If Kinton was right, Whittenhall had every reason to be anxious.

Whittenhall was scum. The worst kind. Someone who’d abused his position and power for his personal gain. And possibly tried to help a murderer walk.

Patrick wanted to be there when the arrogant man toppled.

Paul Whittenhall slammed the RV door as he stepped down the metal stairs.

Goddamn it.

He couldn’t stand the pretentious look that’d been in the sheriff’s eyes. Collins knew something but wasn’t sharing. Paul’s stomach clenched, and he reached in his pocket for his antacid roll. His third roll of the day.

What does Collins know? What the fuck is going on in that forest?

He hadn’t heard from his team. Gary had sworn not to tell Boyles the secondary mission objective, but now it didn’t matter.

That morning one of his marshals had casually mentioned that Matt Boyles had been in Kinton’s wedding years before.

Shit. He’d stupidly sent Kinton’s best friend in to kill him.

That would never work. Boyles was going to balk when it came to taking out Kinton, no matter how Gary spun the situation. He’d told Gary to play up Kinton’s nervous breakdown to Boyles. That was the rumor Paul had fed into the marshals’ gossip train. In the right ears in the office, he’d planted the story that Kinton was suicidal, seeing a psychiatrist, and heavily medicated.

Every agent remembered Kinton’s meltdown in his office. Jumping to the assumption that he was mentally unbalanced shouldn’t take too much effort.

Kinton was unbalanced.

Paul knew the man had become an isolated loner. Kinton had always been a private man, but after he was fired he’d turned into a hermit. The part about the psychiatrist was true. Paul had stayed updated on the former agent’s movements. Undoubtedly he’d been placed on some sort of medication. All those psychiatrists throw drugs at their mental patients.

Paul had been rattled to the core when he realized Kinton was on the rescue team.

How did Kinton find out the plane had gone down?

Paul had been waiting at home, expecting a call from Linus. Waiting to hear that Besand was on his way to Mexico. They’d worked out a perfect plan. Linus was going to take the fall as the agent who let him get away, but he’d felt it was worth it to have Paul bail him out financially. The agent had been so over his head in debt, he’d been willing to do whatever Paul had needed. What Paul hadn’t foreseen was a plane crash.

His gut churned painfully again. He went through antacids like they were M&M’s. And that was in conjunction with prescription meds for his ulcer.

He was going to need a vacation when this was over. He ran a hand across his sweating forehead. Twenty degrees out and he was sweating like he was in the south during a heat wave.

Gary had to succeed. Besand and Kinton couldn’t both walk out of the woods.

Paul couldn’t face the alternative.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow those helicopters would go in, and then he’d know his future.

Brynn blew out a breath and let her eyes drift closed again, listening to the medley of male snores. Did any of them not snore? This should be the last night. Today they should be evacuated by helicopter. Thank God. She didn’t want to face the long, icy hike out to civilization. When she got out, she was going to spend a day at a spa. Doing girlie things. A facial, a massage, salt scrub. Anything to counterbalance the testosterone she’d been living with for days.

Last night she’d nearly choked on the air in the plane, it was so thick with alpha male hormones. When it had come time to sleep, Liam had stretched out next to his brother and glared at her, waiting for her to join him. She’d ignored him, talking in hushed tones with Jim in the seats, putting off the decision of where she wanted to sleep. The chairs weren’t a possibility. As comfortable as they were, she couldn’t sleep sitting up.

Alex had laid down in the cargo area, putting a little distance between himself and Liam. On the plane there was no place that was truly distant from anyone else. When Brynn was tired of men all she could do was close her eyes.

She’d continued talking to Jim, but suddenly grew aware of an angry whispered conversation in the cargo bay. Her head had swung in that direction, picking up hissed tones, but the only words she caught were “too old” in Liam’s voice. He and Alex had each risen up on one elbow, glowering at each other. Even Jim had stopped speaking at the heavy tension that suddenly filled the plane. She’d stared between the two men. What were they arguing about? Her? Was that it? Liam had been throwing dark looks at Alex since the ex-marshal had stepped foot on the plane. When she’d nearly cried in relief at the sight of Alex after hearing those gunshots, Liam had known. And he couldn’t let it go.

They’d looked ready to start swinging fists. She’d grabbed a thin blanket and stepped into the space between the two angry men. Alex’s face had immediately gone blank, hiding behind that mask she’d seen too many times. Liam’s eyes had burned as he watched her, but his mouth had stayed shut. She’d split a glance between the two men. “Are you going to keep me awake? Because I’m exhausted, and right now all I want to do is sleep so it gets closer to the time of those helicopters.” Both men had shaken their heads. She’d laid down between them, touching neither, and immediately fallen asleep.

Now she realized she’d moved into Alex’s heat during the night. She pressed her cheek against his sleeve. The man was a furnace and it felt heavenly, but if she wanted to keep the peace on the plane, she couldn’t let Liam wake to find her snuggled against Alex. She reluctantly rolled over, instantly missing his heat.