Uncharted

by Adriana Anders

  The earth growled.

  “Run!” Elias’s shout hit her a split second before another noise rent the air, so loud she couldn’t locate the source, could only feel the rumbling beneath her feet. A mix of thunder and heavy artillery and the world ripping open.

  The ice. The ice was finally breaking, and she had nowhere left to run.

  A series of pops like rapid gunfire sent her skidding to the side. In flashes, she took in sky, mist-wrapped trees, Elias’s moving silhouette. Water, dark and churning, licked at the ice she’d been standing on seconds before. Faster than she could fathom, her body slithered down what was now a slide. With dizzying swiftness, the ice seesawed back, sent her careening up, then down again, tumbling toward the roiling water, at the mercy of the elements and fate, like a die being thrown over and over.

  Also by Adriana Anders

  Blank Canvas

  Under Her Skin

  By Her Touch

  In His Hands

  Survival Instincts

  “Deep Blue” in the Turn the Tide anthology

  Whiteout

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2021 by Adriana Anders

  Cover and internal design © 2021 by Sourcebooks

  Cover art by Kris Keller/Lott Reps

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Under Her Skin

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  To those who risk everything in the fight for justice.

  Chapter 1

  Leo opened her door two inches and squinted, blinded by daylight. She dropped her eyes, surprised to see a tiny, wizened old woman standing on her porch.

  “We’ve got a problem,” said the woman.

  “You the one who’s been bashing at my door?” Leo asked.

  “Sure am.”

  “Then we do have a problem.”

  “Let me in there. I need to talk to you.” The woman put a gnarled hand to the solid pine and pushed. “It’s urgent.”

  Leo didn’t give an inch, though she did let the hand holding her weapon at her side drop. Of all the days for the village elder to bust in on her privacy, it had to be today, when she was alone, without her teammates as backup, and exhausted from a night of vomiting. She cast a quick, helpless look outside. “Um, I don’t think that’s a—”

  “I’ll give you his location.” The woman’s voice was a low, raw whisper that sliced through Leo’s nausea.

  This time when she took in their surroundings, her gaze was razor-sharp, her weakness forgotten. She tightened her hand on the Glock. “Whose location?”

  “The man’s. The one you’re out there looking for every day, you and your friends.” The woman’s eyes flicked to Leo’s face before she shoved at the door again. “Let me in.”

  This conversation wasn’t one they should have out in the open, even if Leo hadn’t detected anyone lingering in the forest. She stepped back, opening her door wide and visually searching the woman for weapons as she entered. Everyone and her grandma was packing around here—she spotted the telltale bulge at the old woman’s back—literally.

  The stranger waddled into the small space, taking in the pine-clad interior as if she’d never seen the inside of the Schink’s Station Lodge’s cabins before. Uninvited, she walked over to the picture window and drew open the curtains, allowing too much light into the darkened room.

  For a quiet moment, she stared at the view—sparkling lake ringed by evergreens, the crystal-tipped mountains beyond it as serene and surreal as a painted backdrop. The first time Leo had seen this place, she’d hummed “The Hills Are Alive” for so long, her teammates had threatened to jump out of the bush plane to shut her up.

  “Cozy.” The woman settled into the cabin’s single armchair with a sigh. “Daisy did a good job in here.”

  “Oh, come on. Are we really gonna talk about interior desi—”

  “You look like hell.”

  “Well, I was sleeping when you woke me up.”

  The nosy old lady looked at the empty trash can by the bed. “You pregnant or something?”

  Leo shot her a glare. “Something.” Probably food poisoning, maybe a stomach bug. Either way, it was none of her business.

  “You sound stuffy; some yarrow steam’ll unclog you right as—”

  “I’m good, thanks.” The woman had dropped her bomb and now she wanted to talk local remedies? “Let’s get back to what you were saying.” Leo couldn’t help adding a “ma’am,” to that. There were some habits she’d never lose.

  “We know what you’re doing here. You and your guys. We know who you’re looking for.”

  Leo’s pulse kicked into high gear. “I don’t…” Forget it. After her night spent hugging the toilet, she was too weak to keep her reactions under wraps. And this was too important to play dumb. She had taken her teammates out on daily grid searches of the rough terrain surrounding Schink’s Station,
Alaska, for the past week and a half, and they hadn’t located a damned thing. If this woman could tell her where to find Campbell Turner—and the virus he’d stolen from Chronos Corp—then she’d take it.

  Instead of prevaricating, which was obviously irritating the woman anyway, Leo sank onto her unmade bed, set her shaking elbows on her shaking knees, set her heavy head in her hands, and gave the woman every ounce of her attention. “Tell me where to find him.”

  “Promise something first.”

  “Listen, lady, I just got to sleep after puking up my guts all night. I don’t even know your name and you’re already making demands.”

  “Amka. Everybody calls me Old Amka.” The woman’s prune face folded into what could have been a smile. Or a pained grimace. “For obvious reasons.”

  “Okay, Amka. Where can I find him? Where’s Campbell Turner?”

  “Turner.” Amka blinked. “Right.” The woman’s lined lips worked for a few seconds, her skin folding and unfolding like an origami swan.

  “What?”

  “Need you to promise me something. If I give you his…uh, Turner’s location, you’ve got to fly him out. Now. Before—”

  “Fly? Now? I can’t fly like this.” Leo massaged her temple with one hand. “I can hardly see straight.”

  “You’ve got to.” The woman looked out the window again, and Leo realized with a jolt that she wasn’t admiring the view. She was looking for something, searching the cloudless sky, anxiety in every deeply etched line of her body. “Today.” When their gazes met, the woman’s dark eyes were so desperate, Leo couldn’t look away. “Right now.”

  “The last aircraft took off for Anchorage this morning, with my teammates on board,” Leo said, barely breathing. “No planes here.”

  “Might have one you can use.” She leaned forward. So did Leo, caught up in this now—not just the excitement of finally catching a break, but the palpable apprehension that the woman exuded. Something was happening. Finally, a lead in their search for Campbell Turner and the virus. “Promise you’ll pull my godson out. Promise me.”

  Leo pictured the fifty-three-year-old man she and her team were after, and wondered just how old this woman was. “Campbell Turner’s your godson?”

  Amka met her eyes head-on and held them. “He’s the man you want.”

  “Why now? Why this very minute? What happened?”

  And then, as if conjured by the question, a sound reached Leo’s ears, so familiar and out of place in the wilds of Alaska that it sent shivers skittering across her overheated skin. She stopped abruptly, head tilted. “Hear that?”

  Old Amka gave her a funny look before turning to eye the mountains in search of whatever it was she’d heard. A few seconds later, she nodded slowly. “Doesn’t sound like a plane.”

  “It’s not. That’s a helicopter,” said Leo, her voice hard, sure. “Thought they weren’t allowed in the park.”

  “It’s them.”

  Another wave of chills racked her body. “Who? It’s who?”

  “People comin’ for him.” Shaking her head, Old Amka stood and hobbled to the window, where her fingers gripped the sill so hard, her umber skin went white at the knuckles. “My cousin called me from Juneau. Now, Janet’s nosy, so she—”

  “Cut to the chase.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “We’re too late.”

  “Too late for what?” Those were twin turboshaft engines approaching. Leo would know that sound anywhere, no matter how out of place. There weren’t all that many reasons for that type of equipment to visit these particular sticks. The only ones allowed were Search and Rescue aircraft, but she doubted that was what headed their way.

  Only one entity would send this kind of airpower here right now: Chronos Corporation. One of the biggest pharmaceutical companies in the world.

  Earlier in the year, she and her teammates had just barely survived a confrontation with a Chronos-funded team of scientists and mercenaries tasked with stealing and testing a deadly virus found under the ice in Antarctica. What they still didn’t know was what Chronos wanted with the virus, or why the clinical vaccine trials they’d planned to run had been kept secret.

  Today, there were but two known samples of that virus—the one that she and her team had rescued from Antarctica and the one stolen a decade earlier by Campbell Turner.

  The only certainty in this whole affair was that Chronos would stop at nothing to get ahold of the virus. Now, it was up to her team to get to Turner before the other guys.

  “What happened, Amka? I want details.”

  From the west, the twin engines droned closer, louder, overwhelming in their intensity, the rhythmic thump of rotors thrumming through Leo’s bones like the vibrating call of a tuning fork. It sent her blood pumping one way and her brain spinning another.

  She knew helicopters the way she knew her family, complete with all the love and guilt and dread of those intimate relationships. Right now, her belly flipped with a confusing mix of craving and disquiet.

  “A team stopped to refuel at the airfield in Juneau. Janet said they’re clearly paramilitary. Got top-level clearance to fly here. My cousin overheard them talking about coordinates. Exactly where El—” She snapped her mouth shut. “They’ll hunt him down.” Shaking her head, she sank back into the chair, shoulders bowed. “It’s too late. I got here too late.”

  Never too late, Leo thought. Not while there’s breath in my body. She hadn’t come all the way to Alaska to give up her search the second the opposition arrived. Her team had worked too hard to stop now. They had a job to do—a virus to retrieve, a corporation to stop. People had already died for this. It had to end.

  Leo wouldn’t admit defeat until she’d done everything in her power to keep Chronos Corp from getting its clutches on Campbell Turner and the virus.

  But that aircraft sounded awfully close. “Wait. Is he here, in Schink’s Station?” Wouldn’t it be ironic if Turner had been hiding in town this whole time, right under their noses? Instead of wasting days looking for the guy, she and her teammates could be back at base, questioning the man and safeguarding the sample. Leo’s pulse picked up at the possibility.

  “No. Why?”

  “They’re headed this way.” Letting the excitement in, Leo cocked her head and closed her eyes. “They have to fly over town to get to him?”

  “Not at all. No, he’s east of here.” Like a flash, Amka was up and back at the window. “Think they’re landing at the airfield?”

  There was no denying it. The helicopters weren’t carrying on to some far-off location. They were here. In Schink’s Station. “Affirmative.” A thrilling shot of adrenaline blasted through Leo, pushing the exhaustion and lightheadedness right out of her system. Too late, my ass. She’d fly to Turner and get him out, right under the Chronos team’s noses. Just like she’d done in Antarctica. It was what she did best after all.

  And with enemies as ruthless as Chronos, there was no time to lose.

  She yanked her pajamas off and started getting dressed, uncaring that she was naked in front of a stranger.

  Amka eyed her. “Gonna need more clothes than that.”

  Without hesitating, Leo grabbed extra base layers and wiggled her way into the underwear. “Why’s that?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “I’ll see.” She snorted. “Great. Just great. Famous last words, right?” Once she’d strapped on her weapons and put on every layer of clothing she could come up with, including her thick parka, she grabbed her flight bag, shoved water and some painkillers inside, and went to the door. “Think I can reach him before they catch up to me?”

  “No.” The woman’s smile wasn’t exactly heartening. “But you can try.”

  ***

  It was time to get a taste of civilization, Elias Thorne finally acknowledged as he poured boiling water over the coffee grounds he’d s
craped from the bottom of the can.

  Clicking his tongue, he set Bo’s bowl on the rough log floor and watched her attack her dried salmon as if she hadn’t eaten the very same thing every evening for the past nine months. If only he could drum up that amount of gusto. For anything. How long had it been since he’d felt real excitement?

  Contentment, maybe, but actual enthusiasm? Not just months. Years.

  Once the coffee finished dripping, he grabbed the steaming cup and headed out onto the bare-bones front porch, where the simple railing, roof, steps, and chair had all been made with his own two hands.

  Admiring his work no longer stirred up so much as a spark of pride. He felt nothing.

  With a sigh, he leaned against the railing, sucked in a deep coffee-laced breath, and warmed his hands on the thick, chipped enamel, eyes on the stream far below. The ice had started its spring symphony—a precursor to the massive breakup that would hit any day now—its low, musical crackling as intricate and varied as an orchestra tuning up for the big show.

  The sound plucked its way up his vertebrae to sing along every one of his nerves until he thought he’d lose it. He should go down and check the lake, make sure he could cross it before breakup started and he got stuck here for another week at least. He could go around the lake, of course, but that trek took days.

  He exhaled and slugged back more of his too-weak, too-hot coffee, craving the burn. Craving anything to interrupt the rhythm of the hours. Months. Years.

  Eleven years of this eternal cycle.

  The ice popped again, so loud that it echoed off the cliff face. He hadn’t planned on leaving for Schink’s Station today, but with breakup coming earlier every year, he might have to.

  Maybe he could go for just a few days. Enough time to grab the supplies he couldn’t make, hunt, trap, gather, or grow. Give him a chance to make sure the world hadn’t blown up, and, if the stars magically aligned, find himself a woman to scratch the itch he couldn’t take care of on his own.

  As usual, he ignored that other thing—the thing that was too deep to reach. So deep he barely recognized it as a basic human need.

  With a low woof, Bo took off on her usual rounds, sniffing out all kinds of interesting creatures—a couple of ground squirrels that skittered off with angry hisses, an osprey, which rose to higher ground to watch Bo with a dark, fixed eye; and finally, the female northern goshawk he’d been watching for the past few days, her wingspan impressive as she took off with three hard beats, then glided low in search of early spring prey.