Yuletide Suspect. Lisa Phillips

protective guy she’d loved. Being in his arms had been the safest place, second only to right at his back during a fire fight. And she knew which she preferred.

      Tate picked up the pace, forcing her to keep up. Liberty ran until sweat chilled on her temple and ran down her back. She estimated it was almost half a mile before they were clear of the explosion and the debris it had caused, and Tate slowed.

      Liberty set her hands on her knees and bent forward, sucking in breaths.

      Tate set his hand on her back. When she looked up he was scanning the area. Then he looked at her. “I think we’re clear.”

      Liberty straightened. “What do you want to do now?” She could barely think. They’d nearly died. Her head spun, and it was entirely possible she was going to fall over. Just swoon and pass out, like she wasn’t a Secret Service agent.

      She sucked in a breath and squared her shoulders. Then gasped. The mine was gone. The mountain had caved in on itself like an empty burlap sack. Tate stepped toward it, but she waylaid him with a hand on his arm. “We’ll be careful,” he said.

      “You want to go over there?” Was it even safe to walk over the debris?

      “We need to see if the plane was in the mine. We might be able to get a look.”

      “We should tell the Secret Service.” Not to mention the FBI and the sheriff. “There’s no way that explosion was missed, even if it is the middle of the night.”

      “It’s only one in the morning.”

      She glanced at him. He’d always been Mr. Night Owl, while she was an early riser. Something about the dark had always creeped her out. She didn’t like being outside in the middle of nowhere at night. But even though she wasn’t alone, she still couldn’t relax too much. He would protect her, and she would hold up her end, but it wouldn’t last.

      Liberty looked at her phone, just so she could do something unrelated to Tate. His presence had always filled a room. When he was calm, that calmness seemed to permeate the air. When he was agitated, like he was now, she had to let him work through it. He’d told her he had tools he used to process his emotions. Methods for reining it in while he thought through what needed to be worked out.

      She couldn’t imagine it had been easy to lose his parents so young and suddenly have to take care of his brother full-time. He’d said it was going into the military that saved him and gave him the structure and discipline he’d so badly needed back then. He’d thrived, making it all the way to a senior NCO. The Secret Service had been a good move, though he’d brushed up against the bureaucracy more than once.

      Tate was all about improving methodology instead of doing things the same way over and over. If it could be improved, it should be. Liberty agreed, though she was more of a follower than a leader. Some people were naturally take-charge people. She could do it if she had to, and she had in her personal life. But only when it was a necessity.

      “No signal?”

      She sighed. “Nothing.”

      “I figured as much. The whole mountain where my cabin is, I get nothing.” He held up his own device—one of those ancient flip phones.

      “I didn’t even know they sold those anymore. Does it even connect to the internet?”

      Tate shrugged. She knew he’d never enjoyed email and probably hadn’t done a Google search in his life. The man still used a phone book to look up numbers. She’d called him a “dinosaur” about technology more than once.

      Tate stepped over snow mingled with dirt and rocks, testing each step to make sure it would hold his weight. Liberty did the same, carving out her own path to his right. “The ground seems pretty stable.”

      “But the mine is toast.”

      She nodded. “We aren’t going to be able to see inside.”

      “Still, the explosion might have made the plane visible. We at least have to look at it from all angles, in case we can see something.”

      “The FBI and the Secret Service are going to have to bring earth movers up here to clear it out if they really want to find out if the plane was here. Is here.”

      He pointed left, past the mouth of the mine that was no more. “There’s a road on the other side. We can follow it out and get to town, get the word out that we think we know where the plane might be.”

      Liberty nodded. “That’s a good idea. We can start convincing them you don’t have anything to do with this.”

      “Is that why you came by yourself?”

      She glanced at him.

      “There has to be a reason you didn’t come with your team. You drove out by yourself to my cabin.” He paused. “I didn’t think about it until now, since we’ve been busy fighting off guys. But now that I think about it, shouldn’t you be working with the Secret Service instead of flying solo?”

      “Locke knows where I am.” Liberty figured it was time to admit the truth. “He wanted to wait out the snow, but I said I was leaving right away. So yeah, it was bad and I almost didn’t make it. But I got to your cabin, and they should have been maybe an hour behind me. They were going to check into the hotel first.” She shrugged. “I figured I could get a jump on proving you weren’t part of it.”

      “So you didn’t think I was guilty.”

      “Your mental state isn’t the best, but it doesn’t exactly scream ‘domestic terrorist.’”

      He gave her a dark look. “What exactly do you know about my mental state?”

      “The blog—”

      “Right, the blog.” He lifted both hands, palms up. “I have no idea what blog you’re talking about. I’m not even sure what one is.”

      She had thought it was weird that a technologically inept man such as Tate would suddenly start a blog. “About eight months ago you started posting monthly rants. At first they were just generally disgruntled, stuff about the government and how it’s run. Federal agencies. Budgets.”

      “And you thought that was me?”

      “It was all stuff we’ve talked about.” What else was she supposed to have thought?

      “I don’t own a computer, Liberty. I have no internet access.”

      “I didn’t know. It seemed like you, kind of.”

      “Kind of?”

      Liberty shrugged. She’d hurt him, and when he had started the blog—or when the blog had started—it’d made sense to her he’d feel that way. She just hadn’t figured he’d spew his feelings online. “What do you want me to say? I thought you were lashing out because I hurt you.”

      “And you came here to what...apologize?”

      “Would that be so awful?” she asked. “I felt like I owed you something at least.”

      Tate didn’t react. Not in his face, and not in his stiff body language. “The last thing I want to hear from you is that you’re sorry. At least have the guts to stand by what you did. You tore us apart for whatever reason was in your head.” He paused. “Does the reason still apply?”

      Liberty nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

      “Then there’s nothing more to say about us.”

      Liberty nodded again. “It’s good you think so. You’ll be able to move on with no ties to us or anything else in your past.” It hurt to say those words, but she wanted him to know he was free. He needed to believe she would be happy for him. “Is there anyone in town you’re...interested in? Have you met someone?” Maybe he would answer now.

      Tate’s eyebrows drew together. “You want me to be with someone else?”

      “I