“Thank you, Zoya. I’m sorry for all this. But I’m going to leave you and your mom my cell phone number. If you think of anything else, anything at all, you let me know, okay?”
Zoya wiped tears from her face with the back of her hand then took the extended card. “Yes, sir.”
The other officer extended his hand toward her daughter. “You’ve done well, young lady. Now you get better, all right?”
Zoya nodded and buried her face in Anesia’s shoulder.
“Miss Naltsiine?” The two men were by the door. “Can we speak with you outside?”
Anesia kissed the top of her daughter’s head and held her close for several seconds. She whispered into her hair. “I’ll get Jenna and Andie to come back in.”
Zoya’s soft sobs tore her heart to pieces as Anesia headed out with the officers. Jenna spotted her, rushed over, and wrapped her in a hug.
“Could you guys stay with Zoya a few minutes? I don’t think she wants to be alone.” Her words came out stronger than she’d thought she could muster, but her heart was a jumble of emotions. The intensity of them scared her. The desire to melt into a puddle and cry warred with the intense urge to hunt down the shooter and kill him with her bare hands.
The door clicked shut behind her. She wrapped her arms around herself. “What do you need?”
“The evidence at this time is pointing to the fact that the man your daughter saw murdered was a homeless man.” The two men’s expressions confused her already scattered mind. She couldn’t read either one. She needed answers. Not more questions.
“But?”
“We’re not convinced. The fact that they fired at your daughter and pulled something from the man’s coat tells us there is more to the story. We will be digging deeper.”
Chills skittered through her limbs. She swallowed and nodded at them to continue.
“And in light of that, we suggest you be careful. We’ll be posting an officer here at the hospital. Until we finish checking it out, we ask that you don’t return home. We’ll bring you anything you need. We may be a small town, but we won’t let the shooter get away.”
She blinked at them. Was this really happening? Banned from her own home? “Wait a minute. What about my kennel? My dogs? They need to be fed and cared for—”
“Our men are there right now, checking it out. It shouldn’t take long.”
“But—”
“We’re taking a precaution, ma’am. Making sure no one is there that shouldn’t be. It’s not every day that a minor witnesses a murder like this.” The detective’s eyes held compassion. Concern.
“As soon as we’re done, we’ll let you know.” The sergeant handed her two cards. “Please don’t hesitate to call if Zoya remembers anything else, or if you need anything.”
The men nodded and walked away. The walls around her seemed to shrink before her very eyes. Sergeant Robert’s words rang in her ears.
If you need anything . . .
What she needed was to protect her daughter.
What she needed was to turn back time.
What she needed . . . was for the killer to pay.
CHAPTER FOUR
SLIM
January 3
Naltsiine Kennels, North Pole, Alaska
6:30 a.m.
The dog moved in his arms. “Steady, boy. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He tightened his grip. He should be telling himself to be steady. Sweat broke out on his upper lip even though the temperatures in this frozen land were well below zero.
He flipped the magnifying lens down over his night goggles and made the tiniest of incisions. One more deep breath and he’d be done.
A vibration in his pocket sent the dog into furious barking as he barely managed to slip the macrochip under the skin of the wiggling beast. A drop of liquid bandage, and he was done.
Releasing the dog, he exhaled his pent-up breath. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. The phone’s screen glowed in the deep dark of an Alaskan winter morning. With a sigh, he touched the screen and hissed into the phone. “What?”
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
“How many?”
“Over thirty.”
“Are you sure it’s working?”
“Of course, it’s working. I’ve told you for weeks this plan is brilliant. Now leave me alone, so I can get outta here.”
“Cool it, hot shot. Yes, your plan is brilliant. We’ve all attested to that fact, but the stakes are high, and we need to know that it’s going to work. That all the chips are safe and no one’s the wiser. There’s too much money involved for you to screw this up.”
“Whatever. I’m doing my end, now shut up.” He ended the call. They would all pay soon enough. He was tired of being treated like an idiot. This was his job. The one he’d been waiting for. Nobody would ever think he was a screw-up after this. They’d all respect him.
And if they didn’t?
They’d find out soon enough that he was a force to be reckoned with. He’d been waiting for this for years. No more watching from the outside.
He straightened his shoulders. Maybe he’d just kill them all.
* * *
ZOYA
January 3
Fairbanks Memorial Hospital
10:57 a.m.
An orange ray of morning sun peeked through a slit in the hospital curtains. Through the slit I could see the dark outline of the mountains against a blur of red, orange, pink, yellow . . . Dust fragments danced in the sun’s rays as if they had nothing in the world to worry about.
No guns. No murderers. No pain.
Just a Swiffer Sweeper that would pick them up and carry them off somewhere else.
If I could be a speck of dust, maybe then I could get out of this hospital dungeon.
I sighed and tried to roll over. Thanks to the IVs that was impossible without setting off some kind of alarm.
My eyes slid shut against my will. My spine stiffened. I knew what came next.
Try as I might to stop them, the images invaded.
I saw the man. I heard the gunshot. I felt the blood.
And the pain wouldn’t go away.
My body ached. My hands were cold as ice. My knees shook, I couldn’t stop the tense movements. The familiar sound of grunts, cursing, and my sled sliding along the fresh snow echoed, as if in some giant chasm. They echoed. And echoed. And echoed. On and on.
Why?
My ears starting ringing. Were they protesting to the memories as well? Then why wouldn’t my mind listen?
I failed Him.
Like a knife being jabbed into my heart, those words flooded over me. As if I hadn’t had enough pain already.
Was that true? Did I fail Him?
My gaze jerked over to the corner. Shadows shifted. What?
A man?
I swallowed. Stay calm!
The shadow moved. Sunlight streamed in.
I sighed. My shoulders relaxed.
Just the curtain. You’re fine, Zoya.
The memories, so powerful and profound, seemed to hack a deep gash into my heart. How could one experience change me so much? My eyes shut.
Was I supposed to save that man?
No. God, I couldn’t have done that! This isn’t my fault!
Tears slid down my cheeks. It couldn’t have been my fault . . .
If You had been there, God, this wouldn’t have happened. I wouldn’t have been shot, I wouldn’t have these visuals, I wouldn’t have this terrible feeling inside of me.
The rebellious thoughts hurt.
But they also felt good. Almost too good.
I let out a sigh. Zoya Sabille’ Naltsiine, stop thinking like that!
I couldn�
�t stop it.
But I had to.
My shoulders slumped.
Just calm down. Zoya. You’ll be fine.
Just take a nap. Yeah. Take a nap.
This wasn’t His fault. It couldn’t be. He loved me. He wouldn’t make me suffer like this . . .
Would He?
Why was everything so confusing?
I turned my face into my pillow and squeezed my eyes shut. But nothing could stop the tears from running down my face.
CHAPTER FIVE
SLIM
January 4
Fairbanks Memorial Hospital
4:40 p.m.
His shoe squeaked.
Turning on his heel, he straightened the white lab coat he’d stolen out of a locker and walked away from the police guard at the door of room 326.
Great. Now the cop knew he was there. No chance he’d get to her now.
An expletive shouted in his brain. The kid hadn’t been alone for one second all day. And he was running out of time.
Two more uniformed officers and a guy in a suit coat rounded the corner. Headed straight for the kid’s room.
If only he could get a little closer.
The men nodded at the guard and entered the room. He needed to hear what they were saying! How much did the kid know?
He glanced around, then ducked into the closest room and grabbed a chart from the bed. Chart in hand, he strolled by the door to 326, scribbling as he went.
Through a crack in the door, he heard muffled words, then footsteps. He continued down the hallway but stopped in his tracks as he recognized two words from the guy in the jacket.
Sketch artist.
He threw the chart into the nearest trash can and raced down the stairwell, stripping off the white coat as he went.
The little brown car waited for him in the parking lot. He jumped in and slammed the door, punching numbers into his cell.
“Well?”
“You’ve got a problem.” He cranked the engine. “The kid knows something.”
“How do you know—?”
“’Cause she’s guarded around the clock and I heard the police say they’re bringin’ in a sketch artist.”
Silence. Then a frustrated grunt. “So, we know what we have to do.”
He knew. All too well.
* * *
RICK
January 6
Anchorage, Alaska
3:37 p.m.
“She’s that good?”
Rick leaned back in his leather and mahogany chair, unable to keep the smile from his face. The leather had turned soft and buttery over the years of use, the wheels and wood squeaked each time he moved. But he wouldn’t change it. The feel, the smells, the sounds. They were comforting in his fast-paced, high-stress life.
“Yeah. She’s placed in the top three her past eight runs. She’s not just good, she’s great.” The beautiful young woman balanced on her scary high heels and pointed to the page in front of him.
He scanned the text. “I had no idea. Guess I should’ve paid closer attention over the years.”
His assistant smiled at him. “Like you’ve had any time whatsoever. To do anything.”
He chuckled. Would life ever slow down? Would he ever get the chance to retire like he dreamed? He turned to stare out the window. And what about family? His didn’t even know he existed. But maybe it was better that way. He didn’t want to bog anyone down with his business.
“Mr. Kon’? Rick?”
“Sorry, Christy, I was lost in my thoughts.”
“I’ll bring in your coffee, you can look over all the news, and then you can dictate your notes on the new project.” She pointed to the file she laid on his desk and walked toward the massive, cherry double doors to his office. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”
“You’re a gem.”
“I know.”
The doors shut behind her with a soft click. Closing him into his silent, high-priced prison. He’d have a few minutes while she prepared his favorite French press coffee.
The chair turned with ease back to his desk. The file in front of him. Everything he needed to know about his niece and her mother. The other file could wait. For now.
The manila folder opened with a flick of his wrist. Pages of notes, stacks of pictures. So many years that he’d missed. Oh, he’d always had someone give him an annual report, but that was it. Now, there was more at stake. He wanted to know more about this niece that would be an adult before he knew it.
Lots of dogs. Dogs filled every picture. Running the dogs. Taking care of the dogs. Playing with the dogs. She seemed to be completely at ease with twenty or more canines surrounding her.
Just like her dad.
An ache filled the empty spot in his heart. Why had he stayed away so long?
* * *
ANESIA
January 8
Naltsiine Kennels
11:50 a.m.
“It’s good to be home, huh, sweetie?” Anesia pasted on her best smile, hoping to bring Zoya out of the quiet cocoon she occupied. The dogs in the kennel raised a ruckus as they walked up to the door.
The past few days had passed in a blur, but Anesia couldn’t wait to get back to her dogs. And some sense of normalcy. Routine was a good thing.
Sasha, their faithful husky and Zoya’s loyal companion, barked and stuck to her girl’s side. Anesia’s key turned in the lock and she pushed the door open. Funny. The alarm wasn’t chiming for it to be disarmed. Sasha barked again and took Zoya’s coat in her teeth, pulling Anesia’s daughter backward.
Sasha let go and let out a round of rapid-fire, ferocious barks.
Anesia’s stomach flip-flopped.
No. Stay calm. It’s nothing.
No. It wasn’t nothing. Sasha’s instincts were always correct.
Anesia entered her home and rounded the corner to the alarm’s control pad and came to an abrupt halt. Zoya walked right into the back of her and then came to her side and gasped. Sasha growled.
A chill raced up Anesia’s torso. “Don’t touch anything. I’m calling the police.” Heart pounding, she punched in the number for Detective Sheldon.
“Hello?”
“Detective? This is Anesia Naltsiine.” Her gaze drifted to the disaster that used to be her living room. “Someone broke into our home.”
“Don’t touch anything. Lock yourselves in your vehicle. We’ll be there as fast as we can.”
Her limbs wouldn’t move. Her feet weighed a thousand pounds. She dropped the phone and took in the chaos around her. This couldn’t be happening. Sasha ran to her and pushed on her legs.
Zoya crossed to the bulletin board in the kitchen where everything had been ripped off and thrown onto the floor. All that remained on the board was a single note, nailed into the middle.
We can get to you whenever we want. Keep your mouth shut.
Anesia took a deep breath. Who would do such a thing? Her breaths came faster. Heartbeat drumming in her ears, black spots danced before her eyes. No. She needed to stay calm. Focus. Protect Zoya. She grabbed her daughter by the shoulders and wrapped her in a hug.
This was her home. How dare they? Anger bubbled up and drowned her fear. Whoever these people were, they’d chosen the wrong lady to mess with. She would not allow—
“Mom?” Zoya’s grip tightened around her waist.
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared.” Her teen’s chin quivered. “I don’t want to talk to the detective anymore.”
* * *
DETECTIVE SHELDON
January 8
Naltsiine Kennels
12:32 p.m.
“Sergeant, make sure they dust everything.” Dave Sheldon wa
lked through the house watching his team at work. The case kept getting more complicated. Would someone go to all this trouble over a homeless man? He didn’t think so. And he would crack this case. North Pole might be a small town, but they took pride in being top notch. The state troopers always lent their support and expertise when they needed it, but Dave knew his team could handle it.
He walked out to the porch, where Anesia and Zoya sat huddled under a blanket. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to your friends’ house now?”
A muscle ticked in the side of Ms. Naltsiine’s face. “No. Not yet. I’m sure you’ll find something to help you catch this guy.”
He could tell she didn’t feel near as confident as her words. “Ma’am, it’s going to take a while, and it’s freezing out here.”
“I know. But we’re used to the cold.”
Stubborn woman. “All right. I’d like to discuss plans with you.”
Her angry eyes bore into his.
“We’ll keep an officer posted here each night when your employees leave. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, this is probably just a scare tactic. We need you to continue on as normal. Don’t let them know they spooked you.”
“Normal? Seriously, Detective. My life will never be normal again. But you can bet your life that we’ll carry on. I won’t be threatened and harassed. I’ve got buyers coming for dogs, and we’ve got major races coming up.”
Zoya’s head snapped up. Was she excited . . . or terrified? Her mother went on.
“I can trust Beth and Joe and Derek. I’ve already decided to hire someone full-time and let him live on the property. I’ll get to work on a job description and posting. Hopefully, I’ll be able to find a reliable man right away.”
He nodded but noted the fear behind her eyes. Anesia Naltsiine might put up a strong front, but she was scared. “That would be great, ma’am. Until then, why don’t you stay a couple days at the Maddox home. Joe promised to tend to your kennels, and we’ll finish up as soon as possible.” C’mon, lady. It’s sound advice. Take it.
Race Against Time: A Novel Page 4
