Race Against Time: A Novel

by Kimberley Woodhouse

“Well, the young girl who witnessed the murder this afternoon is Zoya Naltsiine.”

  Dave looked at his watch and back at the papers in his hand. “How did you find that out so quick?”

  “The Naltsiines are close to Jenna and Andie Tikaani-Gray Maddox.”

  Great. His stress level increased by a hundred percent. “So you think it’s related somehow to the technology Gray invented?”

  “We’re not sure. That’s why I asked to come talk to you. The Maddoxes are sure to be at the hospital by now.”

  “What is it you’re not saying, Agent Philips?”

  The agent turned and looked back to him. “Be forewarned. The Naltsiines and Maddoxes stick together like glue. They already know too much about Gray’s invention. Major Maddox is read-on for SCI.”

  “Run that by me one more time?”

  “Sensitive Compartmented Information. Top Secret Clearance. TS.”

  “And you’re telling me this because you think they may suspect something? Worry it’s connected in some way?”

  Agent Philips shook his head. “No. Not at all. But Zoya Naltsiine witnessed a murder. Her best friend was almost killed last year by the men who killed Marcus Gray. Gray was special ops. Maddox was special ops. Jenna and Andie and I’m sure Anesia and Zoya are already well versed in the secrets that brought them to this point.”

  “Gray’s technology.”

  “Yes. I’m here to offer assistance if you need it. Of course, we’d also like to be kept apprised of the situation, in case there is any connection.”

  Of course.

  The phone rang. Dave nodded to the agent and picked up the receiver. “Detective Sheldon.”

  “Detective, this is Doctor Graham, the doctor in charge of Zoya Naltsiine. You asked to be notified when she was moved to a room and awake. Both happened a few moments ago.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. I’m on my way.” Dave grabbed his jacket off the chair and hung up the phone.

  Agent Philips held out his hand. “Thanks for taking the time to see me. We appreciate your cooperation.” He smirked on his way out the door. “And by the way, Gray’s daughter, Andie, is quite the spitfire. Good luck with that.”

  * * *

  ZOYA

  January 2

  Fairbanks Memorial Hospital

  6:22 p.m.

  Mom talked in the corner with Auntie Jenna.

  Andie sat by my side. Not saying a word.

  I didn’t want her to.

  Did I?

  No. Then I would have to reply. And that took way too much energy.

  The strong scent of disinfectant filled the room. My nose wrinkled with the foul-smelling sensation. Sounds, voices, the squeaks of rolling wheelchairs from the hospital hallway drifted in. Spots danced in front of my eyes. Noises rang throughout my head . . .

  BANG!

  The sound echoed through the trees.

  An old man fell to the ground. His head surrounded by a pool of blood.

  Three men turned to me.

  I blinked. Shook my head, sending sharp pain down my spine.

  Stop it!

  Why couldn’t I get those scenes out of my head? I swallowed, then leaned back to rest on my pillow. Shivers crawled up and down my back. Like icy fingers . . .

  Don’t think about it, Zoya. Think about something else.

  But what good would it do?

  Why couldn’t I have lost my memory? Or gone into a coma? Maybe then I wouldn’t have to think about—

  BANG! . . .

  An old man fell to the ground . . .

  Tears formed and threatened to slip down my cheeks.

  I closed my eyes.

  Beeping from the machines, voices floating from far away, clinking and clanking.

  It was pitch black outside. Like the man’s eyes as he turned to me and pulled the trigger . . .

  Stop it!

  I clamped my jaw shut.

  With the dim hospital lights everything still seemed dark and foreboding. No matter what I tried to think of, the memories still invaded. Took over my entire being.

  My body went rigid.

  An old man fell to the ground. His head surrounded by a pool of blood . . .

  Stop thinking about it!

  I reached over and grabbed Andie’s cold hand. At least I wasn’t alone anymore . . What did I do? How did I move on?

  Even the white sheets and ts’ede’ seemed to hold a threat. Every noise scared me. Each footstep outside the door. Each time someone sneezed. Each time someone talked to me. Why? What was wrong with me?

  What if they came and found me? What would they do? Strangle me? Shoot me? Kidnap me?

  I glanced up as the doctor walked over to Mom and Auntie. No doubt telling them the extent of my condition. They said I had been very lucky.

  Lucky? Sure.

  Mom’s hands shook as she nodded her head and bit her bottom lip.

  Why couldn’t I just go to sleep and stay asleep? Maybe then I wouldn’t have to think about . . .

  Do. Not. Think. About. It.

  “I’m sorry, Zoya.” Andie glanced at me, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Why was she crying? She had nothing to cry about. I was the one who had witnessed—

  Chills raced up and down my spine. Why was I so cold? Inside and out. Maybe I just need to pray harder. Yeah. Pray. And maybe talk to Andie about it. But would that help?

  No. I wanted to talk. But couldn’t. What was there to say?

  I looked up to the popcorn ceiling. The shapes. The different clusters of texture. A monkey shape. An owl shape. A c’gaaya shape. A lady with a large pitcher of water on her head. A gun . . .

  I swallowed. Stop it!

  My throat itched. I needed water. But what was the point of drinking anything? It wouldn’t do any good. The memories would remain. The fear would remain. Those murderers were still out there.

  I again swallowed. Nothing helped.

  “I wish I could make things better, Zoya. I wish I could help.”

  But she couldn’t. No one could erase what I had seen. Never. They’d stay with me. Haunt me. Forever more.

  What was God doing? Why was He tormenting me? Those visuals, terrifying moments . . .

  I closed my eyes.

  BANG . . . Three men turned to me . . .

  My spine stiffened. Was this my fault?

  No, how could it be? It wasn’t like I had done the murdering. But I should have done someth—

  No. It wasn’t my fault.

  Yes. It was.

  Mom glanced over. “Girls, we’re going to get some coffee, we’ll be right back, okay? If you need anything, the officer is outside the door.”

  “Okay, Mom.” Andie nodded and turned back to me.

  Our gazes locked. She looked down and fiddled with the edge of the sheets.

  What’s going on, God? My eyes closed. I turned my head away from her. No sense in letting her see my tears. Why didn’t You stop those men? Where are You, God?

  I stared up at the ceiling, avoiding the gun-shaped pattern—

  Whatever.

  My head hurt. Neck hurt. Heart hurt. Like the ember of my will to live was dying. Did I want it to? How was I supposed to light the ashes and turn them back to flames?

  No energy . . .

  My body relaxed.

  Just think about happy things.

  Nothing but the drab colors.

  Nothing but the darkness.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ANESIA

  January 2

  Fairbanks Memorial Hospital

  Fairbanks, Alaska

  6:35 p.m.

  Anesia couldn’t breathe. Her tight chest ached
, and the fog wouldn’t clear from her brain. Standing in the hospital room, seeing her daughter in that bed, hearing her heartbeat on the monitor . . .

  Air. She needed air. Why was it so thick and dense in here? Pushing toward the door, she sought release from the nightmare.

  She closed her eyes. She’d almost lost it in there. Barely made it out to the hallway before the shaking set in. God . . . please . . .

  “Anesia.” Jenna’s voice penetrated the cloud swirling through her mind. Her friend’s small hand closed on her arm. “Anesia.”

  A hard blink. Another. She swiped a hand across her bleary eyes. She had to focus. Had to. For Zoya. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “You’re probably in shock.” Jenna hooked arms with her as she pulled her the last few steps toward the coffee machine and a few chairs. “Now. Sit. Talk.”

  Anesia glanced down at her hands. Rough and calloused from years of work with her kennel of dogs. Strong. She’d always prided herself on her strength. Her ability to take care of herself and her daughter. How had she let this happen? Why couldn’t she protect her own daughter from the horror she witnessed today?

  “Spit it out, girl.” Jenna reached over and rubbed her arm. “I can see those wheels turning.”

  “I don’t know what to do next.” Helpless. That’s how she sounded.

  And how she felt.

  “I know. It’s an uncomfortable feeling to be out of control.”

  Anesia drew a breath. Yes. Jenna understood. Probably better than anyone else. With Andie’s disorder, Jenna had to do everything she could to control every environment her daughter was ever in. Or Andie could die.

  But this? How was she supposed to protect her daughter from something like this? “I should have been there. How could I let this happen? And there’s not anything I can do to take those horrible images away.”

  Jenna gripped her hand and nodded. Understanding. Sorrow. Compassion. It was all conveyed in that simple gesture.

  Anesia looked away. What right did she have to wallow in self-pity? Jenna was the one who’d gone through so much. Her daughter fought a rare nerve disorder every day of her life . . . her husband had been murdered and their home destroyed by men out to steal the military technology her husband developed . . .

  No, she didn’t have any right to wallow. She’d only faced this kind of thing for a few hours. Jenna had spent a lifetime trying to protect her daughter.

  Anesia straightened. She needed to be strong. Like Jenna. But how? When all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry herself to sleep?

  “Anesia Naltsiine.” Jenna tugged on her hand. “Don’t you dare start comparing.”

  Anesia met her friend’s eyes—and felt the tension melt away. Jenna knew her too well.

  Her friend’s tone was low, soothing. “Zoya will be all right. Physically she will heal fast, and we’ll have to rally around her for emotional healing. She’s a tough kid. You’ve raised her well.”

  Had she? What if she’d messed things up along the way? What if—?

  No. She wouldn’t allow herself to finish that train of thought. “I had no idea I could fall apart like this.”

  “Hey, you’ve been there with me every time I’ve fallen apart.”

  “Yeah, that’s the problem.” Anesia attempted a smile at her friend. “It’s easy for me to be the stoic, strong friend. I’m good at that. The proverbial sidekick. Your backup. I like being there for you and being your support. But I haven’t had to deal with anything like this myself since . . .” Tears pricked her eyes. No, she would not give way to them. She couldn’t cry. Wouldn’t. Not now.

  “Since Dan died?”

  All she could do was nod.

  Jenna walked around the table and wrapped her arms around Anesia. “Girl, you are the strongest person I know. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you all these years. God blessed us with each other.” Jenna pulled back and wiped tears from her eyes. “Now it’s time you let me be there for you. Let us help carry this load. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

  Anesia allowed herself the comfort of her friend’s arms. Let herself lean on Jenna. Just for a moment. But then she needed to stand. Be strong. For Zoya—

  Her gut clenched. Zoya was all she had left. If anything had happened to her—“I can’t let Zoya race.”

  “Well, of course you can’t.” Jenna smiled and dragged her back toward the coffee machine. “The doctors aren’t going to let her race for a while. Not until she heals.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” She fidgeted with her hands. “I can’t protect her while she’s out there. What if somebody comes after her while she’s on the trail, while she’s racing? What if—”

  “Stop it. You really think you’re gonna hide from all this? That you’ll be able to stop racing? That you’ll be doing the best thing for Zoya by keeping her from racing?”

  Anesia opened her mouth to argue, but words were useless against Jenna’s truth.

  Cole appeared in the entryway to the lounge. “Hey. Sorry to barge in, but the police are waiting to ask some more questions. They’d like to talk to Zoya.”

  Anesia felt Jenna’s grip tighten. She straightened her shoulders, set her teeth. She could do this. She had good friends. Zoya was a strong kid and they would make it through. The police would catch the shooter, and they could relax.

  All they needed to do was catch the shooter and everything would be fine.

  With a glance to Cole, she nodded and stood. “Let’s go.”

  When they reached Zoya’s room, two officers stood outside the door. They nodded toward her. One stepped forward. “Mrs. Naltseen.”

  Steady. One breath at a time. “It’s Naltsiine—nall-chee-neh. And it’s Miss.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Naltsiine. We need to ask your daughter a few more questions.”

  Cole’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. Her friend’s husband oozed with strength. If only some of that would rub off on her right now.

  “Of course.” The sooner they caught the shooter, the better. She pushed the door open and steeled herself. “Andie, the officers need to ask Zoya some questions.”

  “Okay, Auntie.” Nervous blue eyes looked up at her. “Can I stay?”

  Anesia shot a look at the officers.

  The one clearly in charge shook his head. “I’m Detective Sheldon, this is Sergeant Roberts. I’m afraid that’s not allowed. Not in a murder investigation.”

  Anesia watched Zoya retreat into herself and shrink into the mattress. Andie shot up from Zoya’s side, hands on her hips. “Sir, I don’t mean any disrespect, but Zoya is my best friend. She already told me everything she saw, she needs me—”

  “Andie.” Jenna’s soft voice silenced her daughter.

  The detective glanced at Zoya. “I know this is really difficult for you. But could we ask you a few questions with only your mom present? Are you okay with that?”

  Anesia watched a tear slide down Zoya’s too-pale face. Andie leaned down and wrapped her arms around her friend while Zoya clung to Andie in return.

  “It’ll only take a few minutes, I promise.”

  Andie pulled back and gave the detective a look. Had the situation not been so serious, Anesia would’ve laughed at the protectiveness and spunk of her syats’ae.

  The door closing behind her precious friends sounded like a vault. Its thud resounded in her heart.

  Zoya needed her to be strong. Anesia reached for her hand.

  Sergeant Roberts smiled at her daughter. “How are you feeling?”

  Zoya reached a hand up to push the hair out of her eyes. “Okay, I guess.” Her voice sounded so small. So childlike. “The doctors said I’m really lucky the bullet just grazed me.”

  The reminder sent prickles through
Anesia’s mind. She couldn’t even fathom the pain of losing her precious daughter.

  “We are glad of that as well. You’ll be better in no time.” The officer turned serious. “Zoya, we have your preliminary eyewitness account, but we’re wondering if you can remember anything else?”

  Anesia sat on the bed next to her daughter. Why did Zoya have to be the one to witness the murder? Why not me, Lord? Why her? She’s just a child!

  “I don’t think so, sir.” Zoya wouldn’t look at any of them. Her small hands fidgeted with the blanket. “There were three of them. All in dark heavy coats, dark hats, dark boots . . .” Zoya sucked in a breath. “Wait a minute. The one with the gun. The one who shot him? He had a hunter’s orange skull cap underneath his baseball hat. I remember seeing the bright orange.”

  The detective took over. “Good job, Zoya. Very good. That will help. Anything else? Do you remember any birthmarks, tattoos, jewelry?” The detective scribbled on his pad.

  “No. Just the orange sticking out.”

  “What about the kind of gun? Do you remember the size or shape? Any distinguishing characteristics?”

  Anesia watched as her daughter leaned over and eyed the holster on the man.

  “It looked a lot like the one you have. But we were moving pretty fast, so I don’t know.”

  “That’s okay.” He scribbled some more. “What about after the shot? Do you remember anything else?”

  “Like I said before, they spotted me, grabbed something out of the guy’s coat, and then shot at me. I ran for my life. I thought they would kill me.” Tears streaked down her cheeks.

  Anesia closed her eyes. No. Stop. She opened her eyes. Willed her mouth to say the words.

  “Understandable.” He finished writing and looked at Anesia before speaking to her daughter again. “Would you be able to identify the shooter—or any of the men—if you saw them again?”

  Her daughter ducked her head and began to shake. Anesia couldn’t bear it any longer. “Stop! Please. This is too much.”

  The detective nodded. “I understand your concern, Miss Naltsiine, but we need to know if your daughter can identify them.”

  “No.” Zoya squeaked between sniffs. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t think I could.”