Oh.
I realize what the bright-blue bundle was as it broaches the lake’s surface.
A tarp.
Tarps, plural, multiple layers by the looks of it.
He was down there loading up the gold bars on them and twisting it into a giant sack, then attaching it to the cables to haul it all up.
I’ll admit, I didn’t quite think it was real when I saw the photos.
The huge wad hits the shore and digs into the rocky sand with a grinding noise, its own weight dragging it to a halt.
I feel like I’ve been sucker punched.
Falling to my knees in the ice-cold surf on the shore, prying the wet tarp away, I stop and stare at the gleaming bars of shining metal that must be worth lives.
To Paisley Lockwood, probably worth many more lives than my own.
I’m not ready to carry the weight of this, but I guess I don’t have a choice.
Alaska’s hand falls on my shoulder.
Grounding me.
Steadying me.
“C’mon, Fliss,” he says. “Let’s get it loaded up and out of the way, and then we can set up camp.”
I lift my head, staring up at him dully.
“You still want to camp with all of this?”
“Yeah. Your pup’s covered, right?”
I nod. “My cousin’s checking on the doggo.”
Every muscle in his body flexes tight as he hunkers down in a crouch next to me. “Seems to me like you don’t want people knowing about this, and I don’t blame you. So, if we came up here to go camping, they’re going to ask questions if we come back when we haven’t even been gone half a day.”
“Oh. Good point.” I worry at my lower lip with my fingertips, nodding. “We can go back in the morning.”
I feel like that’s bought me a little time to figure out what the hell to do, I guess.
A smidge of breathing space at best.
I already dread returning to Heart’s Edge dangerously “richer” than I ever imagined.
Because the instant I do, I’ll have to figure out what to do with this heap of shining, precious, entirely untouchable murder.
It takes us over two hours to get the gold loaded into the storage area behind the seats in the flatbed’s cab, and at least another hour for Alaska to get the crane on the truck.
By the time we’re done, my arms are sore noodles and I’m ready to collapse.
Leave it to Mr. Polar Bear to keep on trucking like he’s not even tired.
His wicked smile and his mad energy keep me moving.
He really thought of everything, including bringing along two tents—though I catch myself thinking I wouldn’t have minded sharing one. He’s prepared for just about anything life can throw at him.
Anything minus me, probably.
Still, it’s easy.
It’s quiet.
I don’t even know him, but it’s so effortless to be with him, moving in friendly companionship as we set up our tents, start a roaring fire, and then settle in on the shore with fishing poles to catch our dinner.
I take the spot closer to the fire, trying to warm up after changing out of my soaked, frigid jeans and into a dry pair. He’s just close enough that I can feel his shoulder lightly brushing against mine as he casts his line and waits.
Now and then he twitches his line and recasts, gazing off into the distance. His rugged expression mirrors the mountains, his forehead lined, deep in thought.
I can’t help but smile.
“What’s so funny?” he growls, lifting a brow.
“You look like you were made for this, dude.”
“Yeah?” He barks out a laugh. “Guess I don’t mind being a walking stereotype. They don’t call it the last frontier for nothing, where I’m from, and I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t rubbed off.” He turns his head, looking down at me, his eyes crackling with warmth. “I used to sit out back at my dad’s cabin and fish for hours when I was young. Always made the mind go a certain kind of quiet I can’t find anywhere else. You go just as still as the lake waters and let all your worries fade away.”
“Yeah. I get that. It’s peaceful.” I smile slightly and throw my line back in the water with a practiced flick of my wrist. “A long time ago, I used to fish with my dad here. He taught me about lures, about knots...heck, I could even scale my own fish by the time I was nine. I thought I’d be sad, being here again, remembering all that stuff. But you’re right. Being on this lake, I’m just still. That’s the best word.”
And I like that.
I like being still with this bearded beast-man.
That stillness finally breaks after nearly half an hour when my line gives a sharp tug.
“Watch out, I’ve got a bite!”
It’s all laughter and splashing then.
I guess we caught a school of fish at feeding time or something, because suddenly we’ve got lake trout practically leaping onto our hooks until we’ve caught more than we can possibly eat and have to toss some back.