Lost in Shadows by CJ Lyons

death, and the very real, vivid image of VD Ryan and how she felt in his arms, how she made him feel.
    He looked up at her. She appeared to be stunned, as if ghosts of her own chased through her mind. Of course. Her husband—oh boy, this was a very, very bad idea.
    “I shouldn’t have,” he stammered, “I’m sorry, Ryan.”
    She shook her head, and her eyes cleared. She surprised him with a smile, the first genuine one he’d seen from her, it lit her entire face. “Don’t be. No one—I mean, it’s been a long time.” Her smile faded somewhat. “A very long time. Thank you.” She turned away to take the pot of melting snow off the fire. “And the name’s Vinnie.”
    “Vinnie?”
    “Short for Vincenzia.”
    Sure, that would have been his next guess. Vinnie. He liked it better than Smokey, definitely an improvement over calling her by her dead husband’s name. “So what’s the D stand for?”
    “Don’t press your luck, Cavanaugh,” she said. And just like that, she’d put them both back on even footing. 
    Lucky finished with the computer, memorizing the files in it. While Vinnie refilled the water containers and brought more wood in, he used his Leatherman to remove the hard drive. Just like a couple of married folk, he thought with a smile as he caught the door with his foot, held it as she came inside with an armful of logs. Well, married folk in the middle of nowhere, about two hundred years ago.
    She curled up at his feet, and he had to resist the urge to reach a hand out to stroke her hair. It was thick and luminous in the firelight, he didn’t understand why she kept it confined in a braid. Hair like that was a crowning glory, should be displayed for everyone to see. And certain men to run their hands through, bury themselves in.
    With an effort, he pulled himself back from his primitive urges. Damn, no woman had mesmerized him like this before. Maybe it was the adrenalin, triggering a chemical reaction that made him more aware of small details that he’d never noticed in other women. Like the crescent-shaped dimple in her left cheek when she smiled or the way her eyes were set a little too far apart and her nose was just the tiniest bit crooked.
    “Here.” He handed her the small metal hard drive that held the memory of the computer. “Keep this where you won’t lose it, no matter what.”
    She turned it over in her hand, then reached for a waterproof bag to secure it in. “You memorized everything on that computer?”
    He shrugged, embarrassed. “I have a kind of photographic memory.”
    “Eidetic memory,” she said with a nod. He looked up at that. “What? I went to college, Slippery Rock University.” She watched as he turned the computer back on. “What are you doing now?”
    “Draining the power so that they can’t turn it on, see that the data is gone.”
    She rocked back on her heels, looked up at him with a gleam in her eyes. “What are you planning, Cavanaugh? You can’t blow up this cabin, it’s government property.”
    He loved the way her mind worked in the same devious directions as his. “Wouldn’t dream of it—not after you said you helped build this palace. Just figure it always comes in handy to have a spare bargaining chip.”
    “A bargaining chip that happens to be useless to anyone.”
    “Ahh, but they won’t know that.”
    “Hopefully not until it’s too late. So, got a new plan yet, cowboy?”
    “I was thinking maybe you’re right and we should stick together for awhile.” He hated it, felt like he was dragging her in deeper, but what choice did he have? He pulled the map across his knees, pointed to her cabin. 
    “This is some kind of road, right?” He traced a dark line down from her home to Route 15 below.
    “A dirt road. It’s passable with all-wheel drive in good weather. Storm like this, by tomorrow the only way to travel it will be skis or snowmobile.”
    “Once The Preacher’s men find your car and know you’re involved, your cabin