Danger Mine: A Base Branch Novel

by Megan Mitcham

“Well, no. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it?”

  “You know, I like doing things the hard way too.”

  “Really?” she scoffed. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  The drawer closed with a thwack.

  “Weren’t your directives don’t get caught and, uh, don't get caught?”

  “The guard is on the roof waiting for his show. Who’s going to hear?”

  “I’m just saying.” He held one hand out in an, ‘Okay, I told you so,’ kind of way.

  Khani turned to the desk nearest her and plopped into its high-backed chair. She depressed the power button, and waited.

  “What? Are you racing me now?” Street jeered.

  “Maybe. You scared?”

  “Not a triffle. I’m already in.”

  “No way.” The rollers on the chair worked like a gem. She pushed off the floor and zipped across the vinyl.

  He prattled off the information lighting the screen. “Khani and Zeke Slaughter. March 2nd thru 8th, rescheduled. May 11th thru 18th, discount. Hotel Seward reserved for arrival and departure days. Days 1-2, Kenai National Wildlife Refuge. Day 3, Kenai Fjords National Park. Days 4-6, Denali National Park. Day 7, Denali National Park. Guide, Izzy. Paid in full.”

  “Will you…”

  Before she could ask, Street pulled up another window and Googled Hotel Seward. While the Internet worked its magic, he opened the tour company’s payroll program and scrolled through the list of twenty some-odd employees.

  “Isay Polzin, 23, 225 Second Avenue, Seward, AK.” He clicked to the search results, and then to a map. In fractions of a second he had their current location as well as the hotel's and guide’s address in a neat list of directions. “Seward is two hundred kilometers away. And the two are five blocks apart. Do you want to hit the hotel or the guide’s first?”

  Khani meandered about the lobby, perusing pamphlets and the various long-dead animals stuffed and mounted for morbid viewing pleasure.

  “Can I help you, miss?”

  She turned to find the curvaceous mid-thirties woman she’d surveilled through the front glass step from the back office. “No thank you. I’m just waiting for my brother. You know how men are, always taking their sweet time.”

  “Ooh, where are you from? I adore your accent. It’s so proper.”

  “I’m on holiday from London.” Khani turned back to a multi-page brochure issued by the Wildlife Commission about bear safety for two reasons. One, she didn’t want to engage this woman in conversation. That was Street’s job. Two, half-ton carnivores with teeth and claws that ran up to 56 kilometers per hour made her palms sweat.

  “Oh, how nice. If you need any tour recommendations, just let me know.”

  “Thanks.”

  They devoted the entire first two pages explaining how to save the bear from becoming mortality statistics since they were such a vital part of the ecosystem. She flipped to the middle. Rule one, don’t feed the bears. No worries. Rule two, don’t leave food, trash, pets, or small children unattended. Did Street count as a child? Not a small one. So, they were okay there. Rule three, if you encounter a bear, stay calm, break eye contact, and stand your ground. If the bear attacks, lie still on your belly, protecting your head and neck with your arms. Act passive. Not bloody likely. If the bear continues to maul you, then fight back using any available weapons: knife, rock, fist.

  The door chimed and every nerve in Khani’s highly trained body jumped like she was no more than a twit.

  Fucking bears.

  Street waltzed through the door and the woman’s jaw hit the counter top. “Good evening.” He smiled.

  “H… Hi.” The registrar visibly shook herself. “You must be the brother. My name is Tildy.”

  “A pleasure, Tildy.” Street winked.

  “I was just telling your sister, if you need any tour recommendations on your stay, I’d be happy to help.” Tildy’s lips curved into a sweet smile.

  “I’d love to hear all about it after you tell me there’s a room left in the inn with my name on it.”

  “Two rooms. I don’t want to listen to you snore,” Khani interjected.

  “Two rooms then,” Tildy nodded. “Since it’s early in the season I have two side-by-side interior rooms, those are less expensive with no view, but have a cozy fireplace. I also have two side-by-side exterior rooms with a view of Resurrection Bay.”

  As the woman continued her spiel Khani roamed past the counter and Tildy’s field of vision. She dipped under the breakaway counter, and then slipped through the open office door.

  A massive desktop consumed most of the cluttered desk. Lights kaleidoscoped across the computer screen. Khani cleared the two steps in a whisper.

  One bump of the mouse revealed a sea of open windows. She clicked through the options. Tildy had a legion of potential suitors distributed across six dating sites on the first heap of tabs. The last revealed the hotel’s database. One click brought her to reservations. She chose the check-in, check-out log, and then scrolled to the last week.

  Zeke Slaughter. Room 14, reserved May 10 and May 18. Second room canceled. Check-in, May 10. Check-out, May 11. No show, no cancelation for May 18.

  Khani stood over the keyboard, stunned. When Zeke didn’t call she’d known something was wrong. Having her suspicions confirmed iced her veins. Zeke had been her purpose for so long. She didn’t need him near to function, but she needed him in the world. Without him the earth didn’t rotate. Without him everything faded to black. Without him she wouldn’t survive.

  Street cleared his throat. The harsh noise jarred her out of the tailspin. With a few clicks she ordered the woman’s screen and rushed to the door. She slowed at the threshold and listened.

  “I need your signature right here and here,” Tildy said.

  She stole the opportunity, rounded the counter without incident, and leaned against the glass door, letting the chill exacerbate her misery.

  “Ace.” He leaned across the end of Hotel Seward’s long counter. His shoulders bulged the fabric of his shirt. The older woman’s eyes locked onto his sculpted beauty. Her cheeks flushed bright red. His hand extended toward the pen sticking up from the registrar’s springy blonde bun. “Do you mind?” His voice took on a husk that could make any woman’s knees buckle.

  “No,” she murmured.

  Khani smiled at the exchange, her earlier jealousy over Street gone. Was it progress? She wished. It would simplify one problem.

  “Cracking, Tildy. Thanks for your help.” Street handed over the woman’s pen and turned toward Khani. His gaze locked on her. The smile that had arched his mouth morphed into a hard line.

  “Any time.” The registrar waved after Street.

  He practically shoved Khani out the front door and into the cold. “What is it? You look like the end of days is upon us.”

  “He stayed here the 10th, but didn’t come back or cancel his reservation on the 18th.”

  “Looks like Mr. Polzin is due for some company.” Street opened the passenger door to the SUV. “In you go.”

  “It’s only a few blocks.”

  “And it’s only a few degrees from freezing my nuts off. We don't want to risk that, now do we?”

  “I’ve heard castrated men are more docile.” She stepped onto the running boards, and then tucked into the vehicle. “Besides, it’s not freezing yet.”

  “You want to make me docile, not have some wicked twist of fate do it.” His sexual undertone wasn’t lost on her. Nor was his beautiful mouth, strong and red from the cold.

  He closed the door and hurried to his side. “You should probably go after Polzin. He’s a young guy. Unless he’s batting for the other team, you’re our best bet at getting information out of him.” Street pulled away from the curb and headed for the guide’s address. “And it has to be freezing. There’s bloody ice everywhere.”

  “What if he is?”

  “Is what?”

  “Batting for the other team?”

  “Then I’ll
turn on the charm.” He constricted his pecks, wobbling them at her.

  “It’s nice to see a man comfortable enough with his sexuality that a gay man hitting on him isn’t cause for a full scale attack.”

  “Straight. Gay. A compliment is a compliment.” He popped his collar. “I haven’t heard you praise my new duds.”

  “And you won’t.”

  “You know,” he said, exacerbated, “they won’t let you wear jeans, a tee, and trabs to the office with the LTC title. What a bag of garbage.”

  “What the hell are trabs?”

  “Shoes. Tennies. Sport shoes.”

  Though she’d made a concerted effort not to engage Street in talk about anything personal, she had to know what was with his accent. “I thought you were from London.”

  “I am, but I spent some years—the formative ones, I guess—in Liverpool.”

  “The accent comes and goes,” she conceded.

  “I try to stow it completely, but old habits gob you.”

  She didn’t know exactly what that meant, but agreed all the same.

  Street wheeled them into a stubby driveway with a cabin at the end that looked like it had been tossed together by a drunk man. The south and west walls came together at an angle several degrees fewer than ninety. A naked bulb shined its dingy light on the two steps leading to the door. Five cars—prime candidates for junkyard scraps with their chipped paint and dents—crowded the front lawn.

  Khani hadn’t eaten in hours, but her stomach churned as though she’d just binged on a triple bacon cheeseburger and chili fries. She’d never pussed out on an assignment before. Damned if she was about to start. Family or not, her personal shit had to take a backseat. Or she could gob up the one mission that mattered the most.

  She steeled her jittery nerves and exited the car. The mud immediately sucked at her feet, swelling around the edges of her black pointy toes. “All to pot.” She kicked the excess goop and stamped off the rest. Shoulders back, gaze down, she avoided the biggest of the mess. Her steady strides gave no hint of the turmoil receding to the background. Thick drapes covered every window along the front of the house. As she walked her eyes tracked back and forth, covering her own six…even though Street had her ass covered at the very least.

  A clubby electronic beat shook the asymmetrical walls. She took the stairs in one step and beat her fist against the door. Heavy voices cackled. One guys said, “The stripper is here.” Their whoops and hollers grew two fold. She discerned at least seven different voices in the mix.

  Every bit of unease vanished. Khani’s body prepared for a confrontation. Her muscles loosened. Her breathing evened. Her senses honed to a needle’s point. A needle didn’t seem very vicious. Often the best offense was the one no one saw coming. The innocence of a needle vanished when you shoved it into someone’s eyeball.

  “Brava!” A young guy with brown floppy hair and a short beard opened the door wide.

  Inside, seven men between the ages of eighteen and twenty or so held beer bottles in various stages of consumption. The oldest of them, presumably Isay Polzin, held a bottle of whisky in the crook of his thumb in the opposite hand that rested on the doorknob. He pinched a joint between his thumb and forefinger around the glass’s red-waxed neck. The stench of it curled into the murky air of the cabin.

  “Come in, pretty. Take off your clothes and we’ll reward you sweetly.” Isay hollered and slurred his words like a street beggar.

  “Izzy?” she cooed.

  “Yeah. Who’s asking?” Isay’s gaze hung on her still open buttons.

  She felt a little bad for the guy. There wasn’t much to see. “My name is Khani.”

  “Zdravstvuyte, Khani.” He swept his arm encompassing the posse. “We’re having a celebration. Come in and join us. We’re really nice guys.”

  Khani jammed her hands into the back pocket of her slacks, pressed her meager breasts against the material of her shirt, and twisted in place. “I’d like to talk to you in private.”

  “Hear that, she wants my privates,” he announced to the room. All the daft pricks laughed. One exceptional fool cupped his pitiful excuse for a dick and shook it at her. Their gazes flew from the lewd act to her, expecting a reaction of some sort.

  Playing the hard-up cougar—not too far off if she considered Street—Khani’s gaze dropped the Isay’s crotch. A smile tickled her lips, but not for the reason he thought. If he knew what she’d planned for his goods, or if he didn’t cooperate, he’d weep. “So, are you coming?”

  “Oh, I’m coming.” A moose-sized boy’s hips thrust in an obscene display of alcohol and testosterone induced foolishness.

  “We want to come too,” the youngest—by looks anyway—shouted.

  Two of the young men stood and started toward the door. Her patience vanished as did her playful demeanor. “Isay, this is your last chance to step outside and have a civil conversation with me.”

  “I don’t even know you,” the guide—to what, being an asshole?—contested.

  The room collectively balked. “What are you, his mom?” the largest of the group derided.

  “No. I’m not yours either, but I’ll teach you a lesson,” she purred.

  Macho-man spread his arms in the doorway, nearly hitting Isay in the head with his fat hand. “Oh, I’d love to see you try.”

  Take out the leader and the rest will fall in line.

  Khani struck so quickly no one gasped until she had Macho’s limp cock and balls in her fist and twisted to face the back of the room. The big guy screamed like he’d yet to reach puberty. It only took another second for shock to subside. He scrambled back. Well, he tried.

  The room erupted. The more horrified chaps clambered away, while his best friends surged forward. Too bad for Macho he only had two good friends in the bunch.

  “Come any closer and I’ll rip them off,” she said in an even tone.

  Macho’s eyes bugged. With an impressive surge of adrenaline, he stopped trying to escape and lunged forward. His hands wrapped around Khani’s neck. She dragged in a breath. When he squeezed she tensed the muscles in her neck and held it. Khani winked at the dummy and amplified her hold in proportion to his grasp on her throat.

  “First time with your nuts in a vise,” she squeaked. “Don’t worry. With practice comes expertise. I’ve been in more choke holds than I can count.” She relaxed the muscles in her neck, and then sucked a quick breath. Before his hands clamped on her wiggle room she stiffened her neck. “I can do this all day. Can you?”

  His face reddened, while Isay’s paled. A tear seeped from Macho’s big brown eyes and slipped down his cheek. His hands fell away from her neck. “Please,” he whimpered.

  She shook her head. “Only if your friend agrees to speak to me outside.”

  “Izzy, fuck! Come on, man.” Macho’s blood-shot gaze sliced to his friend.

  “Just let him the hell go.” Isay put both hands in the air, his bottle and joint now dangling in each.

  “Remember this the next time you’re in the presence of a young woman, and show some respect. You never know what she’s capable of.”

  “She’s capable of getting her ass beat,” one of the young sheep in the back hollered.

  “If you’re the man to do it, please step forward.” Khani stood her ground, ignoring the throbbing of her head. No matter how many times it happened, it never got painless. When none of them made their play she turned to Isay and hiked her thumb toward the lawn. She eyed the group. “If any or all of you get the big idea to step outside and prove yourself a man, I’ll make sure Izzy never reproduces.”

  She closed the door behind her and shoved the kid in the direction of the largest truck in the lawn. “Just in case your friends get any big ideas, we’ll talk behind the truck.”

  The kid raised the bottle to his lips. Khani snatched it away and poured the remaining liquid onto the dirt. “What the…what do you want, lady?”

  “Who is your employer?”

  “Alaska
Adventure, why?”

  “How was your last excursion?”

  “Great. I got head while the girl’s parents slept in the next tent.”

  Khani ignored the crudeness. “When was that?”

  “I don't keep a calendar of all my sexual interaction.” His mouth screwed into a cocky sneer.

  “Surly you remember the dates of your last guide excursion.” She sharpened her gaze, and then let it drop to the front of his pants.

  “Khorosho. Khorosho,” he said, flailing his arms.

  “I’m English, not Russian, you rat-arsed piece.”

  “All right. All right,” he shook his hands again. “I guided the first week of this month.”

  “What about last week?”

  “Ah.” The kid shooed it off. “It got canceled.”

  Khani stepped forward. “By whom?”

  “Chill.” Isay treaded backward. “The big guy, the one I was supposed to guide, canceled.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Why does it matter?” He widened his hands toward the sky.

  “Because you want to have full function of your penis, Isay. That’s why.”

  “His name…” The kid pushed the heel of his hand to the bridge of his nose. “His name was Killer…something…I can’t remember. I’m really lit right now.” His swollen pupils begged off.

  “You’re about to be lit in a whole new way, bloke.” Khani dropped her hand from her hip.

  He jumped back. “Jesus, his name was zzz…Zeke…Zeke Slaughter. He wanted to go by himself. He paid me in full, and then took off on his own.”

  “Why hold out on me, Isay?”

  His head shook side to side. “I could lose my job for letting him go alone.” He dropped on the joint, and then placed his palms together. “You can’t say anything. Please.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When he told you he wanted to cancel where were you?”

  “At the campground at Copper Landing near Kenai Lake and the Russian River.”

  “Where would he have gone?”

  “There are over a million acres in the Kenai Refuge. Fuck if I know.” Isay rubbed his forehead. “Are we done yet?”