Race Against Time (3 page)

“Old man? Seriously? You’re not living up to your call name, Einstein, with all that trash talk.” He approached her with the spatula, settling into his own fencing stance. “It’s time for the student to learn from the master.” Family could heal a world of hurt. His first wife, Amanda, and their three-year-old daughter, Chloe, had been killed in a tragic accident more than a decade ago. Nine long years he’d hardened himself. His heart. His mind. Then he met Jenna and Andie. And they introduced him to God. The same God his Amanda had believed. The one true God.

Spoon and spatula clacked together in rhythm as they fenced their way around the giant granite-topped island. The stress on his shoulders eased as his stepdaughter took his mind off the AMI facility and test coming up.

Andie lunged, smearing sticky dough on the side of his face. “Oh really? I think you’re goin’ down—”

Jenna appeared out of nowhere and plucked the spoon from Andie’s hand. “No one will be going down today, I’m afraid.” She grabbed his spatula. In one swift move, the utensils clattered into the sink where Jenna tossed them and she wiped her hands together in the air. “That’s that, you two.”

“Awww, Mom!”

“Awww, hon!”

Cole erupted into laughter at the whine duet he and Andie produced.

Andie waggled her brows at him. “You should thank her.” She snitched a piece of cookie dough out of the bowl and popped it into her mouth. “’Cause you would’ve lost.”

As if anticipating his next move, Andie shot out of the kitchen.

He was in full chase mode and already around the island when Jenna caught the back of his T-shirt.

“Honestly, babe. It’s like having two toddlers.”

“And you love it.” He winked at his bride of four months.

The twinkle in her eyes gave him all the encouragement he needed. Wrapping his arms around her, he nuzzled her neck.

Andie appeared and swiped another chunk of cookie dough.

“Nope, no way. Think you can just worm your way back into my good graces with—” Jenna glanced at her teenager then pulled back and crossed her arms over her chest. Trying to look all stern.

Too bad it didn’t fool him.

She took another step back. “You”—she pointed a finger in Cole’s chest—“are a stinker.”

Andie hopped up to sit on the counter. “Or a very tall toddler.” She chucked a chocolate chip at him, laughing.

“And you”—Jenna continued, her gaze fixed on Andie’s blue eyes—“need to clean up this mess. Have you seen my red duct tape? All I can find is purple, teal, and plaid . . .”

The ringing of the phone saved them from Jenna’s scolding and search for the tape. As she headed to answer it, Cole reached over and flicked Andie’s nose.

Giggles permeated the air around him as Andie defended herself with flying chocolate chips.

“So you think you can distract me with the chocolate, huh?”

Andie climbed off the counter. “Yep. It worked, too!” She darted back around the island, challenge in her eyes.

“As much as I want to win this war, you heard your mom, we need to clean it up.” He could hear Jenna’s reprimand that someone needed to be the adult. Too bad that someone had to be him.

“You’re right. Would you put those cookies in the oven for me? You know how well hot ovens and I go together.”

Good ol’ Andie. Always finding a way to laugh her way through her rare disorder. “No problem, Squirt.” Even at thirteen years old, the intelligent, independent, young lady still had to be careful. Cole learned more each day about things to watch out for, and how he could protect this precious kid without smothering her. Jenna was gifted at protecting and guiding. Giving Andie her space to grow into an adult, yet always cautious and vigilant about Andie’s surroundings. Showed him how inadequate he was at this whole father thing. But he was learning. He often tried to put himself into Andie’s shoes. Being unable to feel pain and unable to regulate your own body temperature could be a real bummer. Not to mention life threatening.

After sliding the pans into the convection oven, Cole spotted Jenna as she barreled into the kitchen. Her face a pasty-white, eyes brimming with tears.

She chewed on her bottom lip. Jenna’s eyes darted to their daughter and then back to his face. “We need to get to the hospital.”

Andie nestled up against his side. “What—”

“It’s Zoya. She’s been shot.”

CHAPTER TWO

SEAN

January 2

North Pole, Alaska

3:25 p.m.

The black of the sky at such an hour in the afternoon amazed him. Sean Connolly had been in Alaska since the day before Christmas, but the lack of daylight for the majority of the day still mesmerized him. What would it be like when it was reversed in the summer? His brain wasn’t quite sure he could fathom it.

After working his way across the country on foot, he’d reached Canada, then the ALCAN highway. The lone weeks of trudging through the wilderness in freezing temperatures had given him plenty of time to think. And plan.

For the first time in his life, he was living by
his
rules.

He’d left Fairbanks that morning and headed southeast down the highway toward North Pole. Why he chose North Pole, Alaska, as his final destination could only be explained by his desperate need to get as far away as possible from—

Sean shook his head. No. He wouldn’t let his mind dwell on it. He did the right thing.

An exit ramp veered off the highway. A Carr’s grocery store and the Hotel North Pole were to his right. Without another thought, his feet took the exit and he headed into the small town he hoped would become his home.

A sigh left his lips as he walked along the roundabout and headed for the hotel. Interesting. The streetlights were decorated as giant candy canes. Christmas decorations covered each post, sign, and window. The decorations appeared permanent. Giant light posts on the main street were painted red and white. The short posts on either side of a fire hydrant were painted the same. Surely they didn’t repaint after the holiday season. Well, with a name like North Pole, maybe that was the city’s calling card. Christmas year-round in North Pole, Alaska?

A quirky little town to be sure for this Eastern city boy. His family would’ve looked down their noses at everyone here.

All the more reason to like the place.

He dropped his pack in the parking lot and worked the aches out of his muscles. He’d walked more than 6,000 miles the last seven months. Part in anger, part in stubbornness, but mostly to disappear.

Time to find a place to stay. Soon he’d find a job he loved, learn all about it, and then live his days out in joy and solitude. His past would fade away. He no longer lived under his father’s thumb. At thirty-seven years old, he was finally his own man.

About time.

Sean picked up his pack and with a lightness in his heart that he hadn’t felt since he was a child, he headed to the front door of Hotel North Pole.

DETECTIVE SHELDON

January 2

North Pole Police Department

3:34 p.m.

Detective Dave Sheldon shut the door to the office he shared with the three sergeants and took a deep breath. Who would shoot at a little girl?

A murderer. That’s who. One who knew that child was a witness.

He gathered what little information they had so far and scanned his notes. They’d need to interview the teen as soon as the doctor called him. Didn’t give him much time to piece together more than the bare facts: a murder of an alleged homeless man, and the attempted murder of a thirteen-year-old sprint racer.

A knock at the door brought his attention up.

“Detective Sheldon, I’m Agent Philips with the FBI.”

Dave tried not to bristle as he shook the man’s hand. Were the feds stepping in?

Agent Philips held up a hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to take over. But there is some sensitive information you need to be aware of.”

“Have a seat.”

“As you know, your office was exemplary in helping the FBI with the Gray case last year.”

“Thank you. We were happy to assist.”

“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 . . .