That last one wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. The number of overdoses in the remote villages had spiked over the past few months, and state law enforcement had dug in to investigate. Kramer Anderson out of Sea-Bush Air had been raided on landing in Sitka recently, after a tip indicated he was carrying fentanyl and oxycodone in his cargo.
He wasn’t. But the incident and several others like it in previous weeks had Alaska’s bush pilots on edge and even eyeing one another with suspicion. With cargo largely ferried in and out of the frontier by plane, the odds were high that one of them was up to something illegal.
But today, nothing seemed out of place on the airstrip. A couple of people stood outside the small maintenance shed, but they were likely trying to seek shelter from the coming storm. Only Maya, her husband, Dean, and their oldest son maintained the small airstrip, and it wasn’t out of the ordinary for them to be waiting when Jasmine landed.
She reduced power and brought the flaps down, checking her gauges as she scanned the end of the runway, judging where to round out. The right wheel settled down, and she increased back pressure on the yoke to keep the nose wheel from slamming into the ground. She didn’t level the wings until all three wheels were safely on the ground. Sagging in her seat, Jasmine exhaled and coasted down the small dirt airstrip toward the metal buildings.
A torrent of rain unleashed as she stopped the plane as close to the cargo shed as she could and then cast up a quick prayer. Thank you, Lord, for another safe trip. She’d beat the weather.
They could unload when the rain stopped. Hopefully, Maya was in a better mood than she seemed, because Jasmine would probably be at Nemeti for an hour or so until the squall line passed. A cup of coffee and girl talk sure sounded like it would hit the spot.
She braked the plane and ran through the procedure to power down as Maya’s husband, Dean, set the chocks beneath the wheels and retreated toward the cargo shed.
Jasmine pulled a ball cap on her head to combat the rain, then hesitated with her hand on the door handle. Odd. Dean usually hung out nearby and waited for her to deplane.
She took a deep breath. Likely the weather had driven him back under cover. She’d spent two years looking over her shoulder, ever since she’d wrapped up her testimony in court and moved on to her new life. Today wasn’t the day to start getting suspicious all over again. Shoving open the door, she turned and climbed down to the ground, her back hunched against the driving rain.
Her feet sank into mud. She prayed the airstrip wouldn’t be too waterlogged for her to take off again. Missing her other two deliveries would throw her off schedule, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to bunk on Maya’s couch at the—
“State troopers! Jasmine Jefferson, place your hands behind your head, turn around slowly and get on your knees!”
Her heart pounded painfully from a rush of adrenaline, then seemed to stop beating entirely. She froze. What?
“Do it now!” Behind her, the sounds of splashing feet drew near.
She obeyed, lacing her hands against soaking wet hair at the back of her neck as rain stung her face. Slowly, she turned.
Two unfamiliar men approached her, shadows in the driving rain. Their features were hard to make out, but one thing was certain.
Each one of them held a gun.
And each gun was aimed squarely at her.
* * *
Alaska state trooper Will Stryker kept his aim steady, even as wind-lashed rain slapped him in the face and poured from the brim of his cover. Beside him, his K-9 partner stood near his left calf, stalwart in the sudden relentless weather. The border collie’s fur hung heavy with rain, but Scout stood firm, well trained and ready to work.
And work he would. As soon as they detained Jasmine Jefferson, Will would set Scout loose inside the airplane to search out any drugs the pilot was ferrying into the remote airstrip at Nemeti.
Several anonymous tips in the previous weeks had been bogus, and each time they came up empty it had demoralized them both. Today had to be different. Hopefully, this would be the day they took down a link in a burgeoning supply chain before more people overdosed on the fentanyl and oxycodone that had begun to creep its way into the area.
He kept his weapon leveled on the pilot as she turned, the ball cap she wore doing little to shield her face from the rain. Her eyes met his. Far from appearing defiant or guilty, Jasmine Jefferson appeared pale and terrified, as though she might drop to the mud at any moment.
For a brief second, his heart went out to her, but he shook off the pity, burned by the memory of too many liars who had worn that same expression. He wasn’t buying her fear. Their tipster had claimed she was armed and would do anything to protect her illegal cargo.
Will couldn’t take any chances. He barked an order to the trooper beside him as he holstered his sidearm. “Tell her why we’re here. Check her for weapons, then take her inside and detain her there until we’ve searched the plane.” After the other trooper moved forward and secured the suspect, Will stepped closer, with Scout keeping pace alongside him.
As he passed Ms. Jefferson, his eyes locked on hers again, even though he’d had every intention of passing her right by without a second glance.
She swallowed so hard he could see the motion in her neck. Rain streamed down her face, and it seemed to be mixed with panic-stricken tears from her wide eyes. “Why?”
Will’s chest seized with her one pleading word. There was pain there. Real fear. Fear that seemed to have nothing to do with her current situation. She looked as though she thought her life was at stake. Reflexively, he started to give her an answer that would calm her, but then he stopped. He had a job to do. Comforting a criminal wasn’t his responsibility. The other trooper who’d met him here would handle the explanation. Will had different duties to attend to.
Even though the expression on her face hit him square in the gut.
He glanced down at Scout, who stood by his side, looking up at him expectantly.
Will’s eyes narrowed. Odd. His partner wasn’t paying one iota of attention to Jasmine Jefferson. If she’d been anywhere near drugs, Scout’s super sniffer would be all over it, and he’d be doing his happy little “I succeeded now give me a treat” dance. But the dog wasn’t alerting. He merely waited patiently for his next command.
No. Will couldn’t base her innocence on that. If her person was clean, that only meant she hadn’t loaded the drugs onto the plane. Nothing else.
With the help of the man on the grounds crew, Will opened the cargo door of the Twin Otter and hoisted Scout inside. The cargo area was the typical smaller size of a bush plane hauling supplies. This wouldn’t take long. Within a couple of minutes, he’d have his proof and his drug runner. One more way to sweep death and addiction off the streets...or out of the skies, in this case.
He nearly cracked a smile at his humor. Instead, he gave Scout a quick rub on the back of his neck. “You ready?” He swept his hand toward the back of the plane. “Search.”
With an excited tail wag, Scout went to work. His nose twitched at crates, bags and boxes without pause. He continued down the narrow aisle and trotted back, downcast at finding nothing. For Scout, this was a game. The scent of various drugs had been placed inside his favorite toy during training until he associated those specific odors with play and reward.
But now? The border collie was disappointed.
Will shook his head, glanced at the small shed that served as an office, where the other trooper had led Jasmine Jefferson, then gave Scout the command again.
Without hesitation, his partner obeyed.
Once again, he came back dejected.
As he gave his faithful partner a quick head rub, Will sympathized with the border collie’s disappointment. He’d hoped to end this day with a bust, saving the lives of whoever was waiting for those drugs at the end of the supply line. Instead,
he’d come up empty. Again.
Been made to play the fool. Again.
“Didn’t find anything, did you.” It wasn’t a question. Footsteps sloshed up slowly behind him as the rain began to slacken, falling straight down instead of zinging like horizontal water darts. Dean Carter, the airport’s owner and chief mechanic, stepped up beside Will and rested his hand on the fuselage of the plane. “I told you Jasmine wasn’t hauling drugs. She’s as straight arrow as they come. And one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet.”
Will helped Scout down from the plane, clipped a leash to his harness, then turned to the other man. “Nice doesn’t mean a thing. Unload the cargo into the shed as normal, and I’ll have Scout check one more time.” He stepped back, prepared to supervise, to make triple certain that no one took anything off that plane and squirreled it away somewhere before Scout could have another pass at it.
Dean quirked an eyebrow and waved his son over to help. “Can’t say you’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.” He turned his back on Will and pulled himself into the plane.
The comment stung, but he shook it off. He wasn’t here to make friends. Someone was contributing to the high addiction rates in the remote villages of Alaska, and they had to be stopped.
Will was going to do whatever it took to find them, even if everyone from Nome to Juneau considered him to be their number one enemy.
Copyright © 2021 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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ISBN-13: 9780369716095
Rescue on the Run
Copyright © 2021 by Jean Bullard
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at [email protected].
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Rescue on the Run Page 18
