“Your choice of canned chili, canned mac and cheese, canned enchiladas, or tuna with noodles and creamy broccoli sauce,” she said.
“How about all of it?”
She glanced back with a grin and then took out both boxes of creamy broccoli noodles and two cans of tuna. Korbin took two kettles outside and came back in with heaping piles of snow.
Savanna started the gas stove. Each of Hurley’s yurts came equipped with a propane tank. She’d boil one kettle for drinking water and the other for the noodles. Retrieving a frying pan, she emptied the tuna into that and prepared the sauce mix. While she did that, Korbin went to get more snow so they could take showers. There was no running water because it would freeze, so all water had to be brought in.
A half hour later, she filled their plates with the steaming noodle mixture and made two cups of tea. She joined Korbin at the small square table. Hunger kept them quiet for a while, but Savanna noticed that Korbin frequently drifted into thought. He’d been like that ever since the avalanche. And before that he’d seemed to be hiding something. This was a different silence, though. Not hesitation, not reluctance to say too much.
He must be worried about the shooter catching up to them. They’d been careful to make sure they weren’t followed, and Korbin had told her he saw the shooter driving away on his snowmobile. They were safe for now, but the danger still loomed. His drifting attention hinted to something more akin to sorrow.
“You’ve been awfully quiet since the avalanche,” she said.
Drawn from another faraway memory, it took him a moment to respond. “We had to get to this yurt as soon as possible.”
The weather wasn’t the entire reason. “You’re still quiet.”
“A lot on my mind.”
His curt reply was more of an evasive tactic. He didn’t want to talk at all tonight.
Well, she did. He had some explaining to do. “There’s been a lot on my mind, too,” she said. “Like why did a man break into my house and start shooting? He must have been after you.”
When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Do you know who he is?”
“Yes.”
That was all she got out of him. He owed her an explanation. He’d almost gotten her killed.
“Who is he?” she asked.
Gone was that ruminating look and in its place came shrewdness she’d seen in him before. “Someone who’s in a lot of trouble.”
Whatever that meant. “What’s his name?”
“Savanna, it’s best if you—”
“Tell me.” She was getting impatient.
“It isn’t safe.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “And that was?” She motioned with her thumb toward the door of the yurt.
After a bit, he sighed. “His name is Damen Ricchetti. He was a friend of mine until he got into something he shouldn’t have.”
“What something? Can you be more specific?”
With a resigned blink, he finally said, “I found out he was into some black-market business.” When she started to ask what business, he held up his hand. “I’ll tell you all I can.”