the latch had fallen down on the lock, and it wouldn’t move. I was trapped.”

“And you were six?”

“Yeah. And I know that when you were six you were eating out of garbage cans and trying to survive—”

“Ned. We don’t have to compare survival stories. Your story can be just as traumatic as mine. Probably more so because I never felt safe.” She lifted her head. “Until now.”

Until now.

Aw, what was he going to do with that. He caught her head and kissed her. Sweetly, but also turning so he could hold her better, both arms around her. She sank into him, and he simply slowed down and savored the smell of her—something floral, from her shower, her hair silky between his fingers, her mouth soft on his.

She broke away slowly. Met his eyes. “How long were you trapped?”

Oh. “It doesn’t matter.” He bent to kiss her again, but she put her hand to his mouth.

“How long?”

“Until late that night. Mom and Dad came home, couldn’t find me, and they spent the next six hours looking. I was freezing and scared, and I’d wet my pants by the time my dad figured it out. I couldn’t stop crying. But most of all, I was just…mad. Mad that I couldn’t get myself out. I’d spent hours kicking the door, trying to pry it open, ripped off a fingernail doing it, and the fact that in the end, I had to be rescued just…yeah. I hate being helpless.”

“And now you’re a SEAL.”

“And I do the rescuing. Although, we’re a team too, so it’s not just me.”

Where are you Fraser?

“But right now, you’re freaking out, aren’t you?”

He sighed.

“So, I met this guy in gulag, and I can’t stop thinking about him. His name was Judah. Lion. Weird name, huh?”

“I know—Sasha told us about him. He’s been there a long time.”