It was 8:30 sharp and Brenda stood on the dock along with the rest, staring intently out across the water, waiting for the little boat.

The fingers on her useless right hand twitched, looking for the handle of her pistol but scratching only at air. Her left hand clutched a small cloth bag, three of Dr. Avery's handwritten notebooks wrapped carefully inside.

She glanced at Maura, whose rifle was firmly in her hands this time. Everything about the way she held the weapon looked fluid, natural, but Brenda could tell Maura was uncomfortable.

"It'll be fine," she whispered, hoping it sounded reassuring. Maura only nodded grimly, then snapped her head back toward the water, where the brittle whine of the outboard motor was growing louder.

"Early," Pierre called, his tone slightly disdainful, almost annoyed at the impudence of arriving ahead of schedule. "Maybe we are done early too, yes?"

"I sure hope so," Brenda muttered, stiffening her shoulders. Maura glanced back at her, gripped the stock of her rifle a little more tightly.

Brenda stuffed down the tiny flare of resentment over Maura acting as her protector; it was supposed to be her job, but Maura had insisted. Besides, Brenda allowed herself a half-second to note, there was something definitely more than a little attractive about Maura holding that slim rifle in a way that meant she knew how to use it.

Get through this first. Then think about it.

The little outboard pulled up at the far end of the dock, as it always did. Vasiliev sneered at her as he flounced open his jacket to reveal an empty holster, as he made a show of his men dropping their sidearms in the boat.

"Thank you for your courtesy, First Officer Vasiliev," Brenda said evenly, ignoring his little display even as she silently read his frustration, which she knew was coming from Volkov.

"We need to push 'em a little," she'd said that morning. "Get 'em a little mad."

"Then they may make mistakes," Pierre had finished.

"Don't get yourself killed," Maura had muttered, worrying her thumb on the stock of her weapon.

"The Russians have tried to kill me a whole bunch of times and they ain't figured it out yet." She'd meant for it to sound reassuring but Maura's dark expression let her know she'd missed the mark. "I won't get myself killed," she'd mumbled.

"Have you brought the scientist?" Vasiliev demanded from the edge of the dock.

No pleasantries this morning. Volkov must be upset, pushing his anger down the chain of command.

"Almost," she replied, and it took half a second for Vasiliev to realize she hadn't said no.

"What do you mean, 'almost,'" he snapped, half a growl but, Brenda noted, not nearly as imposing as Captain Volkov's. Like a little boy playing dress-up, she thought.

"Brenda?" Maura didn't turn to look at her, didn't take her eyes off Vasiliev.

"Same as usual, they want the scientist, but I'm about to open negotiations, so everybody just take it easy for a little bit, all right now?"

Maura nodded stiffly.

"Miss Johnson?"

"If you'd just give me a minute," she muttered. "Officer Vasiliev, today we would like to offer an exchange."

Another sneer, but this time a little uncertain.

"What kind of exchange could you possibly want to make, Miss Johnson? And what kind of leverage could you possibly have?"

She took a deep breath. Here goes.

"Alexeyev," she called.

There was a long pause. Vasiliev's face caught him out immediately; his flare of anger not twisting quite quickly enough back into a sardonic grin.

"I don't know who you mean, Miss Johnson."

Brenda sighed. She never liked this dance, no matter how well she knew the steps. She only liked the applause at the end.

"You do know, First Officer. We have a scientist, yes, and so do you. Doctor Misha Alexeyev. We would like him here on shore, please."

None of the sailors laughed out loud, but Brenda caught another malicious grin on the face of the man who had smirked at news of his colleague's death the day before. Kuznetsov wasn't there, she realized with a sickening little thrum, but the new man didn't join in his shipmates' sneering, either. She looked hard at him. Could swear he gave her the tiniest of nods.

"And why would we do that?" Vasiliev asked, almost rolling his eyes under the black brim of his cover.

"Well," Brenda said, warming up. "The last time we saw someone you didn't much care for he ended up dead. So I think it's more than fair to receive proof of life for Dr. Alexeyev before we move any farther along. Of course," she said, exaggerating the sweetness in her tone, "we brought you a small incentive."

She let the bag she was holding drop from her hand, catching it by the strap, fishing out the notebooks. Vasiliev's eyes narrowed.

"Research Log, Doctor Peter Avery, March 16, Kolonia Issledovaniye Severo-Zapad," she read in slow, deliberate Russian that Dr. Avery had helped her translate the previous evening. "Work on strengthening fluid containment barriers in cells shows promise. Enhanced cell wall strength decreases likelihood of rupture leading to fluid evacuation and cell death as shown in recent lab trials."

She snapped the book shut. "Our mutual acquaintance certainly has a way of making things understandable. I may not be a scientist myself, but it sounds to me like this kind of thing would be useful these days, don't you agree? And looking through these notes, this work could be done almost anywhere with the right supplies, it says exactly how right here."

It was a lie, but not a big one; the progress of Dr. Avery's research had turned out to surprise them all. She held the notebook out to Vasiliev, whose face had grown hard with fury, though Brenda could see his hands trembling. "And this is just the very first one, Officer Vasiliev. I've also brought one of the last logs before Dr. Avery and Dr. Alexeyev escaped the station, as well as some of Dr. Avery's more recent work."

Vasiliev frowned deeply.

"Bring us Avery," he said again, more roughly, and Brenda could feel that ping of rage she'd been waiting for. The mistake.

"This is our offer, Officer. You know we have the botanist you want, and we know you have ours. But we go no farther until Dr. Alexeyev is examined by Dr. Isles and her team."

Here Vasiliev did let out a harsh laugh. "The doctor who killed my man? You want us to bring her another so she may watch him die also?"

Brenda felt her face harden. "We both know who killed him, Officer," she said, low and deadly. "And we both know how he died. And you wonder why we have concerns about your hostage's well-being?"

"I assure you, Miss Johnson," Vasiliev smirked again, "any prisoners aboard our ship are treated with dignity and respect."

"Officer Vasiliev, I have myself been held captive by your countrymen. You will forgive me for not trusting your assurances." All warmth dropped from her face, her voice, as she stared hard at him, who at least had the good grace to look surprised by her admission. "You will go to your ship with Dr. Avery's journals as a sign of friendship on our part. You will return here with Dr. Alexeyev within the hour, and we will take him to our clinic for evaluation."

"And then?"

Brenda felt it then. The old rush of adrenaline when she was about to say something that would inevitably end with Sharon growling at her to get a lawyer. This time, though, there was nobody to take her to court.

"And then we bring you Dr. Avery."

Vasiliev's brow twitched. He was silent for a long moment.

"Why?"

"Brenda?" Maura said softly, again.

"Gettin' close," Brenda whispered. "I promise."

She cleared her throat. "Captain Volkov made it very clear that you will not leave us in peace as long as Dr. Avery is here. We're not prepared to defend ourselves against your ship's guns, and we know it. Dr. Avery has agreed to give himself up voluntarily in exchange for the safety of this town."

"So why is he not here now?"

Brenda sighed, tried to contain her eye roll. "As I told you before, Officer, Dr. Avery's offer is for our safety, and my offer is the notebooks in exchange for ensuring Dr. Alexeyev's condition before returning them both to you."

He still looked angry, but also a little bewildered, which was exactly what Brenda had hoped for. "We don't have time for this," she sighed dramatically, holding out the journals. "Just take these and explain the situation to Captain Volkov, I have no doubt he'll have a much easier time with it than you seem to be having."

The sneering sailor let out a little high-pitched giggle. Vasiliev whirled around, muttered something fierce.

"What's going on?" Maura murmured.

"Just fomentin' a little light insubordination," Brenda murmured back. "One hour," she called to Vasiliev, still beet-red and staring furiously at his lieutenant. "Bring us the doctor. We will see you in one hour. Let's go, Dr. Isles."

"Go?" Maura said, brow furrowing but following behind Brenda anyway, neither of them looking back or speaking until they were past the first curve of the beach road, out of sight.

"Sorry," Brenda said. "But I had to whirl him around a little so he was confused enough to follow my instructions."

"You manipulated him," Maura said, but there was no trace of accusation.

"Yes ma'am I did. Now we have to go get Fernando and Dr. Avery." She set off at a brisk pace.

Maura didn't respond. She hung back a little on the road.

"Somethin' wrong?" Brenda frowned, stopped, moved back to her. "I hope you're not mad about me lyin' to a bad guy."

Maura shrugged. "I can see the benefit."

"So what's goin' on?"

Maura shrugged again, wrapped her arms around herself against the sea breeze. "It was impressive," she said quietly.

Brenda frowned again. "Thank you?"

"I hope it works."

"Well shoot, Maura, me too," Brenda said, the frown still tugging at her mouth.

"This part—" Maura started, then fell silent. Brenda looked at her, eyebrow raised. "This next part is where I could lose you," she whispered.

"I—"

"Why did you have to make him angry?" Maura cried. "Why was that the best way? Because now, Brenda, I can't think of anything other than that man shooting you as soon as he gets what he wants."

"That's exactly why we're not givin' then what they want, Maura!"

"And you think that makes it safer?"

"Maura," Brenda said, moving to cup her face her hands, but Maura pulled back, quickly wiped at her eyes.

"We don't have much time," she said, her voice flat. "We have to go get Fernando and Peter." She brushed past Brenda.

"Maura, wait," Brenda called after her, trying to temper her frustration. "Maura, why do you think I'm so eager to put myself in danger?"

"I don't," Maura cried, whirling around. "I don't think you even see the danger, Brenda, not really. I don't think you see what there is to lose."

"Of course I do!"

"Then act like it!" Maura crossed her arms tightly over her chest, mouth set in a hard line. Brenda was about to open her mouth to argue back but stopped when she saw tears threatening to spill down Maura's cheeks.

Suddenly she was standing in the sunny front room of the house outside Park City, facing off against Sharon, arms folded against Brenda's insistence that she try to make it to the nearest town only a few days after they'd arrived. Again a year later, when Brenda had come in crowing about how she'd wrecked the snow machine but was pretty sure she hadn't even broken her arm. Then again, at the end, Sharon thin, rasping, ghost-pale, her green eyes burning as Brenda demanded she be allowed to go down off the mountain to search for a doctor, for a cure. That same look. That look that said it's harder to stay here, to face this, than to run away before you have to watch yourself lose it.

"I'm scared, Maura," she said finally. "I know what the stakes are here and that's what scares me. I'm not tryin' to be cavalier. I'm just tryin' to get through this."

"I just found you again," Maura whispered, so softly Brenda almost didn't hear it.

"I know, honey," she whispered back, crossing to her, gently threading her fingers through her hair. "I just found you too."

An hour later Brenda and Maura were back on the dock, Fernando and Dr. Avery waiting inside the low concrete marina building at the far end of the property. The guards didn't seem to have moved, still arrayed in a full cover formation. She was about to feel terribly guilty about making everyone stand around and wait when she noticed, with an inordinate amount of relief, that Tom and Liz had switched positions.

A few minutes later the little outboard came to a gurgling halt at the end of the dock. Captain Volkov stepped heavily, imperiously out of the small boat, sweeping open his jacket to show his empty holster. Brenda appreciated the gesture but there was no missing his expression, hard and cold.

Behind Volkov were the two sailors who had been with Vasiliev earlier that morning, though the First Officer was not on board, a realization that made Brenda's stomach churn a little, despite her dislike of the man. Between the two crewmen sat a slight, pale man wearing a too-big uniform, still creased, as though it had been put on him in a hurry. The two sailors hoisted him up and onto the dock, supporting his trembling body; it was clear the man was sick or injured or both.

"Oh god," Maura murmured when the man—Dr. Alexeyev—pulled his gaunt frame upright, his skin soft and nearly translucent from a lack of sunlight. He'd been kept below decks for a long time, that much was immediately obvious.

"Miss Johnson," Volkov growled in a tone that made the hair on the back of her neck rise. "Where is my prisoner?"

"As I told First Officer Vasiliev," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "we will bring Dr. Avery once we have proof that Dr. Alexeyev is in good health."

Volkov huffed. Snapped his fingers. The two sailors holding Alexeyev up began pushing him along the dock, moving closer in, and something plucked at Brenda's spine for just a moment, something cold and prickly, and then everything slowed almost to a stop.

As Dr. Alexeyev was pushed closer to her, Maura gasped, let her hand fall from her rifle, let it swing around her shoulders as she reached for the ailing man.

As Maura reached out one of the men, the sneering one, slipped his arm out from under Dr. Alexeyev's shoulder and caught Maura around her wrist, letting Dr. Alexeyev drop and spinning Maura back towards Volkov.

As she was spun away, Dr. Alexeyev stumbled, collapsed to the wooden dock, the man still with him kneeling down to carefully check for damage, to carefully help him back up, to carefully pull him farther and farther from Volkov.

Volkov, who now had Maura pinned tightly against himself, his hand gripping her throat, nearly lifting her off the ground with the force of it. Volkov, who didn't have a gun, but who did, Brenda hazily realized, have a brutal-looking knife in his free hand, and he was tracing it up Maura's torso, along her chest, biting it into her leather rifle strap, sending the weapon clattering across the planks.

"Where is my prisoner?" he asked again, his tone so even he could have been asking about the weather. Maura struggled to stay up on her toes, gasping and choking against Volkov's grip.

The sound of weapons being aimed and engaged rippled around her and she thought briefly, wildly of the sound of falling ice skipping along the small frozen lake a mile from the Utah cabin, the silvery clatter mixing with angry shouts from the marina.

Before she knew what she was doing she'd ripped her arm out of its sling, her hand already pulling her pistol. Pain flared in her collarbone but she ignored it, could barely feel it.

"Let her go!" she screamed hoarsely. "Drop your weapon!"

"Where is my prisoner?" Volkov demanded again, squeezing Maura's throat more tightly, her eyelids fluttering.

"Let her go!"

"I will kill her, Miss Johnson," Volkov growled. "With my own hands, and when that is done, I will find my man, and then when you have lost everything, I will kill you too."

"Let her go!" Brenda screamed again, the weapon in her hand shaking slightly.

She felt herself pulling back on the trigger even though she couldn't find a clear shot at Volkov. Heard the shouts and cries of the little town army rushing in, heard above all her own pulse, hard and heavy in her ears.

Suddenly those sounds were interrupted by a booming explosion far out across the water, followed by a series of short, sharp gunshots, then silence.

Everything stopped.

In that frozen moment, Brenda watched as Volkov's hand released just slightly, Maura standing firmly on her feet, angling her body into Volkov's and knocking him back half a step. Watched the twist of rage on his face as he lifted the knife toward her throat. Watched, helpless, as Maura's wide hazel eyes met hers.

Then, still in that gauzy half-time, the man who had helped Dr. Alexeyev to stand shouted something she couldn't quite make out, something that made Volkov pause just long enough for another deafening crack, a small, neat hole appearing on his forehead, his feral snarl not even dropping from his face as he dropped to his knees, then slumped, lifeless, to the dock.

The sailor shouted again, and the man who had grabbed Maura reached under his jacket for his own weapon but fell too, seeming to drift almost peacefully off the side of the dock, the thick splash of the water as his body rolled in echoing for a moment, and then, nothing.

Her ears were ringing from the gunshots, she felt dizzy and disoriented, but all she could do was get to Maura, ashen, Volkov's blood covering the left side of her face as she trembled but stayed upright. Brenda threw her arms around her, still ignoring the pain screaming through her collar.

"I've got you," she whispered over and over, a mantra. "I've got you, I've got you."

"Your arm," Maura murmured.

"I know," Brenda breathed against Maura's neck. "I'm sorry."

Then many sets of hands were on them, rushing them off the dock so quickly Brenda wasn't sure her feet touched the ground.