Race Against Time (23 page)

Sean drove his big truck and honked as he passed us up. Mom honked back as we turned into the racing parking lot. I bounced in my seat.

“Calm down, Zoya.” She turned and smiled at me.

“Sorry.” I glanced out the window. Cars . . . dogs . . . sleds . . .

The images came again—the shot . . . the old man falling—

Zoya, focus!
I blinked.
Just think about the race. That’s all you have to do.

“Come on, Zoya. Let’s go get the dogs.” Mom hopped out of the car. I followed.

Stay focused!

Sean helped me get the dogs ready. We got the Painkiller Litter out of their compartments in the dog truck and attached them to the harnesses.

“Thanks, Sean.”

He smiled and winked. “Good luck, Sunshine.”

“Thanks. But that’s totally not fair.”

“What?” He stood upright and cocked his head.

“You have a nickname for me but I don’t have one for you.” I secured the last harness. And glanced up to him. What name suited Sean?

“Hmm . . . well that is a problem.” He scratched his chin.

Let’s see . . . What fits?

“Zoya, are you ready? It’s about time to get up there.”

“Coming!” I smiled at Sean. “You think about it, and I’ll see you after the race.”

“Okay.” He winked again. “Godspeed.”

My smile faded. “Yeah. I’ll see ya after.” The dogs and I rode up to the starting line.

Godspeed. Why would God care about how fast I went?

I shook my head. No. He didn’t care.

“Zoya, it’s okay to doubt at times. Everybody does. But don’t keep it bottled up inside. If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”

No! I just needed to stay focused.

This time, I’d drawn sixth to start. That meant I’d have to wait a whole twelve minutes. But soon we were off. The Painkiller Litter flew down the path as we passed one racer after another.

The wind blew my hair behind me, sending a chill down my spine. It was glorious. We sped down the tracks faster than I’d ever gone.

“Come on! You can do it, guys. Come on!” And still we gained speed. “Haw!” We turned left and rode on. Just a little bit further . . .

A small crowd cheered up ahead.
Cool, our very own cheerleaders.

We were passing by. I waved to some people, smiled at others.
I wonder how many people came this—

An orange hat.

Our gazes locked.

I jerked my head back to look at the dogs.

The murderer!

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ZOYA

1:47 p.m.

No, it couldn’t have been.

Morphine still led the other dogs down the track. We were almost to the finish line.

That orange hat . . .

Something inside of me yelled that that man was the murderer. That he was there for a reason.

Me.

His face . . .

Even though we had flashed by I could see his eyes. Dark and evil. Filled with vengeance and a deep, menacing sense of power.

Was I imagining things?

We crossed the finish line. Cheers rang in the air.

My heart hammered. My legs were weak. Could it really have been him?

Yes. It had to have been. I wouldn’t feel that kind of—

The dogs barked and stopped. A crowd surrounded me. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t pay attention.

I had to get to Mom. Tell her what I saw.

Sean, a whopper of a smile on his face, walked up. But the smile soon vanished. His brow creased. “Sunshine?”

“Mom?” I squeaked out the word. He looked in her direction.

I followed his gaze and stumbled over. Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard him say he’d take care of the dogs. But it didn’t register right away.

I wanted to stay next to Sean, to know he could protect me. But I walked on anyway. My legs felt like Jell-O and everything spun around me. Yet the fear of getting shot kept me going. Mom was close enough that I would still be in Sean’s range of protection, right?

My arm jerked as I collided with a man. Something hard pressed against my ribs.

My back stiffened.

Gun!

My head jerked up.

Orange hat . . .

Spasms shot throughout my body. I pulled. Yanked. Kicked. Spots danced around me. I wanted to scream but couldn’t. My throat closed. Hard to breathe . . .

And he was gone.

His face . . . Eyes, so dark . . .

My thoughts seemed to swirl. Everything started to go blurry.

But the note he shoved in my hand felt as heavy as bricks.

I lifted the paper to read the words. My knees shook, banging into one another . . .

Tell anyone that you saw me and you’ll never see your mom alive again.

I shoved the note in my pocket. My fist balled around it.

No
. . .
No, no, no!

The tears came. I could feel the scar from my bullet wound. It screamed at me. As if I had gotten shot again. Had I been? Was I hurt?

He’d been that close . . . To killing me. Why didn’t he?

God, help me!

RICK

January 29

Fairbanks, Alaska

1:52 p.m.

Another great race. Dan would be proud.

But today . . . today Rick would introduce himself to his niece and her mother. He wasn’t sure how much time he had left. And with all the stress of his job, he needed this. Who cared about the rest? It would all work out in the end.

As the immediate crowd dispersed around Zoya, he headed in her direction. Anesia spotted him first. She cocked her head at him. And stared.

The last few steps brought him to her side. “Anesia?”

“Yes? Do I know you?”

“No. I’m sorry to say. I’m Rick.”

“Hello, Rick.” She stuck out a hand in greeting. “Are you here to congratulate Zoya?”

“I am.”

She smiled and looked to be searching for her daughter. A proud mother if he ever saw one. Dan told him she was incredible and strong, but he’d never had the chance to see her up close. Breathtaking was a good word. Her brow furrowed as she watched her daughter. Better make this quick.

“And there’s another reason I’m here.”

Anesia turned back to face him. “Oh?”

“You see, I’m Rick Kon’. Dan’s brother.”

SEAN

1:55 p.m.

All the well-wishers and small children asking for autographs must have finished up while he loaded the dogs into the truck, because Zoya hurried to her mom and another man. In a split-second Anesia’s face turned to stone, Zoya’s paled.

Sean quickened his steps to intervene. But before he reached them, Zoya’s eyes rolled back into her head and the small girl collapsed in the snow. A horrible crunch sounded as her head struck something hard beneath the powdery surface.

“Zoya!” Anesia fell beside her daughter.

In an instant Sean knelt beside her. Lifting Zoya’s head, he checked for blood. “She’s got quite a lump already, and it’s growing.” His heart pounded. He needed control, but his heart felt the keen attachment to this mother and daughter.

With deft movements, he and Anesia worked together as he assessed the rest of Zoya’s head. “Zoya, can you hear me?” He touched her face. “Zoya?” Turning to Anesia, he kept his voice calm. She needed that. “At least the swelling is on the outside.”

“What do you mean?”

“In a head injury without a laceration, if a lump doesn’t form on the outside, it could mean that it is swelling toward the brain. That wouldn’t be good.”

Anesia’s eyes met his. The pleading unmistakable. She looked toward the small crowd still over by the judges. “We need some help over here!” Her gaze darted around. “Where’d he go?”

“Where’d who go?”

“Rick. The man . . . the man who was just here . . .” She mumbled something under her breath that he couldn’t understand. “It doesn’t matter. We just need to get her to the hospital as soon as possible.”

“Agreed.”

A couple paramedics rushed toward them.

A single tear dripped off the end of Anesia’s nose. Strong, capable, beautiful Anesia. How much had this slight woman endured all these years? And from what he’d learned, she’d done it alone. With tenacity and grace.

While the paramedics loaded Zoya onto a gurney, he grabbed Anesia’s hand. “I’ll be here for whatever you need.”

She never tore her gaze from her daughter. But she nodded.

“Ma’am?” The larger paramedic approached. “Are you riding along?”

“Yes.”

The man turned to him. “There won’t be room—”

“Not a problem. I will follow.” Sean turned to Anesia. “I’ll be there.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they walked to the ambulance.

A brief turn, and she was in his arms, hugging him with the power of ten men. She jerked away and jumped into the waiting vehicle. But not before he saw more tears streaming down her face.

Sean ran full-speed toward the truck. Cole and his girls had left moments before as they planned another celebration for Zoya on her journey to the championships. Pulling the cell from his coat pocket as he ran, he speed-dialed Cole.

It rang once. “Hey, man.”

“Cole, I need your help. Zoya fell a few minutes ago and hit her head. She’s unconscious with quite a bump. Anesia is in the ambulance with her en route to the hospital.”

“We’ll meet you there—”

“Wait, I need you guys to come in two vehicles. I’m driving the dog truck, and since we don’t know how long we’ll be there, it may be advantageous to have another vehicle in case we need to get the dogs back to the kennel at some point.”

“Good thinking. We’re almost to the house, so we’ll just grab another vehicle and meet you there. I assume they headed to Memorial?”

“Yes. I thought it was the only one.”

“Pretty much. We’ll call the prayer chain at church, too.”

“Thanks.”

With a snap, he closed the cell phone. His heart hammered in his chest. He’d been afraid of getting attached, but the truth blared at him.

His heart belonged to the Naltsiine girls.

ZOYA

January 29

Fairbanks Memorial Hospital

5:13 p.m.

Beeping. Talking. Coughing.

What was going on?

I couldn’t open my eyes. They felt as if they’d been superglued shut. Why couldn’t I open them?

Voices floated around me, lifting the cloud of nothingness.

“It’s been awhile.”

“She’ll wake up soon. If not I’ll wake her.”

“Andie, you need to eat something.” Cole. His voice seemed strained. What was he doing here? Where was I?

“I can last until she wakes up.”

“Go on, Andie, I’ll call Jenna if she does.” Mom’s voice. Relief flooded over me. She was alive and well.

Mom, Andie, and Cole. The voices comforted me, yet brought dread.

I had to tell them. But I couldn’t. Those men would find and kill Mom if I said anything.

But what if I didn’t tell anyone about the note? Who else would get hurt? Would I harm more people by
not
telling?

Cole could protect Mom. He could get the FBI.

But would the bad men know? Would they harm her before the FBI got to us?

Something rustled around me. Blankets?

I couldn’t open my eyes. Didn’t want to. Anger clung to my heart. It wouldn’t let go. Tears sprung in my eyes. But they wouldn’t fall. I couldn’t fall back asleep.

What was wrong with me?

God, what are You doing? What’s going on? Why are You doing this to me?
I wanted to love Him. Wanted to trust Him. Wanted to feel Him there. But I just couldn’t. I couldn’t feel His presence. He wasn’t there. Hadn’t been.

Had He?

I was abandoned. Alone.

Terrified.

“Don’t trust Him, don’t trust Him, don’t trust Him . . .”

I couldn’t do this on my own. But there was no one. If God was there, shouldn’t I feel Him? Shouldn’t He reassure me of His presence?

I waited, letting the tears slip past my still closed eyelids.

“Zoya?”

I waited. Nothing came. No comfort. No wisdom. I was at the end of my rope. Fear tightened its grasp. Every ounce of strength left my body as the tears came flooding in.

Too many things to worry about. It was too much.

Just let me die!

I needed to sleep. I needed the rest. But why? I would have to wake up at some point. But the anger would remain. The pain would remain. The fear would remain.

Would it be there for the rest of my life?

Yes.
I knew it would.

So why couldn’t I just die?

There was nothing left for me in this life. People wanted me dead anyway. I couldn’t tell anyone what I had seen. I couldn’t warn anyone about those men.

I was useless.

I tried to swallow back all the fear. All the anger. All the contradictory feelings. Nothing helped.

God, if You’re there, show me!
I needed to cry. But I couldn’t. Couldn’t tell Mom. Couldn’t let them kill her.

Anger sizzled inside.

Fine. If You’re not going to help me, then I’ll do it myself. I’ll save Mom. And I’ll make sure those murderers get behind bars.

And have a miserable rest of their lives.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

SLIM

January 29

Fairbanks, Alaska

8:21 p.m.

He dialed the number and hit speakerphone. His notes sat on the coffee table in front of him. Time to play his hand.

“Hello, Slim. To what do I owe the pleasure of you interrupting me on a Saturday evening?” A tapping sounded in the background. Like a letter opener beating an impatient rhythm on a wooden surface.

“Please don’t use your sarcasm and condescension on me, sir.”

“Well, well. Our young, little helper is offended. My sincerest apologies.”

Sincerest apologies. Yeah, right. Let’s just see how he responded to the news. “We only have one more chip before the program is complete.”

“Excellent. The money will be wired to you and I’ll contact the buyer. I expect delivery immediately after the buyer arrives.”

“Wait just a minute. I think we’ve got a little change in plans.” Make him squirm. Just a little.

“What do you mean, Slim?” Gone was the cooperative tone of the comment before.