FIRE AND ICE (20 page)

S
OPHIE SAT ON THE FLOOR OF HER APARTMENT WITH MANILA
folders spread out in front of her. She had spent the afternoon combing through William Harrington’s files looking for some thing that would explain his sudden disappearance and his untimely death. So far, all she could be certain of was that Harrington was obsessed with his health. The thickest folder was stuffed with medical reports and test results, and from what she could decipher from them, he was as fit as he claimed to be.

The latest examination report was on the top. Knowing that she would probably be rejected, she decided to try her luck anyway. She found the number of the clinic on the first page and dialed it. Sophie cheerfully introduced herself to the receptionist who answered the phone, and then she laid out her case. She told the woman that she was a reporter and that she wanted to write an article about one of the clinic’s clients who had recently met an untimely death. She did her best to convince the woman that the article was to be a tribute and not an exposé, but the receptionist cut her off in midsentence, explaining rather forcefully that neither she nor anyone else at the
clinic could divulge information about their patients. The answer was exactly what Sophie had expected, but she felt it was worth a try. She hung up the phone discouraged but not deterred. She’d have to keep looking.

Next she picked up Harrington’s address book. There were very few entries, and most of them were professional contacts: the law firm, a couple of doctors, a hair salon, several restaurants. None of them appeared to be friends, making Sophie wonder if Harrington had any. If he did, he probably kept their contact information on his cell phone or PDA, and since she didn’t have either, there was no way she could check. However, there was another solution: the cell phone bill. Sometimes the bills listed the numbers of incoming calls. She shuffled through the folders but couldn’t find the one she wanted. It was probably still in Harrington’s apartment. She had stuffed only half the files in her tote bag when Dwayne Wicker had intervened, and considering her last encounter with him, she doubted he’d welcome her with open arms if she visited the apartment again.

Sophie was contemplating her next step when the phone rang. Paul Larson was calling from Alaska.

“I was just wondering if you’d reconsidered my invitation.”

Sophie laughed. She couldn’t fault the man for his persistence.

“Actually, I’m thinking about it,” she said.

“Great!” he said enthusiastically. “I’m excited to meet you.” He hastened to add, “And it’s not because I’m starved for female company.”

“If I come, it will be for business only. I’ve been doing some research on William Harrington, and there are a few things here that I want to check out first.”

“That’s the other reason I’m calling,” he said. “I’ve got news. I heard about two guys who talked to Harrington.”

“When did they talk to him? What did Harrington say?”

“Slow down,” Paul said with a chuckle, “and let me explain. You
might not know this, but we’ve got trucks coming up and down the Dalton Highway pretty much all year long. The rigs come from Fairbanks with equipment and supplies.

“One of the drivers is a real nice guy named Sam Jackson. He told me he was giving two brothers a ride back up to Deadhorse. Their last name’s Coben, and they’re trappers,” he explained. “According to Sam, they’re kind of strange, but not scary. I think he means the brothers don’t know how to be social. They’re maybe awkward but still friendly and don’t mean any harm.

“Anyway, to pass the time, Sam told them about Barry killing a man, and when he mentioned where it happened, one of the brothers asked him if the man’s name was William. They had met a William who was all alone out on the flats. Neither brother could remember the man’s last name, but they both recalled that William told them not to call him Bill. Odd thing to remember, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “What else did the brothers say?” she asked, trying to hurry him along.

“At the time, Sam didn’t know William Harrington’s name, but he was sure the brothers were talking about the same guy, though one of them told him that this William was setting up camp in a remote area, and he looked like he was going to be settling in for a long spell. They also told Sam that they talked to him for quite a while and offered to help him put some of his equipment together, but William wouldn’t let them help.”

“Did Harrington tell them what he was doing there?”

“Sam didn’t say, but he did tell me the brothers spent several hours with him.”

“I’d love to talk to them.”

“Sam’s already on his way back to Fairbanks,” Paul said. “But I could dig up his phone number for you or have him call you.”

“No, I mean the brothers. I want to talk to them.”

“That’s going to be a problem. Sam said they were picking up supplies and then heading toward Umiat. ”

“Could I get their cell phone number?”

Her question gave him a good laugh. “Sophie, they’re trappers. They don’t carry cell phones. They’ve probably never used one. They live in the wilderness and don’t have any need for cell phones.”

“What happens if they get into trouble?”

“They have rifles and guns and hatchets and—”

“Got it. Wilderness men,” she said. “Live in log cabins in the mountains.”

“More like prefabricated trailers,” he said. “And cell phones couldn’t get signals where they are anyway. If you get up here fast, you can probably catch them before they head back to their camp.”

She tallied up the work she needed to do for the newspaper. “It might take a couple of days.”

“The sooner you get here, the more likely you are to find the Coben brothers,” he cautioned.

“I’ll make my reservations today.”

“Let me know your arrival time, and I’ll make sure I’m there to greet you.”

“Yes, I will.”

“How about I go ahead and reserve some rooms for you at the hotel. How many do you think you’ll need?”

“Just one.”

“You’re traveling alone?”

“Yes, I am. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No, of course not. You’ll be perfectly safe here. Probably safer than in Chicago.”

Based on the fact that she’d recently been shot, she had to agree with Paul. Prudhoe Bay had to be safer.

“I’m not worried,” she said.

“The accommodations in Deadhorse are a bit unusual. You can either get a room but share a bathroom, or share a dorm room with a bunch of guys. I’m guessing you’ll want a private room.”

“You guessed right.”

“Oh, and I’ll go ahead and tell the police in Deadhorse that you’re coming. I want to tell them about the Coben brothers meeting Harrington, anyway. His death was ruled accidental, but they still might want to talk to the brothers. How long are you planning to stay? If you don’t mind, I’ll take some time off and show you around.”

“That would be great—”

“You’ll want to see where Harrington was camped, won’t you?”

“Yes,” she said. “And while I’m up there, I’ll need to go to Barrow. My boss wants me to write a couple of articles about the high school football team he heard about.”

“Barrow isn’t a hop and a skip away. You’ll have to fly there, but I can arrange that for you. You’ll fly right over the accident site,” he added. “You know, where Barry …”

Snacked on William Harrington?
“Yes, I know,” she said instead.

He mentioned several other places he thought she should see while she was in the bay, as he called the massive northern area of the state. Umiat, the Topagoruk River, and Alaktak were just a few. She couldn’t spell the names let alone pronounce them, but Paul was familiar with all of them.

“You’re going to see the Arctic Ocean. That alone is worth the trip.”

Paul made it sound like such an adventure. Time to get educated, she decided. She still didn’t know much about Alaska. She went to her computer and started reading. The north shore fascinated her. Nights that lasted over fifty days, winter winds that could pick up a man and toss him around like tissue paper, and temperatures that could drop as low as 60 degrees below zero. Who in his right mind would live there?

She called a travel agency to find the best way to get to Prudhoe Bay. After making her reservation, she called Paul Larson’s phone. It went right to voice mail.

“Paul, this is Sophie Summerfield,” she said. “I’ll be on flight 459, Wednesday, five p.m. See you then.”

She had much to do before leaving Chicago. Gathering all the folders into a pile, she stacked them on her dining room table and went to work on one of her assigned newspaper articles. When she finally turned off her computer, it was past midnight.

Her mind was filled with images of Alaska, but when she finally curled up in bed and closed her eyes, her thoughts turned to Jack MacAlister and the kiss. That frickin’ kiss. Big, big mistake. Definitely. So how come she wanted to make the same mistake again?

THE SECOND MISTAKE SHE MADE
was forgetting about the gossip grapevine. Gil picked her up the next morning. He was her designated driver to the doctor to have her stitches removed, and on the way home she casually mentioned her travel plans. He seemed genuinely interested and asked a lot of questions about the places she hoped to visit.

By the end of the day, Gil had a new name: Big Mouth.

She hadn’t been home more than an hour when the phone calls started. She heard from Regan; Regan’s brother Aiden, who was calling from the airport while he waited for his flight home, which meant that Regan had already squealed to him; and she heard from Cordie, who had to limit her tirades to coincide with the five-minute breaks between classes. It took her three phone calls to finish.

Sophie took the are-you-crazy calls in stride until she heard from Alec. Regan had obviously convinced her husband that it was his duty to keep Sophie from doing anything rash. He told her flat out that she couldn’t go. She didn’t get angry. She laughed and then reminded him that she would do whatever she wanted as long as it was legal. Then she lied. She told him she hadn’t made up her mind to go to Alaska and promised that he would be the first to hear, once she made the decision.

Alec wasn’t buying the lie. He’d known Sophie a long time now and understood how her mind worked. He’d bet a month’s
salary she already had her airline reservations, and just for the hell of it, he checked. He was right.

He knew he couldn’t stop her, but he hated the idea of her going alone. Harrington had ended up stranded in the middle of nowhere, and he didn’t want that to happen to Sophie, too. It didn’t matter that Harrington’s death was ruled an accident. There was still something sinister in play, and knowing Sophie, she would want to find out what it was.

Alec knew he could request assistance from the FBI office in Anchorage, but they couldn’t give Sophie twenty-four-hour protection, and she wouldn’t allow it anyway. Since he had married Regan, both Sophie and Cordie had become like sisters to him. Cordie was the more reasonable and practical of the three friends; Sophie, though sweet and charming, was the daredevil. She always ended up fighting for the wronged and the forgotten, and, despite the risk, usually she got them the justice they deserved. Sophie, he’d learned, was all about fairness.

Alec didn’t care how Sophie felt about it. Someone had to go with her, and there was only one person he could think of who had the time and the mettle. He also had a gun and a badge, and both would certainly come in handy.

Jack was the man for the job. Convincing him was going to require a little finesse and a whole lot of manipulation.

Only one way to make it work. Emergency poker night.