Witness on the Run

by Susan Cliff

  She seemed startled by the question. “Can they?”

  “They could try. There’s no checkpoint or regulations.”

  “So anyone can drive on the Dalton?”

  “They can, but they don’t. It’s too dangerous. You need special modifications so your engine parts don’t freeze. We might see a tourist bus, or some smaller vehicles that belong to safety officials. Otherwise, it’s just ice rigs.”

  She nodded her understanding. “How far is it to the entrance?”

  “Sixty miles.”

  They fell into an uneasy silence as dawn broke over the horizon. It was almost ten o’clock, but they only had about six hours of daylight here. In Deadhorse, at the end of the road, there would be less than two.

  Cam was on a long straightaway when a black SUV appeared behind them, moving fast. He straightened in his seat, squinting into the rearview mirror. He had a handgun in a locked box in the berth, out of reach. It was a memento from his cop days, packed away carefully with his photos of Jenny.

  He considered asking Tala to grab it for him as the SUV veered into the passing lane. Then he dismissed the idea, because trading gunfire on a snowy highway at this speed would be stupid, even in self-defense. If they got shot at, he’d have to run the SUV off the road.

  Tala followed his gaze, her expression wary. The driver moved into the space beside him. Cam got a glimpse of two young faces as the SUV surged ahead and crossed over the broken yellow line. Snowboarding stickers covered the back bumper. They were teenaged boys, not the men from the parking lot. Not a threat.

  Cam glanced at Tala, who was visibly shaken. “You okay?”

  She moistened her lips. “I’m fine.”

  “I can pull over.”

  “No. Just drive.”

  He didn’t argue. She sounded defensive, as well as rattled. Maybe she was worried that he’d change his mind about bringing her along if she showed any weakness.

  “I didn’t use to be like this,” she said in a low voice.

  “Like what?”

  “Afraid of everything. Jumping at shadows.”

  His chest tightened with empathy. “It takes a strong person to admit fear.”

  “I don’t feel strong right now.”

  “You were just attacked. Give yourself a break.”

  She nodded, taking a deep breath. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Nothing,” he joked.

  She laughed, which broke the ice a little. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed hearing female laughter, and she had a great smile. She was stunning. He pulled his gaze away from her, clearing his throat.

  “I’m serious,” she said.

  “I’m afraid of getting attached.”

  “To another woman?”

  He shrugged, though she’d nailed it. He was afraid of women, dating...feelings.

  “You’re afraid to let go of her.”

  It was an uncomfortable insight, impossible to deny. Of course Jenny was at the crux of the matter. If he found someone else, he’d have to move forward. He’d have to get over the loss, instead of wallowing in it. “You’re right.”

  “Do you want to talk about her?”

  “No.”

  She gave him a chiding look. “That’s no way to move on.”

  He didn’t want to move on, especially if it meant baring his soul. He was more interested in physical release than an emotional overhaul.

  “Tell me something easy.”

  “Easy?”

  “A nice memory, you know. Not sad.”

  He mulled it over. “Okay, I have one.”

  She clasped her hands together in anticipation. Most women wouldn’t be so eager to hear about an ex. It occurred to Cam that Tala saw him as a friend, nothing more. She hadn’t cuddled him last night because she wanted his body. She’d needed comfort.

  Cam felt reassured by the thought. It would be easier to resist temptation if she didn’t give him any encouragement. He wouldn’t try to cross the line with a woman who wasn’t attracted to him. She could keep her secrets, and he could hold on to his grief, like a shield to hide behind.

  “She was a teacher,” he said.

  “Primary or secondary?”

  “Fourth grade, so nine-and ten-year-olds.”

  She waited for him to continue, her lips pursed.

  “During her first year of teaching, one of her students got sick. He was admitted to the Seattle Children’s Hospital, and his family needed financial help, so she decided to do this fund-raiser. It was a mud run.”

  “What’s a mud run?”

  “It’s 5K run with a challenge course. She talked me into going with her. We had to wade through mud and climb over walls, stuff like that.”

  Her expression grew wistful. “Sounds fun.”

  “It was. We had a good time. Jenny promised to jump in the mud pit if she raised a certain amount. She met her goal and then some, because she was the kind of person who could get everyone involved. She had that infectious enthusiasm thing.” He paused, glancing at Tala. “You know what I mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anyway, at the end of the course, she really went for it, like completely submerged herself in the pit. When she came out, she was unrecognizable. Just blue eyes and white teeth. I took a photo so she could show her class.”

  “Did they love it?”

  “They did,” he said, his throat tight. The happy memory morphed into another one, steeped in sadness. “They came to her funeral.”

  “Her students?”

  “The boy she’d raised money for came with his family. He’d recovered by then. All of the students from her current class came. They brought handwritten sympathy cards.” Cam remembered standing there like a statue while weeping kids presented him with their heartfelt letters, colored in crayon.

  “That must have been difficult,” she murmured.

  His chest ached with the same agony he’d felt three years ago. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. After a few deep breaths, he could speak again. “This is why I don’t talk about her.”

  “Because it hurts?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you keep your feelings bottled up, they cause more pain.”

  He made a noncommittal sound. Bottling up his feelings was a defense mechanism, necessary for survival. He couldn’t just open up and release his emotions like a jar of butterflies. They were a nest of hornets, ready to sting.

  “I have another idea,” she said. “Tell me about her bad side.”

  “She didn’t have a bad side.”

  “Surely she had flaws. Did she leave her towels on the floor, or drink milk out of the container?”

  “That was me.”

  “She was perfect? You never argued?”

  “We argued.”

  “About what?”

  He sighed, shaking his head. “Stupid things. I wanted her to spend more time at home. She was too busy with her students and colleagues. She had a lot of friends. Everyone liked her. Men liked her.”

  “That bothered you?”

  “Yeah, it did. She was...flirtatious.”

  Tala’s eyes widened with interest. “Really?”

  “She was always touching some guy’s arm, or laughing at his jokes. She flirted with my brother a lot.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Nothing. He enjoyed it, that bastard.”

  She laughed at his disgruntled expression. Cam didn’t laugh with her, but he felt the heavy weight of sadness slip away. He hadn’t thought about Jenny’s flirty nature in ages. It had been a minor issue between them, easily forgotten.

  They’d argued about more important things, too. Private things, like when to start a family. Cam hadn’t been ready. He’d wanted to travel, which was ironic. Now all he did w
as travel, without getting anywhere.

  The entrance to the Dalton loomed in the distance. Once they started down that road, there was no turning back.

  “This is it?” she asked.

  “This is it.”

  She grasped the armrests at her sides, as if bracing herself for a roller-coaster ride. She seemed committed to the journey, if only because she thought coming with him would be safer than staying in Fairbanks on her own.

  For both their sakes, he hoped it would be.

  Chapter 9

  The first fifty miles on the Dalton were uneventful.

  Tala shifted in her seat, watching the tree-lined snowbanks pass by. It wasn’t picturesque, like Denali National Park. She checked the side mirror every few minutes. Even though Cam had expressed doubt over anyone following them, she wanted to stay alert. The killers were intent on hunting her down. They’d already tracked her from Willow to Fairbanks. They wouldn’t be easily deterred.

  She turned her gaze to Cam, her gallant rescuer. He drove with his right arm extended and the heel of his hand resting on top of the steering wheel. His knuckles didn’t appear to be bothering him, so he must not have broken any bones. He was wearing a gray thermal undershirt with a navy blue flannel. His beard was the kind that real men grew, thick and dark and dense, without any patches.

  “What did you do before you came to Alaska?” she asked, studying him.

  He kept his eyes on the road. “I did a lot of different things.”

  “Such as?”

  “I had a job in public service.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Road safety, traffic control, stuff like that.”

  “Like a construction worker?”

  “Sort of. Before I graduated from college, I worked on the farm.”

  “You went to college?”

  He scratched his jaw. “Yeah.”

  “What did you study?”

  “Sociology.”

  She gaped at his answer. “Sociology?”

  “Why is that so hard to believe?”

  “Because you’re a truck driver. I can’t think of a more antisocial job.”

  “You’ve got the wrong idea about truckers.”

  “Do I?”

  “We aren’t antisocial. We interact on the radio all the time. We have our own lingo, our own network. It’s a tight-knit community.”

  His radio was on, at a low volume. She’d heard some chatter, but she hadn’t paid much attention to it, and he hadn’t picked up the receiver once since she’d been with him. “Do you talk to the other truckers?”

  “Sure.”

  “What about? Cute waitresses?”

  He shook his head. “I try to keep it professional. There are female truckers who listen in. Some guys don’t care, but I do.”

  “Would you speak freely if it was just men?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Who do you talk to about personal stuff?”

  He fiddled with the controls on his dashboard, seeming reluctant to answer. He didn’t want to speak about his ex-wife, or his former profession. She got the impression that he’d be quite happy to drive all day in silence.

  “You’re not close to anyone?” she pressed.

  “My brother.”

  “Older or younger?”

  “He’s two years older.”

  “Is he your only sibling?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “Seattle.”

  “I have three brothers,” she said. “Two half-brothers and a stepbrother. They’re in Montana with my mom. I haven’t seen them in years.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “It’s a long drive.”

  She tucked her legs under her body, getting comfortable. Maybe it would be easier to have a conversation with him if she did all the talking. “My parents got divorced when I was ten. They weren’t happy together. My dad was Yellowknife Dene, and my mom is Plains Cree, so they were kind of a mismatch from the start.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, my mom is from Stony Plain, near Edmonton.”

  He gave her a blank look. “Is that in Canada?”

  “Yes. Edmonton is a big city in Alberta. It’s nothing like the Northwest Territories.” She tried to think of an analogy he would understand. “Imagine a New York City girl marrying an Alaskan from the bush.”

  “Oh,” he said, nodding. “Got it.”

  “They met at college. My dad only went for one semester, but it was long enough for him to fall in love with my mom. They got married and he brought her to Yellowknife. I guess she expected to have a different kind of life. My grandma said she was the prettiest girl in Stony Plain. She had a lot of admirers.”

  “Does she look like you?”

  “People say that.”

  He grunted an acknowledgment.

  “We went to see her family about once a year. At some point she reconnected with an old boyfriend, and she decided to leave my dad for him. He told her she could go, but she couldn’t take me with her.”

  “Did you want to go?”

  “No. I loved Yellowknife, and I loved my dad. I loved hunting and trapping and living off the land.”

  “So you stayed.”

  “I stayed. My mom moved to Montana and started a new family. I spent a month with them every summer.”

  “How was it?”

  “It was hard,” she said honestly. “I felt abandoned and forgotten, and I didn’t get along with my stepdad. I hated him for taking my mom away, and I resented my little brothers for having a mother when I didn’t. The only one I liked was Bear.”

  “Bear?”

  “My stepbrother,” she said, her cheeks heating. “I had a crush on him.”

  Cam arched a brow. “Did he encourage you?”

  “Not at all,” she admitted. “He ignored me. One day my mom caught me spying on him, and we both got in trouble. My stepdad yelled at Bear, even though he hadn’t done anything. My dad wasn’t happy about it, either. The next summer, he let me stay home. Then he died, and I went to live with my grandma. She passed away three years ago. My mom and brothers came to her funeral. I haven’t seen them since.”

  “Are you still in touch?”

  “I send my mom messages on Facebook, but we don’t talk much. I haven’t told her I left Duane.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, tugging on one of her braids. “I was so angry with her for leaving me and my dad. I pushed her away for years. It seems hypocritical of me to reach out to her for help now.”

  “It’s not hypocritical,” he said, his gaze steady.

  “I judged her pretty harshly.”

  “You were just a kid. How were you supposed to feel?”

  She tried to put her thoughts into words. “What I went through with Duane changed my perspective. I realized it wasn’t fair to lay all the blame on my mom for their divorce.”

  “Sometimes it is fair to lay all the blame on one person.”

  She looked out the window, pensive.

  “Your ex, for example. He hit you. That’s not a mutual failing. It’s totally on him.”

  “I could have done some things differently.”

  “Like what? Ducked?”

  She frowned at his sarcastic tone. “I’m not making excuses for Duane. I’m just saying that I’m more sympathetic toward my mom than I used to be. I know what it’s like to marry the wrong person and feel trapped.”

  Cam focused on the highway, his mouth tight. She got the impression that he wouldn’t mind meeting Duane in a dark alley, but he didn’t say it out loud, and she was glad. She’d had her fill of violence.

  Tala wasn’t sure she could mend the relationshi
p with her mother. She wished she hadn’t been so rebellious and resistant. Her little brothers were teenagers now. Bear worked in law enforcement. Her stepdad was a large, intimidating man. She might not feel like part of their family, but she’d be safe with them.

  They passed a sign that said Coldfoot 289 miles.

  “How long will it take to get there?” she asked.

  “About eight hours, depending on the weather and road conditions. It’s possible to drive all the way through in sixteen hours, but we’re not supposed to.”

  “Why not?”

  “Anything over fourteen consecutive hours is a code violation.”

  “So you’re required to stop in Coldfoot?”

  “We’re required to take breaks, and Coldfoot is the only place with services.”

  “Where is the final stop?”

  “The end of the gravel road is in Deadhorse. From there to Prudhoe Bay, it’s pure ice.”

  “Will we go on the ice?”

  “Probably. They have to test the thickness every week. If it’s safe, you can drive on it.”

  “What if it’s not safe?”

  “Then they restrict access.”

  “And you have to take the load back to Fairbanks?”

  “Not this early in the season. You can leave it at the yard in Deadhorse and someone else will deliver it after the conditions improve. Supplies pile up there. Last year I spent a couple of weeks going back and forth on the ice road. When it turns to slush in spring, they shut the whole thing down.”

  She went quiet for a few minutes, staring out the window. They passed by a sparse forest of spruce trees. A slow climb, followed by a series of hairpin turns, caused her pulse to kick up a notch. She gripped the armrests, trying not to show fear. They entered a straight section that was incredibly narrow. Trucks going the opposite direction flew by at a breakneck pace, as if they were on a roomy highway instead of a thin ribbon in the snow.

  “How are you doing?” Cam asked.

  “Fine,” she said, releasing a pent-up breath.

  “This is the easy part.”

  “Where’s the hard part?”

  “Atigun Pass is coming up. It’s a steep incline along a sheer cliff.”

  “Sounds great.”

  He smiled at her sarcasm. “We have an hour before it starts, so you can relax.”