Sabotaged (9 page)

She flinched. “Yeah, fine.”

Ashley covered her mouth. “Oh, Kirra. I'm sorry, I—”

Kirra held up a hand, cutting her off. “Don't worry about it. I didn't realize he was teaching or that Meg had a class with him.”

Who was William Daniels, and why did his name have such an effect on Kirra?

“You sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine.” She nodded.

He looked back to Ashley. Why did he have the feeling he was the only clueless one in the room? “Where can we find Professor Daniels?”

“We don't need to talk to him,” Kirra said.

“Why not?”

“He has nothing to do with environmental science.”

“And he hardly knew Meg,” Ashley added. “I mean he knew who she was because of . . .” She looked at Kirra with a pained expression. “I mean . . . she was one of several hundred in his intro class, and she went out of her way to avoid him. You'd be wasting your time talking to him.”

Reef's gaze shifted between a mortified-looking Ashley and a queasy-looking Kirra. What was going on?

“I'm sorry I have to rush off.” Ashley clutched the handle of her messenger bag. “But I've got a test in ten minutes that counts for a third of my grade. I can meet up with you two after . . .”

“That's okay,” Kirra said. “I think we got everything we need, but give me a call if you think of anything else.”

Ashley nodded and mouthed “Sorry” to Kirra as she slipped through the doorway.

Reef waited until they were alone at the end of the hall before asking, “What was that all about?”

Kirra slipped her hat back on before stepping outside.
Snow had started to fall. The burgundy knit cap was a striking contrast to her golden hair and the white flakes swirling around them. “What was what all about?”

“Professor Daniels?”

Kirra slinked her hands into her pea coat pockets. “Like Ashley said, he'd be no help to us. He's a waste of time.”

She trudged on in front of him, her shoulders rigid, and her head down. Was she shaking?

He increased his stride and draped an arm around her slender shoulders.

She stiffened. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to warm you up. You're shivering.”

“Oh. Right. Shivering. Thanks.”

“No problem.” He'd hold her in his arms anytime. “So where are we going?”

“To see Professor Baxter.”

“What do you mean they aren't there?” his cousin roared over the phone as he pulled down the drive.

“I checked her place. She's not there.”

“And McKenna?”

He looked at the McKenna family home in his rearview mirror. “I posed as a delivery guy saying I needed a package signed personally by the recipient—Reef McKenna—and the gal who answered said her brother was at the Iditarod.”

“Okay, so if they aren't in Yancey and they aren't at the race,
where
are they?”

He swallowed, acid bubbling up his throat. “I don't know.”

“Then, find out!”

The line went dead.

He popped the lid off the Tums and tossed a couple in his mouth. He should have known that Kirra Jacobs would be a nuisance. She had trouble written all over her.

Kirra stepped into the auditorium, her heart in her throat as a million different emotions crashed through her. Her mind drifted back to her first class in this very room, her first day as a grad student, ready to take on the world. It was the day she met William—the sparks had been instantaneous, but in the end they'd burned her.

The room swirled around her, and she sank into an open seat, trying to catch a breath before she passed out.

Reef gazed over at her as the lights dimmed and the professor stopped talking. A video appeared on the large screen at the front of the auditorium.

He leaned toward her and whispered over the deep voice of the narrator, “You okay?”

She nodded and kept her gaze pinned on the wildlife frolicking across the screen.
This is going to end very badly.

B
ETWEEN
T
AKOTNA
AND
O
PHIR
, A
LASKA
M
ARCH
12, 8:30
A
.
M
.

Kayden flew while Jake scanned the frozen ground several hundred feet below. He tried to ignore the tiny black pouch nestled in his front jean pocket, the outline of the ring pressing against his thigh. He'd been about to propose when the call came in from Reef. Now he'd have to wait for the opportune moment, but keeping silent was burning his lungs.

Kayden dipped the nose of the Cessna, making another sweep of the rugged trail as the sun rose full in the sky—a rare sight, and one they didn't expect to have for long, since the infernal gray cloud cover was moving in again. They'd flown over a couple of the lead mushers, who were pressing toward Ophir after only taking a few hours to rest in Takotna—unlike the majority of the mushers, who had chosen to take the twenty-four-hour rest required at some point of the race in the well-equipped village.

The twenty-three-mile route between Takotna and Ophir was a series of switchbacks climbing up the ridge, making
travel difficult for the mushers and dogs alike. So far there was no sign of Frank, his neon-green coat always an Iditarod standout.

Kayden swung around the last of the switchbacks, and Jake hollered, “There.”

“What?”

“I think we've got a musher in trouble.” He peered down at a sled flipped sideways along the northwest side of the ridge.

“I'm going to have to track west past the trail to find a landing spot.”

He peered at the dogs tangled on their line, no sign of the musher. He could be pinned beneath his sled. “Do it.”

Kayden landed the plane—skis attached to the wheels—and they disembarked. They took time to pull on their necessary winter gear. It'd be a couple-mile hike back to where he'd spotted the downed musher, and the temps were still below zero.

The air was frigid, but crisp—just how Jake liked it. He appreciated the sun peeking through the cloud cover, but it wouldn't last long—another storm was headed their way.

When they reached the overturned sled, the dogs howled at their approach.

“Hello? Who's there?” a man asked.

“Iditarod SAR,” Jake answered, following the sound of the man's voice.

“Thank goodness. I'm down here.”

Jake peered over the ridge to find Warren Hunt—two-time Iditarod champ—clinging to a narrow outcrop, his body flush with the ice-covered rock wall. Jake took in the hundred-foot drop below—Warren was one lucky man. “Hang on. We'll get you up.”

He looked back at Kayden, who was already assessing their options. She scrounged through Warren's gear bag. It had been tossed twenty feet from the sled but remained intact. She pulled out a rope and held it aloft.

Jake held out his hand. “Toss it here.”

“I can climb down to him.”

Of course she'd want to go the adventurous route. “No need. I'll anchor the rope and send it down to him. He can climb up.”

She exhaled. “Fine. I'll right the sled.”

“Wait and we'll help you.”

“I'm quite capable.”

“I have no doubt where that's concerned, but the dogs might try and bolt when the sled's upright. Better him”—Jake gestured with a tilt of his chin to Warren—“handling the dogs while you and I right it.”

Kayden nodded, agreeing but clearly not pleased. Always so strong willed and yearning for adventure—it was a big part of why he loved her. Why he wanted her to be his wife.

Jake secured the rope around his waist and lowered the rest of it down to Warren. Digging his boots into the snow, he braced himself to hold Warren's weight. Slowly but steadily, Warren climbed up hand over hand, his feet wrapped around the rope. He crested the edge of the ridge, and Kayden, lying flat on her stomach for stability, hefted him up onto solid ground. Warren moved straight for his team and exhaled in relief to find none of them injured.

“What happened?” Jake asked after they'd righted his sled and he'd seen to his dogs. “Get too close to the ridge?” It was easy enough to do, even for an expert musher like Warren Hunt.

“Only because a snowmobile nearly ran us right off the mountain.”

“What?”

“I caught a glimpse of Frank Weber off course, down there . . .” He gestured to the valley beneath the ridge. “I tried to wave him down. See if he needed help. He's been off grid since Rainy Pass. Before I could flag his attention, this snowmobile came out of nowhere. I had to bank right to avoid being hit head on and ended up where you found me.”

The first visual on Frank in nearly three days. What was he doing? What could the kidnappers possibly want him to do out in this rugged, desolate part of the state they loved? And why try to take out Warren? Just because he'd spotted Frank? Probably because he could report Frank's location to SAR volunteers, and the men behind the kidnapping wanted to keep Frank isolated and on track.

“Can you describe the snowmobile or its rider?” Kayden asked.

“Obnoxious.” Warren situated himself on the sled. “Probably some bored kid who lives out here and thought it'd be funny to shake things up a bit.” He shook his head with a disgusted sigh and swung an arm toward his team. “His idea of fun could have got us all injured or killed.”

“I'm just glad you're okay,” Kayden said.

Jake nodded in agreement. He was thankful Warren and his team were safe, but he didn't share his assessment of a foolish youth looking for a thrill as the cause of his accident. It was the man watching Frank, making sure no one intercepted or interacted with Frank Weber. He felt confident of it. “Is there
anything
you remember about the man or his ride?” he asked.

“It happened so fast. I think the snowmobile was white, which is why I didn't see it until it was right upon us. I heard the engine but couldn't lay eyes on it. Then, all of a sudden, it was whirring across our path.”

“And Frank?”

“No idea. I hope he's not still off course. Once you stray from the path . . .” Warren gazed at the storm burgeoning along the darkening horizon. “Especially in these conditions. It's easy to get lost—permanently.” He hunched his shoulders against the wind, tightening his hood around his face. “Speaking of weather—you two had better hurry on to Ophir or back to Takotna, or you'll be grounded.”

“Thanks. Just one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you tell me exactly where Frank was? Which way he was headed?”

“He was on the north side of Furrow's Ridge continuing north.”

Which made no sense, when the race course dropped south. But it gave them a place to start searching, and that was something. “Thanks.” Jake extended his hand.

“Thank you,” Warren said, giving his dogs the order to mush, and moments later he and his team disappeared into the white void.

Jake slid his gloved hands into his coat pockets. “What do you think?” He studied the sky—dark and massing with thick cloud cover. “Do we need to head back in?” They'd finally gotten a bead on Frank. If they missed this opportunity, who knew when, or
if
, they'd have another.

“Probably.” She leaned against him, warming him instantly.
“But . . . this is our best shot at finding Frank. I say we give it a quick sweep before heading back.”

His thoughts exactly.

“You're going to do what?” Gage said over the radio.

“We've got a bead on Frank Weber. We're going to make a quick sweep over the area,” Jake repeated.

That's what he thought Jake had said. “You know the weather is worsening. Zero visibility soon.”

“I know. We're going to give it fifteen. If we don't see a sign of him by then, we'll head in.”

“Okay, but you know if you go down with zero visibility no one can come to help until this passes.”

Jake paused, then exhaled. “We're aware of the risks.”

Gage shook his head, knowing he and Darcy—infuriatingly dogged woman that she was—would do the exact same, but he didn't have to like their decision. That was his sister out there.

“Those are some dedicated volunteers,” Ethan said as he entered the room and settled back in the open chair beside him.

The two had been volunteering for the Iditarod for years—Ethan on communication and Gage typically on SAR. But this year they were both on communications, along with Xander Cook—another volunteer Gage had seen around the race before.

Gage reclined in his chair, stretching his legs out. “You don't know the half of it.”

“Are they talking about Frank Weber?”

“Yeah. He's been MIA since Rainy Pass.”

“I heard he pulled out of the race,” Xander said, coming up behind them with three cans of soda. He tossed them each one, then popped his own open.

“Missing checkpoints means he's out whether he wants to be or not.” Ethan took a swig of root beer.

“So why are they still searching?” Xander propped himself on the corner of the folding table serving as a desk.

Gage set his soda down. “To make sure he's okay. It's odd for a competitor to bail on a race but stay out in the field.”

Ethan swiped his mouth. “You think Frank's lost?”

“Perhaps.” Though his avoidance of the checkpoints certainly seemed intentional.

“Or injured?” Xander offered.

“Another possibility.” But it appeared he was not, from what Jake had said about Warren Hunt's sighting.

“Well, he's lucky your sister and her boyfriend are so dedicated.” Ethan glanced at the data streaming in on the laptop screen.

Gage leaned forward. “Anything interesting?”

“Storm's moving in, but you already know that. No mushers missing, other than Frank Weber.”

“That's good.” Gage got to his feet. “I think I'll take my break and grab a bite.”

Ethan glanced back at the kitchen. “Enjoy that gorgeous girlfriend of yours.”

“Always.” Gage smiled. She was the light of his life.

Entering the kitchen, he found Darcy hunched over her laptop at the far table.

“How's it going?” he asked, swooping in beside her.

“Gage!” She swatted him. “You scared me.”

“Sorry. Didn't mean to.” Okay, maybe a little. He loved getting the best of her—it happened so rarely.

“Guess I was engrossed.” She smiled, finally looking away from her work for more than a millisecond.

Gage lifted an orange from his sack and started peeling it—citrus infusing the air. “I'm guessing you found something?”

Darcy glanced around the room and slid closer to Gage so her shoulder was flush against his. Now he was engrossed.

She lifted her notes, glancing around again to be sure no one was paying particular attention to them and then whispered, “I'm waiting to hear back on a couple favors I called in, but it looks like Frank Jacobs has a record.”

He tried to ignore the tantalizing feel of her breath along his neck, her vanilla scent mixing with the citrus. “Really?”

“Yep. Frank Weber is clean, but Frank
Jacobs
was involved in a breaking and entering on Kodiak that appears to have gone very wrong.” She couldn't hide her smile. Uncovering the truth was what she lived for.

An hour of disturbing images later, the video mercifully ended.

Reef leaned over and whispered, “I see what Ashley means about kindling a fire.”

Kirra nodded.

She'd been doing a lot of that lately. Nodding silently—which was so unlike the Kirra he knew. Normally, he couldn't shut her up. Here she was different. Sullen. Guarded. She was afraid of something or someone on campus. He'd sensed it the moment she'd reluctantly agreed to visit the university, and her increasing discomfort with each passing minute was
palpable. Something was wrong, something that reached far deeper than Meg's disappearance.