Chapter 1:
It was the worst luck they'd had yet.
A freak blizzard had stranded them in their latest safehouse and they had missed their scheduled flight out of the country. Red had been in contact with Dembe to let him know that they would not be able to make it to the airstrip where his private jet was on standby, waiting to spirit them away overseas. The delay would undoubtedly cost them some measure of inconvenience: Red had hoped to be reunited with Dembe by now, Lizzie's nerves were fraying at the edges, and to top it all off, it was Christmas Eve. He had planned this night much differently for her. He wanted to celebrate this Christmas with her on some remote tropical island, preferably one without a U.S. extradition treaty, and to show her exactly how well he could protect her. Somewhere in the tropics was a fully furnished hideaway bedecked in Christmas finery; a decorated tree had been prepared, eggnog would be chilling in the kitchen, even a stocking hung with her name. He had wanted to preserve some semblance of normalcy for her during her first (and what he hoped would be her last) holiday on the run. Unfortunately, Mother Nature had other plans.
Red had chosen their current location and so, of course, there was nothing they lacked. The cabin was luxuriously appointed, with dark wood paneling in every room, opulent furniture in rich tones and fabrics, and a fully-stocked pantry that would enable Red to cook several weeks worth of sumptuous meals. They would be able to ride out the storm in relative comfort, but the extravagance of their surroundings did nothing to calm Lizzie's anxiety.
Lizzie was restless, nervous tension vibrating off her tense body like she was a tightly-strung bow. She paced the living room in burgundy tights and an oversized, cream sweater, her thick socks padding softly across the floor as she marched back and forth, continuously checking the storm's progress from the large bay window on the other side of the room from where Red lounged easily in a black vest and crisp, white shirt on the sofa, reading a well-worn copy of War and Peace. She was huffing exasperatedly, muttering softly about the wisdom of trusting a known felon with her safety when his judgement obviously wasn't very reliable if he dragged her to Vermont in the middle of winter as part of their escape plan. Eventually, her mumblings and twitching, erratic path could no longer be ignored.
"Why don't you come sit and let me read to you for awhile?" he asked, his offer a means of diversion.
"How can you just sit there?" she exclaimed, wheeling on him. "When the FBI could be out there, combing the woods for us right now? At any moment they could be breaking down our door!" she gestured about her wildly. "It's freezing out there, we're stuck here, and it's Christmas!" she finished bitterly. Red felt a pang of regret at her words. Of course, she would rather be anywhere else than trapped here with him.
"Lizzie, no one is coming for us, no one even knows we're here," he replied patiently, lowering the book into his lap. "That was part of the social media diversion, remember? All our tracks lead to California."
"I'm sorry," she deflated next to him on the sofa, crumpling from the exhaustion of her tension running so high, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, resting her head in her hands. "I don't know what to do with myself. We should be running and instead we're stuck here. I feel like there is something I should be doing. How are you so calm?"
"Years and years of practice," Red replied conspiratorily. "I can't tell you how many times I've been trapped in hiding places by various circumstances, with nothing to do but wait. Usually, though, I was alone. I must admit, it's delightful to have such a pleasurable companion for a change."
"I don't think I've been very good company," Lizzie admitted, apologetically. "My mind won't stop racing and I just don't know what to think about. I need a distraction." She thought for a moment. "Tell me a story?"
Red paused a moment, startled by her request, a small, surprised smile on his lips. She normally seemed so annoyed by his stories. Perhaps she was just desperate for something to keep her mind busy? Whatever the reason, he would appease her. There was, after all, nothing he could deny her if it was in his power to give.
"Well," he began slowly, his tongue working around his mouth as he fought to come up with something that would divert her attention from their current situation and also put her mind at ease. "There was one time in particular that comes to mind...."
Chapter 2:
An hour later the wind had picked up outside, causing the window panes to creak under the weight of the blowing snowfall, darkness had fallen around the cozy cabin, and Lizzie was finally reclining against the opposite sofa arm, her feet resting in Red's lap as he finished recounting an amusing story about a long weekend he spent shipwrecked with an Italian opera singer on a tiny Caribbean island during a tropical storm.
"Oh my god, I can't believe you were stuck for three days with nothing but chardonnay to drink!" she exclaimed, laughing. "You must have been so upset!"
Red covered her toes with his hands, keeping her feet warm, and tilted his head to the side, enjoying the musical tinkle of her laughter, smiling at her in response.
"Yes, well, we made do," he responded. "As I said before, though, the company has never been as sweet as it is with you," he told her honestly.
Lizzie smiled back at him shyly and for a long moment they just gazed at each other in companionable silence.
Without warning, the entire cabin went dark and they heard the whir of the heater slowly die.
"The storm's knocked the power out," Lizzie pulled her feet from Red's lap to stand. "I'll see if I can find some candles."
Red rose as well, "There is a stack of firewood on the side of the house; I'll go bring some in," he explained, pulling on his coat and wrapping a fawn-colored cashmere scarf around his neck.
"Be careful," she admonished. "It's colder than it looks out there and it doesn't take much to get lost in a blizzard."
Red just smiled at her enigmatically, "Well....I always seem to find my way back to you." With that, he opened the cabin door and stepped out into the night.
Lizzie rolled her eyes at his back and turned back to her task.
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Fifteen minutes later she had located and distributed enough candles on bookshelves and end tables to make it through the living room without stumbling into every single piece of furniture and wall, and Red still had not returned. She glanced out the window into the darkness, becoming worried at his absence. What could be taking him so long? As she went from room to room, checking to make sure nothing flammable was placed too close to the candles, her mind raced from one terrifying scenario to the next. What if he had fallen and was lying out in the yard somewhere hurt? What if he had lost his way and was wandering far from the house? Soon, she could no longer bear the anxiety of his unexplained absence and had decided to go out and check on him.
She had just zipped on her boots when the front door opened. Red, covered in white, his arms loaded with firewood, struggled through the door.
"Red!" she cried, "Where were you? I was getting worried!" Lizzie hurriedly crossed the room to take some of the firewood from his arms and close the door.
"The woodpile was absolutely buried by the snowstorm," he offered, by way of explanation, carefully placing the logs near the fireplace and shrugging out of his coat and scarf. "It took me nearly twenty minutes just to uncover enough wood to start a fire."
She helped him stack the wood next to the fireplace, trying to quell the panic she had felt not knowing if he was alright. She knew she was being stupid; he was the most capable person she knew, and yet, the thought of something happening to him had scared her and she didn't quite know what to do with that emotion.
Red could feel her disquiet though she hadn't said a word. It had been etched on her features, in the spooked look in her eyes when he came through the door and he was reading it now in the tense, flustered movement of her hands.
"Could you make us some coffee, please, Lizzie? I'm chilled to the bone," Red requested as he knelt in front of the fireplace. "Let me know if you need help starting the gas stove."
"Sure," Lizzie disappeared into the kitchen, grateful to feel useful for a moment. He had taken such good care of her and she had behaved like a spoiled brat, complaining about missing Christmas. She felt a sting of regret for her earlier outburst as she remembered her unkind words. He had been nothing but generous to her, completely solicitous of her needs along this journey. She hung her head in shame for a moment as she stopped to consider their situation: he could have stashed her in some dreary boarding house, he could have simply abandoned her! But instead, he had risked his own personal freedom and the security of his people to see her safely out of D.C. and on every leg of their journey since then. He had given her asylum in some of the most stately hiding places, seen to her comfort on a grand scale, and most of all, offered her absolution from her sins. He understood her, he listened. He allowed her her pain and her rage at the injustice of the Cabal and the perfidy of Tom Connolly that had ultimately broken down her self-control and put them both in danger.
She would do something to show him how much she appreciated his sacrifice and his friendship, she decided as she rummaged through the cabinets, smiling when she came up across the baking supplies. She could do much better than mere coffee.
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While she was gone, Red had expertly built up the fire from materials stored in a brass box on the floor next to the fireplace, lighting first the tinder, then arranging thin sticks of kindling above it, and finally feeding in a few logs.
"That looks good," Red turned at the sound of her voice to find her holding two steaming mugs, one arm extended in front of her offering it to him, a paper bag tucked under her other arm.
Red stood, brushing his the dirt from his hands on the legs of his perfectly tailored slacks. "It'll do, I think," he replied modestly. He reached out to take the proffered mug from her, "Thank you; I needed this."
"Can we sit for awhile?" Lizzie asked timidly.
