Alaska Wild

by Helena Newbury

  And then his eyes opened wider and he rolled off me, panting. His face went white under his dark stubble. “Oh Jesus,” he was saying. “Kate? Kate?!” I heard the knife land as he tossed it aside. Then he was on me again, this time grabbing at my blouse, tearing open the top to check me.

  We both looked down. My chest was heaving with exertion and fear but there was no blood.

  Boone slumped in relief beside me.

  “What the hell was that?” I asked when I could breathe again. I was scared and my voice was still ragged. It came out more aggressive than I wanted it to.

  Boone met my eyes for an instant. I’ve never seen anyone so eaten up with guilt. Then he shook his head and stood up.

  “Mason?”

  He walked around to the far side of the fire and lay down, facing away from me.

  “Mason?”

  I knew he wasn’t asleep. But he wasn’t talking, either.

  I slowly lay down, never taking my eyes off him. I should have been terrified of him. I should never have trusted him again.

  But this wasn’t him. This was something inside him, the thing that tried to rule him. This was why he’d kept pushing me away. Maybe it was even part of the reason he was up here.

  My heart seemed to unfold as I stared across the embers at that huge, strong back. I thought of him out here on his own, every night, haunted by those nightmares. He shouldn’t have to deal with it on his own.

  And lying there in the darkness, staring at him, I made up my mind. He doesn’t have to.

  I was going to help him beat this thing.

  I couldn’t sleep. I reached behind me and felt the ground. There was a warm spot where Boone had been lying but it was fading fast. And without his arms around me, the dark forest seemed to close in.

  After an hour of tossing and turning, I sat up, dug under my clothes and pulled out the prisoner files. Setting Boone’s aside, I opened up Weiss’s. I wanted to know the bastard who’d gotten us into this mess.

  I thought I knew what I’d find. A working-class con man who’d worked his way up, scamming bigger and bigger fish until he managed to pull off the ultimate white collar crime.

  But I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.

  Carlton Weiss had been born in New Hampshire to Suzanna and Martin Weiss, one of three brothers. The mother was a lawyer. The father ran one of the biggest transport companies in the northeast. The family was rich. A happy, well-adjusted, wealthy family.

  Except for Carlton.

  There was a psych evaluation from all the way back in high school. The counselor had reported aggressive tendencies, extreme arrogance, even raised the possibility of something more serious that might be developing. She strongly recommended follow up. But there was a note written beneath the report: family declined further treatment.

  Carlton’s dad hadn’t wanted his son being marked out as disturbed.

  The next piece of paperwork was from Carlton’s first arrest, while he was still a teenager. One of the maids who worked for the family had reported that he’d assaulted her in a bedroom. The police had brought Carlton in...but that was it. No charges, no nothing. I suspected Daddy had paid the woman off. If some dutiful cop hadn’t insisted on filing the paperwork instead of burning it, there never would have been any trace.

  Carlton returned home as if nothing had happened. His first life lesson: the rules didn’t apply to him.

  The other two brothers went to Harvard to get their MBAs. Carlton didn’t make the grade and wound up at NYU. There were a string of discipline reports there for drinking and later drug use. He was finally kicked out in his senior year for running a scam where he’d claim to be acting as the middleman for a group of professors, promising students they could buy a guaranteed passing grade on their finals for one thousand dollars apiece. He’d fooled over a hundred and fifty students into parting with their money and wound up keeping most of it—no one wanted to come forward and admit they’d paid him, and risk expulsion themselves for cheating.

  The experience made him bolder. He hadn’t graduated but he’d finished college with more money than any of his friends. And now he’d seen his path in life: separating what he saw as idiots from their money.

  While the other two brothers followed their dad into the family business, Carlton disappeared for a few years. There were reports of him operating in Paris, London, Chicago and Boston. His name was linked to a number of other slimy financial scammers. I suspected that was his training period: he’d found a handful of people to mentor him and he was learning everything he could. He also popped up in The Bahamas and Switzerland. He was learning everything he could about offshore accounts and hiding money.

  There were two more arrest reports, one for sexual assault and battery, one for rape. My insides filled with freezing water as I thought about how close I’d been to him on the plane. Again, the charges were dropped. Once, the woman changed her mind. I wondered if she’d been paid off or threatened.

  Once, the victim disappeared.

  There was a psych report, too, from when he’d been brought in on the rape charge. A psychologist had spent an hour in the room with him and had noted sociopathic tendencies. Weiss shows no regard for others, he’d written. Almost total lack of empathy or remorse. He’d also believed Weiss to be suffering from narcissistic personality disorder. Even on the photocopied paper, I could see the deep, outraged depressions the psychologist’s pen had made as he wrote, as if he wished he could be branding the words onto Weiss’s face as a warning. Believes the role of others is to serve him or provide him with money or sexual satisfaction. Willing or unwilling.

  The warning signs the school psychologist had noted had developed into full-blown psychosis. All the pieces had fallen into place. Weiss had the experience in scamming people and the knowledge of how to hide the money. He had a burning resentment that he was considered the black sheep of the family and he was convinced his destiny was to become as rich as them, or richer. And he had the utterly cold, sociopathic mindset to get there. That’s how he’d pulled off the biggest financial scam in US history: he’d simply believed he had the right.

  Now I understood how he’d killed the pilot so easily. How he’d been willing to discard Marshal Phillips the instant it suited him. Did the men he had working for him know he was out of his mind?

  I got colder and colder, thinking about it. It wasn’t just that a man like Weiss existed. I work for the FBI: I’m not naive about what monsters are out there. But when I closed the file and put it next to Boone’s….

  One of them was innocent and had been forced into a life of exile.

  One of them was guilty and was about to begin a life of unimaginable luxury.

  The system I’d dedicated my whole life to had completely failed.

  I slipped the files back into the top of my pants and lay down, staring at Boone on the other side of the fire. My instincts had been right about him from the start. He was a good man. We needed more guys like him around. Instead, he was up here in the mountains and it was Weiss who got to be around people. I shuddered.

  There was only one note of comfort, one thing that let me sleep. By now, Weiss would be well on his way to Russia. He was a long way from me.

  24

  Weiss

  I gazed down at her sleeping body. The drone was four hundred feet up but the camera made her seem close enough to touch, the night vision system turning the darkness to noon. She was on her side, arms and legs tucked in tight against the cold. Her blouse was open down to her bra, either unbuttoned or ripped, and I could see the curve of one smooth, firm breast.

  Bitch.

  I couldn’t believe they’d made it all the way down the mountain. We were still on the far side, having had to take gentler slopes that the 4x4s could traverse. We might not even have found them, if it hadn’t been for the drone. The Russians had brought it over with them in case they had trouble finding us after we bailed out. Now it was going to let us track Boone and Kate until we could catch up
with them.

  Track them...and watch them. I touched the screen, tracing all the way from Kate’s shoulder to her hip. She tensed in her sleep, as if she could feel me.

  I’d been watching her all evening. It amused me, seeing her shivering cold and trying to make a meal out of some animal Boone had caught. I was sitting in the back of one of the 4x4s, the heater running, drinking the Russian’s vodka. The mercenaries had griped when I’d grabbed it off them, saying it was for them. I’d told them I’d see that they got $10,000 extra when we got to Russia and they’d shut the hell up.

  For a while, I’d thought Boone had been going to fuck her. But all he’d done was spoon with her, fully clothed, and then when I next checked they were sleeping on opposite sides of the fire. Maybe he couldn’t get it up. Or maybe her legs were closed as tight as that irritating braid.

  They’d both get it. They owed me for delaying my escape to Russia. Boone could pay in blood. And Kate?

  I was rapidly developing plans for Kate.

  25

  Kate

  “It’s so...quiet,” I said.

  We’d left the forest and were trekking across flat, grassy scrubland towards the river. It was easy going, after the mountain, even though my shoes definitely weren’t designed for hiking. But it was eerily silent. Aside from the occasional bird call and the soft sound of the wind, there was nothing. I’d never realized how noisy cities are: even in a quiet suburb, there’s always the background rumble of traffic.

  I glanced at Boone as we walked. “Seriously, doesn’t it drive you just a little bit crazy?”

  He looked at me. Looked at the landscape. Shook his head.

  “Shouldn’t we be trying to make a noise?” I asked. “In case of bears?”

  Boone glanced around at the knee-high grass. “Pretty sure a bear would see us coming,” he rumbled.

  He was even less talkative than normal and I knew why: he didn’t want to talk about his nightmare, or how he’d nearly stabbed me. I did. But I knew that, if I wanted to help him, I had to feel my way carefully. Small talk would be a start. But Boone didn’t do small talk.

  I wasn’t giving up, though. He’d saved my life more than once. I had to try.

  When we reached a stream, Boone stopped. He looked behind us, then all around.

  “What?” I asked. “You hear something?”

  He just stood there, legs braced, gazing around. Sometimes, he put me in mind of an animal, up on his hind legs, ears pricked up. He finally shook his head, like it was nothing. But his expression didn’t say nothing. It said he hadn’t been able to find it.

  The stream wasn’t big but the water would be near-freezing. There were a couple of rocks which could be used as stepping stones: if we were careful, we could stay dry.

  Boone went first. Thanks to his longer legs, getting to the first rock was just a long stride. For me, it meant almost doing the splits. I stretched out my front leg as far as I could...and Boone grabbed my hand and helped me pull myself across. I landed next to him, the two of us pressed up together on a rock no bigger than a coffee table.

  “Tell me about Koyuk,” I blurted. “How’d you get caught?”

  He stared down at me, breathing hard from hauling me in. He gave me a tiny shake of his head.

  But I just stared up at him determinedly. He wasn’t ready to share everything—fine. But he could tell me this.

  Those blue eyes narrowed, frustrated...and then, as he kept staring at me, I saw his expression change. His eyes were still on my face but...they kept flicking down—

  I looked down. I realized I was breathing hard, too, my chest rising and falling. And my blouse was still gaping open from when he’d ripped it.

  I looked up into his eyes and the lust I saw there made me catch my breath. It was so raw, so primal, like the ripped blouse was just a hint of what he wanted to do to me, as if my clothes, right now, were just a hindrance. Then he looked away and glanced back at me, angry. Remember how that happened, his gaze said.

  He thought he was dangerous. He thought he needed to stay away.

  I shook my head. You’re wrong.

  “Koyuk,” I said quietly. “Tell me.”

  He turned away and looked towards the next rock. This one was pretty close: he’d barely even have to stretch. “I go there sometimes for supplies. Things I can’t make myself. It’s okay. Small. The people don’t bother me.” He shrugged. “Got into a fight. Someone called the cops.”

  He stepped to the next rock. He extended his hand back behind him so I could take it, but he didn’t look around at me. He’d hunched over slightly, his huge back like a rock face between us.

  I stepped out, grabbed his hand and hauled myself across. This rock was even smaller: I was pressed right up against his back. “How?” I pressed. “How’d you get in a fight?” Was it something bad? Something he thought would make me hate him? It didn’t matter. To help him, I had to know him.

  He was looking towards the far bank. It was going to need a jump, even for him. He bent his knees a little, readying himself—

  I grabbed his arm. “How’d you get in a fight?” I asked again.

  He looked around at me, his blue eyes furious, now. Denying what I could feel between us. Telling me to leave it alone.

  I’ve never been very good at leaving it alone. That’s why I joined the FBI. I stared right back at him.

  “I heard a noise,” he said at last. “Coming from one of the houses.” He looked away. “A scream.”

  I waited. In the middle of all that vastness, we stood like statues, together on one tiny rock.

  He looked away. “I saw a guy leave, and he left the door open behind him a little, so I looked in.” His lips tightened. “It was his wife. He’d taken a steam iron to her face. So I chased after him. Caught up with him as he went into the bar.” He paused. “He won’t do it again.”

  That’s why he’d been reluctant to tell me: because it was something that might make me like him. I wanted to hug him. Hell, I wanted to throw myself against that big, strong chest.

  He looked down at me and must have seen something in my expression. One big hand came down on my shoulder.

  I held my breath.

  He shook his head. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, Kate,” he told me. “That’s all. Don’t forget what I am.”

  Then he turned and leapt across to the far bank, out of reach.

  I caught myself. He’s right. Assuming we even made it back to civilization, we had zero future. He was a fugitive and I was FBI. He was headed for jail or, if I didn’t turn him in, back to the wilderness.

  Either way, I’d never see him again. Stupid! What were you thinking, Kate?

  A sudden heat flashed across my face, a kind I hadn’t let myself feel for a long, long time. At work, I never wanted anyone to get the idea that I was weak. It’s hard enough being a woman in the FBI, never mind a small one, without that. I’d sometimes dig my nails into my palms so hard they left deep, red marks rather than cry. There had been times, working cases involving kids, where I’d walked two blocks during my lunch break, just so I could find a nice private diner with a bathroom where I could let it all out.

  Now, though, I was standing out in the middle of the stream, with nowhere to run. Boone was watching me with that same, stoic expression...but I could see in his eyes that he felt guilty, that it hurt him to push me away. That made it even worse.

  I turned my face into the breeze so that it would cool it. Then I gathered up all my strength, took the one step run-up the rock allowed and leaped, putting every bit of anger and frustration into it. And short legs or not, I sailed right past his goddamn hand and made it onto the bank—just—stumbled a little and then marched on.

  For a few seconds, there was silence behind me. I got a good few steps before he shook off his shock and walked after me. That gave me a little burst of pride.

  We were following an animal path, little more than a break in the grass, and in places it was completely overgrown. He l
et me lead for a minute or so, but I could feel it building in the air. He knew he’d hurt my feelings. “Kate?”

  I couldn’t turn around. He was right. I was wrong. It would never work, between us. The heat in my face came back, worse than before.

  “Kate?”

  He was closer, now. So I sped up. I thumped my feet hard into the grass with each step but it didn’t relieve the pressure that was building inside, ready to burst out as tears. He was going to force me to turn around and then he’d see—

  He was right behind me. “Kate!”

  I ruptured inside and half-turned, still walking. “ALRIGHT!” I snapped. “I get it!” Tears sprang to my traitorous eyes. Shit! “I was being stupid. We’re not—”

  His eyes were as icy as he could make them. But I could still see the warmth inside. And then his expression changed in a split second and he lunged forward and grabbed my hand and wrenched, throwing himself back at the same time. My arm snapped taut so fast it burned and then I was flying through the air.

  26

  Kate

  Boone landed hard on the path on his back. An instant later, I slammed down on top of him. All my senses were reeling. I could smell the fresh, clean scent of him, feel the warmth of his body. He was panting. I was panting. His chest lifted me as it rose and fell.

  I crooked my head back so I could look into his eyes. What. The. Hell?!

  His hands clamped around my waist and he half sat-up, bringing me with him. Then he lifted me as if I were a doll, shifting me to the side so he could look down the length of my body. Checking me over. “You okay?” His voice was strained with fear. “You hurt?”

  I shook my head, breathless and still bemused. My chest was still pressed to his, my breasts pillowed against the hard slabs of his pecs.

  He sank back to the path, closing his eyes. He let out a groan that turned into a tiny chuckle.