Race Against Time: A Novel

by Kimberley Woodhouse

  “Hi.” Zoya’s small, bundled-up form stood at the gate.

  “Hi, yourself.” He forced a smile. “How does your head feel?”

  “I’ve got a headache, but it’s not so bad.” She walked around petting dogs.

  “That’s good. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  “Yeah. Mom says we’ll go to the late service at church and if I’m up to it, we’ll eat at the Café for lunch.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Will you come with us?”

  “I’ll be at church.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” She stood beside him now.

  “I know.” God, now would be a good time to intervene.

  “I heard you and Mom talking last night.”

  He looked up to the sky. That wasn’t quite the intervention I was hoping for, Lord.

  “I’m sorry I eavesdropped, but it wasn’t like you guys didn’t know I was in the room.”

  “But we thought you were asleep.” It wasn’t his place to scold her.

  “I know. And I’m sorry.”

  “Zoya, you’re forgiven. I should be apologizing to you. It was completely inappropriate of me to talk to your mother that way.” Heat climbed up his neck. When did he become a bumbling fool?

  “She likes you.”

  “I embarrassed her.”

  “You need to talk to her.”

  “She won’t even look me in the eye.”

  Zoya sighed. One of the teenage are-you-really-that-stupid kind of sighs. “Will you come with us, please?”

  He turned to face her. Studied her features. The kid was hurting. “All right.”

  “Yes—”

  “On one condition.”

  “What?”

  “You sit down right now and talk to me about what’s really bugging you. I won’t tell your mom and I won’t betray your confidence. But you need to talk, don’t you?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “That doesn’t matter. Do we have a deal?” He stuck out his hand.

  She chewed on her lip. Then squinted. Then stuck out her own hand and they shook on it. “Deal.”

  He couldn’t stop the smile. “Good. Now let’s get into the barn where it’s warmer.”

  “Good idea.”

  They walked the distance to the barn in silence. Boots crunched the snow beneath them. Tree branches swayed in the wind. Dogs yapped. Wood smoke drifted to his nose from fireplaces. Their breath turned to ice crystals in the air, tinkling like microscopic bells. Sean would never tire of this unique land.

  As they entered the barn, he dove in. “Okay, Sunshine. Let’s hear it.”

  She plopped down on a bale of hay, lowered her scarf, and shoved her gloved hands into her pockets. “I’m mad at God.”

  “Okay.”

  “What? You’re not upset with me?”

  “No. Go on.”

  “Well, I thought you’d get onto me and lecture me and all that.”

  “Then I wouldn’t be a very good listener or friend, now would I?”

  She considered that, then nodded. “Oh. Right. Well, I’m upset because of all the things He’s allowed to happen. And I keep praying, and it’s like He’s not listening.”

  The inner prodding was clear. Listen. Keep her talking.

  “I’m so . . . angry. My whole world is messed up. And I’m just a kid. I don’t control anything. And I don’t want anything to happen to my mom.”

  What wasn’t she saying?

  “Anyway, that’s it. My brain’s a jumbled mix. Trying to figure out what to do.”

  His instinct told him the story didn’t end there. God, I could use some guidance.

  Listen.

  “Sean, I love my mom. She’s amazing. I want her to be happy.”

  “She loves you too.”

  The first hint of a smile. “I know. She’s always been there for me. Even more than Andie.” She whispered behind her hand. “But don’t tell Andie I said that.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  She hugged herself, and words came pouring out. “Why do people do bad things? And why does God allow the bad junk to happen? Why did my dad have to die? Why does Andie get two dads, and I’ve got no one but my mom. I don’t understand why God let that murder happen. He could have stopped it. Why didn’t He? And did I have to see it?” She stood up and paced. “And I don’t understand why He’d let me be so mad at Him, ya know? I don’t want to be mad at God. I know better than that. I know He loves me. But it hurts. And I’m wondering if He’s even real any more. There’s too many voices in my head. Angry voices. The only voice that isn’t there is His. Why isn’t He talking to me? Why don’t I feel Him any more?” Tears coursing down her face, she ran over to him, burying her face in his stomach.

  He hugged her back. God, help. I have no idea what to say. He patted her back and waited. The words would come when God wanted him to speak.

  “Are you mad at me?” She sniffed and wiped her nose with her hand. At that moment she sounded more like a small child than the blossoming teen she was.

  “Not at all.”

  “Good. ’Cause I don’t think I could handle you being mad at me.”

  He patted her back again.

  Several seconds passed then she pulled back. His coat bore the evidence of her rampaging tears. “Thanks for listening, Sean.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m angry and I’m scared. And I don’t know what to do.” She swiped at her face and headed toward the door. “I need to go. But thanks for not giving me any advice. Or trying to fix me.”

  Thank heaven he kept his mouth shut.

  “I’m glad you’re here. And I’m really glad you like my mom.” And with that, she ventured out the door.

  Sean sat back down on a bale of hay, exhausted—and haunted by one question:

  Did he do the right thing?

  * * *

  ANDIE

  January 30

  235 North Santa Claus Lane, North Pole

  2:47 p.m.

  As we walked into the Country Café, the wonderful aroma of croissant French toast drifted over to me.

  Yum.

  “Where do you guys want to sit?” Cole looked around the crowded area and frowned.

  I glanced around. There weren’t many large tables available. Zoya stood beside me, fiddling with her gloves.

  “How ’bout there?” I pointed off to a dirty table in the corner. “We could get someone to clean it off.”

  Cole nodded. “Looks like someone already is.”

  A tall lady came and carried away a large stack of dishes, then disappeared into the kitchen.

  Auntie Anesia, Sean, Zoya, Cole, Mom and I walked over to the round table.

  My nice clothes began to bug me. Why didn’t I bring a change of clothing?

  “How did you like the sermon, Sean?” Mom sat down and smiled.

  “It was very pleasurable, to say the least.” He smiled in return.

  Cole sat down between me and Mom. “Who wants to pray?”

  “Cole, we haven’t even ordered yet.” Mom poked his arm.

  “Well!” He crossed his arms. “Aren’t we the slow group. Let’s order so I can eat!”

  All morning he had been complaining that he was hungry. What a man. No patience whatsoever.

  Everyone laughed. Except Zoya. She sat still beside me and fiddled with her gloves again.

  “Oh, what a surprise to see you all here!” I looked up to find Mrs. Howe from church standing there, her little boy, Jonny, at her side.

  “Hello, Laura.” Mom stood and hugged her.

  She smiled. “I saw you at the service this morning but didn’t get a
chance to say hi. I found something that I think belongs to you. Jonny picked it up in the church parking lot last week—”

  “It shiny,” the three-year-old piped up.

  “At first I couldn’t tell who it belonged to, but it has what I think are Marc’s initials on it.”

  I turned in my seat as she pulled the little black box out of her pocket. “Mom!” I jumped up and started doing the happy dance. How on earth had Jonny found it?

  “Thank you, we’ve been looking for it.” Mom smiled and handed it to me.

  “Cole, see?” I almost threw it into his hands as Jonny and Mrs. Howe said good-bye and left.

  “I see. But what about it?”

  “Look at it!” I bounced up and down on my toes. He was such a man! Didn’t notice anything!

  Zoya just stared at the box. Not saying a word. How was she not as excited as I was? What was wrong with her? I stopped bouncing. God?

  Cole leaned over the table and placed the box on its surface. His brow scrunched. “Andie, why do you think this could be a clue?”

  My heart pounded. Was he that unobservant?

  “Look,” I pointed, wanting to hit him on top of the head. And hit him hard. You know, Jesus said many, many times, “he who has ears to hear, let him hear.” I think that goes for eyes as well . . .

  “It seems a little duller under the inscription like something was erased, or like sandpapered over, and Dad’s initials were etched over it.”

  He flipped the box to the side the initials were on.

  “I’m not sure.” He tampered with the lid, then sighed. “I’ll have to break it open. Is that okay?” He turned to me.

  I didn’t want to ruin it. Not since it was Dad’s. But it was for the good of our country. I nodded. Then sat back down as Cole got out his nifty tool thing-a-majigger and started working on it. Sean leaned in close from the other side of the table and helped hold it still.

  Zoya slipped a piece of paper into my hand.

  If I tell you something, you have to promise you won’t tell a single soul.

  I looked into her eyes. There has been something wrong, it wasn’t just me! “I promise,” I whispered.

  She slipped a folded-up letter into my hand. Again I looked into her eyes. She looked . . . sad. And angry.

  I stood up. Best to read it in private. “Mom, can I go to the restroom?”

  Without even looking at me she nodded. Everyone’s attention seemed to be on the little black box. I could feel the tension in the room thicken as Cole worked on it. No one noticed that something was wrong with my friend.

  I walked to the bathroom, slipped into a stall, and opened the note:

  Andie,

  I know you want to be there for me, you always have. But you can’t help me with this. Please don’t get mad at me, I love you very much. But God and I aren’t seeing eye to eye. And I know that your words couldn’t help. You’ve been a great friend and I love you. Thanks for sticking with me, but I need to go on alone.

  Love, Zoya

  What was she saying? Go on alone? Go where? She was still mad at God . . . why? I thought she was over that. I had promised, but we had to talk. And I needed Mom’s help.

  I rushed out the door, slamming it into the wall, and over to the table. Zoya didn’t look me in the eye.

  Everyone else stared at the box. Mom’s hand covered her mouth.

  Cole looked up to me and stood. “Andie, this box isn’t Marc’s.”

  I blinked. What?

  Zoya needed me. Why was he—

  Cole stood.

  Something was wrong.

  He leaned in close, hand clasping my elbow in a tight squeeze. “This box belonged to Viper.”

  * * *

  SEAN

  3:45 p.m.

  Cole’s grip on his shoulder intensified. The tension and urgency flowed through his heavy jacket. Whoever this Viper fellow was, Sean knew the stakes had just been raised.

  “Anesia, can you spare Sean for a little bit?”

  She studied Cole’s face, then nodded. “All right, but we all rode together today, you’ll need to get him back to the cabin.”

  He glanced from Anesia to Jenna. Suspicion filled both their eyes. Zoya sat, gaze down, hands clasped in her lap. And Andie looked pale, like the news about her father’s precious memento had pushed her over the edge.

  As they headed out the door to their vehicles, Sean had the feeling things were about to get worse.

  “We need to talk.”

  It was a barked command. Sean angled a look at Cole. “That’s obvious.”

  Cole’s shoulders dropped a bit. “Sorry. You’re not one of my soldiers. I shouldn’t treat you like one.”

  “I do understand. But orders being bellowed at me are not a pleasant reminder.” In fact, it made him want to punch someone. Like his father.

  They climbed into Cole’s truck. “I’m sorry, Sean. I need your help.”

  “Go on.”

  “Andie and Zoya were correct. I don’t know why he did it, but Viper switched boxes with Marcus. There were three that I know of. The leaders from our ops group each had one. Maybe he thought Marc’s held the secret to obtaining AMI, I don’t know. But this goes back farther than I thought. I’ll have to contact the FBI to see about getting Viper’s box out of evidence. Because that one, I hope, is Marc’s.”

  “So how did you know the other one wasn’t Marc’s?

  “The girls were correct. The etching on the bottom had been changed. It was planted.” Cole sighed. “Why, I don’t know. But I plan to find out.” A tic in his jaw showed Sean the tightly-wound anger.

  “What do you need me to do?” Cole might be used to all this stuff, but Sean’s brain was spinning. National security. Secret defense weapons. Treason . . .

  “I received another call this morning. Someone is either trying to hurt Zoya and Anesia, or trying to frame Anesia for something.”

  “What was the call?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, but Anesia is family and I’ve got my guard up. I’m not clear what’s going on—the pieces are too scattered. But something is happening. On Anesia’s property.” Cole stared him down. “Don’t let anyone near them, you understand?”

  Sean gave a terse nod and a fierce protective instinct kicked into high gear. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled.” His cell phone rang, cutting off the rest of his thought process. He looked at the screen.

  Great. Just what he needed. He flipped open his phone, letting his anger singe his words. “What do you need, Father?”

  Cole snapped his head to look at him and then looked back to the road.

  “Well, is that any way to greet your dear ol’ dad?”

  His father’s syrupy sweet tone didn’t bode well. “Why are you calling?”

  “I’m sending the jet up there for you. It’s time you came back.” His dad sounded almost jovial.

  Sean’s anger heated up a notch, but he worked to keep his tone respectful. “That’s not going to happen, Father. I’ve stated my intentions.”

  “Don’t toy with me”—his father hissed—“You will listen to what you are told and get back here immediately!”

  “No.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, no. Disown me, disinherit me, whatever you want to do. I’m not taking orders from you any more, not when the road you’re choosing goes against what I know is right.”

  Silence. Had he hung up? Sean hoped so.

  “We’ll discuss this later.”

  “No, we won’t, Father.”

  “Yes. We will.”

  Sean pressed END.

  Cole shifted in the seat beside him.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

  “You’ve g
ot guts, man. I’ve heard the senior Connolly is quite a hothead.”

  “He’s always gotten what he wanted. Always. And no one has ever told him no.”

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything, now isn’t there?” Cole flashed him a grin.

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” Sean sat a little straighter in his seat. “Let’s get back to more important matters. What do I need to do to protect Anesia and Zoya?”

  * * *

  DETECTIVE SHELDON

  North Pole Police Department

  3:49 p.m.

  They’d ID’d the two dead men. One of the guns proved to be the murder weapon. That left one of three—probably the shooter—still alive.

  What was he missing?

  Was it this Rick Kon’? He picked up a profile. Too many holes.

  Dave’s gut told him that Anesia didn’t know anything, but the FBI were sure barking up her tree. Why weren’t they more concerned with protecting her and her daughter? So much at stake, and a kid stuck in the middle . . . and Dave was afraid the Naltsiines were in greater danger than any of them realized.

  Of course, the FBI wanted him to share information from his investigation, but the more he gave, the more they kept to themselves.

  Something just didn’t add up.

  Dave had no choice. If he wanted answers, he’d have to find them on his own.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ZOYA

  January 30

  3:50 p.m.

  Mom and I hopped in the car. I buckled up, thoughts tumbling over one another. Mom didn’t say a word.

  What was she thinking? Was I in trouble? I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t figure out why. Was it because I was worried or angry? I didn’t know. Didn’t know anything really.

  Mom pulled out of the parking lot. She didn’t say a word. She knew me too well. But I couldn’t let her see what was going on. I had to protect her. But how? Did she notice something was wrong? I wanted to talk to her. But then again, I didn’t.

  As we drove onto the roundabout something caught my eye.

  I squinted. A man turned around.