Anesia shook her head. “He only works for me two hours on Sundays. After the police got here, I saw one of them talking to him and I haven’t seen him since.”
Jenna placed a hand on Cole’s arm. “What if I helped as well? That way you’d be here with the girls, protecting them. The three of us could knock out the work in the kennel. Right now a little physical activity would be good.”
“Do you have an extra sidearm?” Sean’s gaze connected with Cole’s again. No words were necessary to convey his intent to protect the women at all costs.
“Let me get it.”
No words passed between Anesia and Jenna as they trekked to the mudroom and geared up for the work outside. Sean watched with dismay. So much heartache for these people.
Cole came back with a holster. “I’m gonna set the alarm as soon as you all are out. Anesia’s got floodlights out there and I’ve already turned them on. Got your phone?”
“Right here.” Sean patted his pocket. Prayerfully he wouldn’t need it or the gun, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
“You know how to use that?” He pointed to the holster.
Unfortunately. “Yeah. My father’s always been obsessed with guns. Even have a shooting range in our basement.”
“Good.”
Sean wished he felt the same sentiment. Coveralls, boots, and coat went on without much thought. Weird how quick routine made a habit. He didn’t even mind all the layers anymore. Placing the gun in an accessible pocket, he walked toward the ladies and out the door.
Fear clung to the night air. They’d been walking for a couple minutes and silence surrounded them. Maybe he should start a conversation.
As they entered the gate to the kennel, the dogs welcomed them with yaps and jumping up and down. They moved as quick as they could, going from one dog, one kennel to another.
All in silence.
Time to instigate. Jenna took food to the farthest of the litters. Maybe this would give them a few minutes to talk. Sean’s shoulders burned from the constant shoveling, but it seemed easier to talk about difficult things when his body was focused on the task at hand. “You know, Zoya mentioned to me that she wanted to make her dad proud.” Maybe, if he and Anesia didn’t have to look at one another, she might open up more.
“Really?” She stopped her movement. “I had no idea.”
“Yes. She mentioned her dad had been a champion, and she wanted to be a champion just like him. And just like you.”
Anesia poured food into another bowl. “Did she . . . did she say anything else?”
He took a deep breath. Looked down at the shovel. “That she wanted to prove her dad’s name was a good one. And that you and he not being married shouldn’t mar how people think of you. She wanted to show everyone what an amazing mom you are and that your work as a breeder should be renowned.”
This time Anesia stopped. She walked closer to Sean. “She really said all that?”
“Yeah. I thought you knew what drove her.”
“I just thought she loved it. And loved the dogs . . .”
“She does, but she loves her parents more.”
She squatted next to Thyme and Garlic, rubbing the dogs’ ears.
He dropped the shovel and did the same. “Anesia. Zoya wants the world to know how much she values you. And how much she values her dad. You’re both a part of her. And by showing everyone how precious you are—the pride she has in you—it will also boost her own confidence. Because that’s where she came from. It’s her heritage. She doesn’t want to be known as the girl whose father died. She wants to be known as Anesia Naltsiine’s daughter, champion sprint dog racer.”
They resumed their work. Had he said too much? Or was she just mulling it all over?
She dumped another measure of food into a bowl. “I guess you understand her better than I do. The whole father thing, huh?” She huffed. “Sorry. I’m not upset with you. Just disappointed that I didn’t know the whole story.” They worked in companionable silence for several minutes. “Why don’t you tell me about your father.”
“Not much to tell.” Scooping poop seemed way too appropriate for this conversation. “My father is powerful, wealthy, and a control freak.”
“Wow. So how do you really feel?”
“You’re quite good at sarcasm, aren’t you?”
She laughed, a beautiful sound against the frigid and eerie night.
“But you’re right. I guess I have anger issues. And God’s been prodding me to forgive him. You’d think walking thousands of miles would cure me of that. But I’m afraid I’m still working on it.”
“Forgive, huh?” She shook her head. “Please don’t go there.”
Could this be the stumbling block for the beautiful lady in front of him? Her tough and independent spirit he admired, but there was always something just under the surface that he’d catch a glimpse of—something he knew needed to be dealt with. He caught a glimpse of the totem standing sentinel in the corner of the kennel. “Okay then, I’ve been curious about that totem. Where did it come from?”
The tension eased from her face. “My great-grandfather carved it for me when I was little. Naltsiine means ‘Down from the sky clan,’ so the bottom six carvings represent the generations my great-grandfather knew. The top one is me.”
“With the dogs carved into your sides.”
She let out a brief laugh. “Yes. He knew my love of dogs and racing before I even understood it myself. He predicted I would be a great champion.”
“And look at you now.” He rested on the shovel and looked at her. Hoping once again to bring a smile to her face.
She didn’t continue. Just shrugged her shoulders. “You have a lot in common with my kid. She thinks you’re cool, by the way. And I’m glad she’s got you to talk to if she needs it.” The queen of changing the subject was still on the throne.
“Thank you, Anesia. That means a lot.” Another shovelful of poop landed in the wheelbarrow. At least it froze pretty quick in these temps. Made it much easier to clean up.
“I still can’t believe that someone tried to shoot my baby. And that she witnessed a man murdered in these woods! I can’t even protect my own child. What is the world coming to?”
Sean leaned his weight on the shovel for several seconds. “I don’t know. You probably weren’t even looking for an answer, but I’m glad God brought me here when He did.”
She paused in her work and gave him a brief glimpse into her eyes. “Me too, Sean.” Before he could respond, she broke the connection and went back to work. “So, I take it you and your dad aren’t real close?”
“There’s nothing to be close to. He’s like a machine.”
“Ouch.”
“Sad, but true. I got over wanting a relationship with my father a long time ago. I turned my heart toward my heavenly Father, and that helped. Although I must admit, and forewarn you, I have a severe temper. It just takes a lot to get me riled.”
“Really?” This brought her head up for a moment with a half-smile before she focused back on the dogs. “You always seem so calm and collected.”
“Well, I try. But I am Irish, you know.”
She shook her head and laughed. “I’ve always heard that Irish people and red-headed people and whatever other stereotype you can come up with means they have a bad temper. But frankly, you haven’t seen a temper until you’ve seen an Athabaskan woman in full-force rage.”
“Oh really? I guess that means I should watch myself?”
“Be afraid, Sean. Be very afraid.”
Their banter died off and the silence of the frozen night surrounded them. Her expression fell as she poured herself back into her work. He imagined where her thoughts were taking her. Keep the conversation going. Get her mind off the events.
“So, what abo
ut Peter? He was your last full-time employee, right?”
But instead of bringing a smile back to her face, his words brought a face full of grief. “He was killed during the time Jenna and Andie were in danger. Just an innocent bystander. And they killed him.”
Again Sean wished the ground would swallow him up. He wanted to get her mind off all the junk going on, and he brought up another source of pain. “I’m so sorry, Anesia. Were you very close?”
“Our families had been friends for years. We all trusted him. And he loved to work. He protected the girls and the dogs like they were his very own. I miss him.”
Was there more to Anesia’s relationship with Peter? Is that why she held herself at a distance? Not wanting to engage her heart with the hired help again?
The information sat in his gut like a rock. Jealousy began to rear its ugly green head and squeeze its way around Sean’s heart. Did he really care that much?
His phone buzzed and then rang, interrupting his thoughts. He checked the caller ID—it was Cole. Oh no. They didn’t need any more bad news. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Cole.” Instead of the terse voice he expected, Cole sounded almost chipper. “The police just called. Tell Anesia that they’ve caught the shooter.”
“Wow. That’s great news—”
“Not so much. He’s dead.”
* * *
SLIM
January 31
Fairbanks, Alaska
6:35 p.m.
“So I hear you’re having a bit of trouble?”
The man thought he could work him over. They’d soon see who came out on top. “Not a bit. Have you called to tell me you’ve agreed to my price?”
A dramatic sigh. “You’re trying my patience, young man. Although . . . I do respect your entrepreneurialism.”
“Whatever.”
“Don’t get smart with me. I know the police acquired one of the chips!”
One day he’d have the same power this guy possessed. One day soon. “You can’t believe everything your little stooges tell you.” So one of the copies fell into the snow. Big deal. He had it all under control.
“And I’m just supposed to believe you when you tell me that you have the entire program? Who do you think you’re dealing with?”
Checkmate. “An intelligent man who wants to provide the program he promised his wealthy buyer.”
The hearty laugh that echoed through the phone sent chills up his spine. No time for fear. His Ma had always said that if you wanted something bad enough, you just needed the courage to take it. He wouldn’t be bullied anymore.
“I’ll give you seven days. Then I’m selling to someone else.”
He slammed the phone down into its cradle. That felt good. Real good.
Now who was the one with the power?
* * *
ZOYA
February 2
Naltsiine Kennels
10:02 a.m.
Mom sat at her desk, talking on the phone. I stood outside the doorway, waiting for her to hang up.
You can do this, Zoya. I closed my eyes.
Did I want to do this?
Andie waited upstairs, how would I explain this to her?
No, I wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Wait until the weekend. That would buy me some time. Time . . . if only I could have more of it.
A sigh that started in the very depths of my soul sprang forth. Let’s just get this over with.
Mom hung up.
I stepped inside.
“Mom?”
She looked up. “Hey, Zoya. Come on in.” She stood from her chair and placed a book on the built-in shelf.
“I—”
She glanced over and frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Get it over with.
“I don’t want to race this weekend.”
I could see the surprise flash across her face.
Please, don’t ask questions.
She stared, as if searching my eyes.
What did she see? I looked down to my feet. Don’t let her read your expression.
She nodded. “Okay. Sit.”
I obeyed. But what would I say? I couldn’t explain . . .
“What’s this about?” She folded her hands and placed them on the desk. Then paused. “Are you scared something will happen?”
“Sort of.” I kept my gaze on my sock-covered feet. Best not open the door of conversation.
“What’s that mean?”
I sighed. “I’m just worried. That’s all.” I closed my eyes. “And I don’t want to race this weekend.”
She kept looking at me. Didn’t say a word. I could almost feel her stare burn a hole through me. Just stay focused.
“Please, Mom. Don’t make me race.” My voice cracked. Get it over with . . .
“Make you race? When did I ever have to make you race?”
I could tell her that it was when I started getting mysterious notes. I could have said that it was since I had witnessed a murder . . .
But I didn’t. Couldn’t. Not without risking her life. I kept silent. Hoping.
Praying.
God, if You care, show me now . . .
No! You can’t give Him another chance.
“Okay. If that’s what you really want. I have to admit I was worried, and unsure how to approach the subject. I just don’t want to squash your dreams. Not again.”
I nodded. Didn’t—couldn’t—look up. I stood. Then walked toward the door.
Something inside me crushed. Like my heart began collapsing. What had I done?
“Zoya.” Mom walked up and touched my shoulder. “You’re not doing this because of me, are you?”
I held my breath.
She sighed. And waited. “Is this what you want?”
Nod. You have to nod.
I did.
Then walked into the hall.
Why was this so hard? Why was life so hard?
Andie met me at the top of the steps. “Hey, wanna check on the dogs?”
Again I nodded. Distraction . . . Distraction . . . Distraction . . .
As we put on coats and boots, I could see Mom watching us.
Don’t let her read your expression . . . Keep going . . .
I knew I had to keep going. I knew that was the right thing to do.
But was it?
We walked outside. The air was cold, almost threatening. As was everything now. I pulled my jacket up to cover my nose. Couldn’t wait to get into the barn.
Stop it, Zoya. Just keep going . . .
We were soon there. I felt so . . . strange. What was wrong with me? What had happened?
The past couple weeks came flooding back. Was that why Andie seemed so worried all the time? Was it because I had changed for good? Did she think I would stay like this forever?
Did I think I would stay like this forever?
The realization hit me like a ton of bricks.
I had changed. For the worse.
But how could I fix it? How did I find that peace, that sense of normality, I’d had before?
One answer came.
God.
Could I let Him in? I wanted to . . .
“I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go check on Eklutna.” Andie walked outside without another word. Had she seen my doubt? Did she know what was going on inside of me? No. How could she?
But couldn’t she hear the screaming in my head? Andie, don’t leave me! Don’t leave me alone!
I could do this. I could.
I walked around in the barn, thinking. Something in my boot squished. I took another step. Something was inside it.
My brow furrowed.
I looked down, then b
ent over to take it off. Once it was off, I held it upside down.
A piece of paper flittered out.
Go away. Run. Or you’ll never see your mom again.
I stared at the tiny piece of shriveled up paper.
How . . . ?
They caught the shooter . . . he was gone. Permanently. So how was he still giving me notes?
I clutched it to my chest. Eyes closed. Heart pounding.
God, why? Why are You doing this? I can’t handle this!
The little voice inside me screamed. “Leave. And don’t ever come back.”
* * *
DETECTIVE SHELDON
10:16 a.m.
Another body. The shooter.
Dave paced the office floor. Papers, files, photos cluttered his desk.
What was he missing?
The FBI had already moved passed the murders. Something else—something bigger—took their attention.
He trusted his instincts, and they told him it was all connected.
One big question remained: Who was the mastermind?
CHAPTER THIRTY
SEAN
February 2
Naltsiine Kennels
11:14 a.m.
He’d almost finished cleaning up the kennel when Andie and Zoya arrived, Dasha and Sasha on their heels.
The dogs full of yap and bouncing through the snow. Andie all jabber and animated hand-motions. Zoya . . . quiet and sad.
He placed the shovel inside the tool shed. How could he reach the little girl who’d gripped his heart like no one ever had?
Her face seemed devoid of emotion, but Sean saw past all that. So much sadness. So much fear. All stuffed down.
It broke his heart.
“Hey, Sean!” Andie waved, grabbed Zoya’s hand, and dragged her over.
“Well, if it isn’t the two prettiest girls in Alaska. How are you two?” He kept his tone light. But every time he tried to catch Zoya’s gaze, she stared at the ground.
“We’re good. Just a little bored. Wanted to check on the dogs.” She leaned in and whispered to Sean behind her hand. “It usually helps cheer her up.”
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