He turned around, lifting himself up to look at her. "More than you did, I'm betting."

He'd never seen her so thoroughly miserable. She was always so upbeat, always smiling. Now she looked awful, like she'd just been hit by a bus. It was possible there were tears in her eyes, but she gazed out the window, which made it difficult for him to know for sure. "Please don't tell anyone."

"I won't," Dave said. "I wouldn't." He paused. "Are you sure you-"

"Yes," Lindsey said. "I'm sure. I am very sure," she added, nodding along with her words, as if trying to convince herself.

She was sure, and Jenk was okay.

And Dave regularly had phone sex with the Queen of England.

DARLINGTON, NEW HAMPSHIRE.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 10, 2005.

New Hampshire was freaking cold, the morning sun doing little to warm the air.

As they pulled up to their temporary living quarters-an ancient two-story structure called Motel-a-Rama-Izzy helped the senior chief organize the equipment, while Jenkins ran around making sure everyone had their room assignments.

"I want to share a room with Tracy and Sophia," Izzy announced, which started both Lopez and Gillman yammering. Show a little respect, Zanella. Christ, Zanella, you're like a fifteen-year-old on a high school trip. Grow up.

"A man's allowed to dream, isn't he?" Izzy said to no one in particular as he lugged a carton of MREs into the motel lobby and whoa. Hello, 1976.

Most of the shag had been worn off the avocado green carpet in the high-traffic areas, but it continued bravely waving under several chairs that looked as if they'd come direct from a garage sale at Graceland. The ceiling was yellow with exposed beams that had, thirty years ago, been bright orange. And everything else was covered in cheap paneling.

The woman behind the front desk wore a Harley jacket over about fifteen sweaters, a cloud of cigarette smoke around her head. Her hair was a shocking shade of red, or maybe it just seemed shocking since it clashed with the earmuffs she was wearing.

"The entire restaurant's yours for the duration, hon," she croaked at Izzy in a five-pack-a-day voice as she pointed to a door behind her. "Fastest way to the kitchen's back through here."

She sounded around five hundred years old, although judging from her blue eye-shadow, she couldn't be a day over sixty. Still, her smile was warm, and the Christmas balls she wore, dangling from her ears, were a hoot.

"Thanks, babe," he said as he humped the MREs past her, winning both a wink and big brownie points.

It was a good idea to make nice with the locals, considering they were in the middle of no-oh-oh-oh-where. Darlington, New Hampshire. Or, as Lindsey called it, the dark side of the moon.

They'd left the airport and driven north. And then north some more. And then they left the highway and went north on state roads. Then they'd left those, and went even farther into these frickin' frozen mountains.

"Name's Stella," the redhead told him on his way back out to the truck.

"No way," he said, stopping to lean on the counter. "You have got to marry me. My name's Zanella, and Stella Zanella is just too good to pass up."

She flashed him both a smile and her wedding ring, which of course he'd noticed already. "I'm taken. But feel free to challenge Robert, my husband, to a duel."

"Just out of curiosity, Stell," he said. "Who the fuck owns a motel on Mars?" He'd also noticed a poster pinned up on the wall. A kitten, hanging from a chin-up bar. Someone had crossed out the caption "Hangin' in," and written "Fuck you, very much." He didn't quite get what the new caption had to do with the cat-there was probably a personal joke involved-but he figured the word was in her vocabulary. It was also clear that the Robert she'd mentioned was former military. A display case held his medals, won during Vietnam. Yeah, she'd heard the word before.

Sure enough, Stella laughed. "We do all right. Hunters, snowmobilers, the occasional lost skiers...Summer can be slow, but that's okay. More time to work in the garden."

"Come on, Zanella, move it." Jenk was unhappy, and had been ever since sitting down and talking to Lindsey on the plane. Izzy wasn't sure what that was about, but it wasn't good since Marky-Mark obviously bought into the old "misery loves company" adage.

Izzy ignored him. "Stell, if I'm going to be your second husband, you've got to quit smoking," he said. "You're killing yourself, and that's not good. Will you think about doing that for me, babe?"

He didn't hear her answer, because Jenk grabbed him by the back of the jacket and manhandled him outside. "Stop fucking around."

"When the fuck did you make chief?" Izzy knocked Jenk's hands away, possibly a little bit harder than necessary. Definitely harder than necessary since he knew that this wasn't about him.

Jenk shoved him back. "I'm tired of doing my work and then yours, too, asshole."

This was about Lindsey.

"She jettisoned you, huh? On the plane?" Izzy asked. "I'm sorry, Mark."

It probably would've been better just to shove him back. As it was, Jenkins didn't know what to do with Izzy's sympathy. He shook his head. "Just do your fucking job," he said, and walked away.

They were sharing a room for the next five days.

Wasn't this going to be great?

Jenk drove the rented SUV as Lopez navigated.

He was tired, he was angry, he was upset, and he was hyperaware that Lindsey was sitting behind him, squeezed in between Izzy and Gillman. If he looked in the rearview, there she was. Looking anywhere but back at him.

He kept his eyes on the narrow road.

"Left up here," Lopez ordered, and Jenk slowed to make the turn onto a dirt trail. "And then it's straight on, as far as you can go."

This could have been way worse. He could've been alone in this vehicle, with only Lindsey beside him, peering at the map.

"Jenkins!" He'd been helping to unload their supplies when Tommy Paoletti had shouted for him.

He'd made a dash for Tommy, who was in the motel restaurant. He'd had to smile because he'd moved instinctively-temporarily transported back in time a few years, to when Paoletti was the commanding officer of Team Sixteen. Damn, but he missed the man. Their current CO, Lew Koehl, had probably never bellowed in his life.

Jenk had slowed to a jog and his smile faded as he realized Lindsey was standing next to Tom. But okay. He had five full days of this. He was going to come face-to-face with her many times throughout the op, that was a given. It might as well happen for the first time right here and now.

Tommy, as usual, didn't wait for him to yes, sir or otherwise say hello. He just jumped in. He knew Jenk could keep up.

"It's colder than we thought," Tom said, "and we've got weather moving in. I'm thinking about setting up a camp, just outside the perimeter of the area where we'll be running tomorrow night's training op. We've gotten permission to use an old hunting lodge-well the property, anyway. The lodge burned years ago, but there're still a number of other structures on-site. I have no idea their condition or suitability. I want you to go check the place out."

And yes, that had been a plural you, aimed also at Lindsey, who was clutching a map. She silently passed it to Jenk, who pretended to look at it in the wan midday light that was streaming in through the restaurant windows, all the while thinking, shit.

"Ideal location is close to the top of a hillside," Tom continued. "I'm going to want a homing beacon broadcast to as large an area as possible, in case visibility becomes an issue."

"Wait," Lindsey said. Even though they were inside, and the heaters were groaning and hissing, it was cold enough for her to keep her hat and gloves on, her arms wrapped around herself as she tried to retain body heat. "You lost me, boss. Visibility? Are we expecting fog?"

That's right-she was a Southern California girl.

"Snow. Blizzard conditions can create total whiteouts," Jenk explained. "The homing beacon will allow us to find this base camp if we get into trouble during the exercise. It's a safety precaution." He turned back to Tom. "Sir, we should probably check with your team, see who else may not have had extensive winter survival experience-make sure they're teamed up with someone who has."

"Good idea," Tom nodded. "I'll get Tracy working on that."

And so much for Jenk's next suggestion, which was that Lindsey stay behind, here where the windchill wasn't a factor, and handle it.

"There used to be a road all the way in to the lodge," Tom told them. "I want a report on its condition. I want to know where it becomes impassable-which is how the property owner described it-as well as exactly how impassable it really is. I want recommendations on the best way to get a generator and supplies in there. And I'm assuming we'll have to set up some temporary sat towers, too, but check out cell reception while you're out there."

"Excuse me, sir," Johnny O. ran up. "If you've got a sec, Commander Koehl would like to talk to you. He's in the kitchen."

"I'm on my way," Tommy said, but he wasn't quite done giving orders to Lindsey and Jenk. "Take one of the rental vehicles. And make sure you grab some MREs. There're no Mickey-Ds where you're heading."

"You mean to hell?" Jenk may actually have said that aloud. Lindsey didn't look offended, though. She, too, did not look happy at the prospect of this little road trip. "Okay," he told her. "I'll get the food, you get more layers on, because we're going to be hiking."

She nodded. "Thanks for trying. You know, to make it so I could stay here where it's slightly less freezing."

"That wasn't entirely for you," Jenk admitted. "Meet you by the rental cars."

Lindsey had shown up with Dave and Sophia in tow, both of whom were apparently willing to spend their precious downtime playing chaperone. Jenk had been trying to do something similar-to talk Izzy, Lopez, and Gillman into riding along. They'd resisted his efforts-this was, after all, supposed to be one of their few breaks-until they saw that Sophia was going. Then they pretty much begged him for a seat in that SUV.

He should have charged them each fifty bucks.

"Is this really a road?" Dave now asked. He and Sophia were sitting in a rear-facing seat, but he'd twisted around to face front.

"It was, back when the lodge was in its heyday," Jenk reported. He'd stopped to gather as much info as possible from Izzy's married fiancee, Stella, after he'd packed up a delightful assortment of MREs. That was her word. Heyday. "It was originally a trail-a trapper's route from Canada to Boston. Apparently it got a lot of use during the French and Indian War, too."

"Marky-Mark, you are better than a Fodor's travel guide," Izzy said. "How do you know this shit? Okay, let's see if he can answer this one. For twenty thousand points: How did the hunting lodge burn down, and...drumroll please! Is it haunted?"

"Generator malfunction plus a very dry summer and fall," Jenk answered. "And no, despite rumors, it is not haunted."

"Nuh-nuh na-net, na-net," Izzy sang the opening bars to the Ghost-busters' theme. "I ain't afraid of no ghosts. Okay, so for those who weren't aware, Jenkins has this unswerving lack of belief in the supernatural. There's no such thing as ghosts; therefore, it can't be haunted. Just out of curiosity, M, what exactly are these rumors?"

"Typical boogeyman stuff," Jenk said as the SUV lurched and bounced along the pitted trail. He slowed even more as the underbrush scratched against the side of the vehicle like hundreds of bony fingers.

Gillman leaned forward. "Such as?"

"The gardener-gets-unjustly-arrested-and-comes-back-to-wreak-vengeance story," Jenk said.

"Give me back my leg!" Izzy intoned in a quavering voice. "I love that shit."

"Yeah," Lopez said. "I want to hear this."

"Come on, Unca Jenk, tell us kids a scary-ass story."

Jesus, he shouldn't have brought Izzy along. Jenk glanced in the rearview-shit, why did he keep doing that?-and saw that Lindsey was smiling. Fuck, that was worse than when she'd been sitting there, obviously wishing she were anywhere else on the planet. Because she was smiling at Izzy.

"I don't know if you should tell it," she said. "Izzy might have nightmares."

Oh, good. Don't just sit next to him. Flirt with him, too. Of course, some might interpret her words merely as friendly banter. Still, it pissed Jenk off.

But telling them all to shut the fuck up would clearly raise some eyebrows. Not to mention that it would reveal to Lindsey just how badly he'd let her burn him.

He was gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white.

"I'm sharing a room with Jenk," Izzy told Lindsey. "If I get scared I'll just climb in with him. I've heard he's good in bed. Gentle yet strong. Can anyone here verify that?"

Okay, now Lindsey was back to looking like she'd rather be wrestling alligators.

Izzy, of course, wasn't done. "Fishboy, you've shared close quarters with the Markster. Is he as talented as they all say?"

"Homophobic jokes are so funny," Dave remarked from the back, in his mild voice. "Oh, wait. No, they're not funny at all."

"Dave, why do you always get to sit next to Sophia?" Izzy turned his attention to the back of the SUV, but then added, "No offense, Lindsey. You're hot, too."

"Jenkins, will you please just tell the ghost story?" Dave implored.

"All right," Jenk said. "Okay. Jesus." The road was so overgrown, they were moving just slightly faster than they could've done on a brisk hike. At this pace, they weren't going to get back until after dark. Which, at this time of year, this far north, would probably happen at 1500 hours. "It all starts in the 1940s, right after the Second World War. The gardener's some local kid, home from the fighting in France. He's working at the lodge, he's got a beautiful fiancee"

"There's always a beautiful fiancee," Lopez said. "She works there, too, right?"

"As a maid," Jenk said. "Life is good. But then this rich family comes to the lodge. They've got this son who served by taking some cushy desk job in DC during the war, totally entitled. He points at what he wants, and he gets it. But this time, he points at the maid, and he gets nothing. And he's pissed, because he's seen her with the gardener."

"Doing the deed with the war hero, in the arbor, au naturel," Izzy chimed in. "She's exotic in her beauty. He's strong, yet gentle..."

"A hunting lodge doesn't have an arbor," Gillman scoffed, saving Jenk from having to drive into a tree to shut Izzy up.

Not that Gillman managed to do more than change the subject, but it was enough.

"Yeah, well, in the movies they're always gettin' it on in the arbor. Or in the gazebo. There was probably a gazebo," Izzy decided.

"It's a hunting lodge," Gillman said as if that would explain everything, the Stupid silent but intensely implied.

"Yeah, well, my name's not Daniel Peckerfart Gillman the Third," Izzy said. "Mumsy and Pop-Pop never took me to a hunting lodge."

"I've never been to a hunting lodge either," Gillman said, "but I do read."

"You do?" Izzy was incredulous, and Lindsey was laughing again. "Marky-Mark, did you know that Fishboy knows how to read? Maybe he'll teach the rest of us kids someday."

"Let Jenk finish the story," Lindsey said.

Jenk. He was back to being Jenk. Apparently she only called him Mark when they were having sex. Which they were never going to do again.

"Was there a stable, oh great expert on hunting lodges?" Izzy leaned across Lindsey to ask Gillman.

Jenk went over a fallen branch a little too fast, which bounced everyone around and pushed Izzy back into his seat.