Race Against Time (26 page)

Several seconds passed then she pulled back. His coat bore the evidence of her rampaging tears. “Thanks for listening, Sean.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m angry and I’m scared. And I don’t know what to do.” She swiped at her face and headed toward the door. “I need to go. But thanks for not giving me any advice. Or trying to fix me.”

Thank heaven he kept his mouth shut.

“I’m glad you’re here. And I’m really glad you like my mom.” And with that, she ventured out the door.

Sean sat back down on a bale of hay, exhausted—and haunted by one question:

Did he do the right thing?

ANDIE

January 30

235 North Santa Claus Lane, North Pole

2:47 p.m.

As we walked into the Country Café, the wonderful aroma of croissant French toast drifted over to me.

Yum.

“Where do you guys want to sit?” Cole looked around the crowded area and frowned.

I glanced around. There weren’t many large tables available. Zoya stood beside me, fiddling with her gloves.

“How ’bout there?” I pointed off to a dirty table in the corner. “We could get someone to clean it off.”

Cole nodded. “Looks like someone already is.”

A tall lady came and carried away a large stack of dishes, then disappeared into the kitchen.

Auntie Anesia, Sean, Zoya, Cole, Mom and I walked over to the round table.

My nice clothes began to bug me. Why didn’t I bring a change of clothing?

“How did you like the sermon, Sean?” Mom sat down and smiled.

“It was very pleasurable, to say the least.” He smiled in return.

Cole sat down between me and Mom. “Who wants to pray?”

“Cole, we haven’t even ordered yet.” Mom poked his arm.

“Well!” He crossed his arms. “Aren’t we the slow group. Let’s order so I can eat!”

All morning he had been complaining that he was hungry. What a man. No patience whatsoever.

Everyone laughed. Except Zoya. She sat still beside me and fiddled with her gloves again.

“Oh, what a surprise to see you all here!” I looked up to find Mrs. Howe from church standing there, her little boy, Jonny, at her side.

“Hello, Laura.” Mom stood and hugged her.

She smiled. “I saw you at the service this morning but didn’t get a chance to say hi. I found something that I think belongs to you. Jonny picked it up in the church parking lot last week—”

“It shiny,” the three-year-old piped up.

“At first I couldn’t tell who it belonged to, but it has what I think are Marc’s initials on it.”

I turned in my seat as she pulled the little black box out of her pocket. “Mom!” I jumped up and started doing the happy dance. How on earth had Jonny found it?

“Thank you, we’ve been looking for it.” Mom smiled and handed it to me.

“Cole, see?” I almost threw it into his hands as Jonny and Mrs. Howe said good-bye and left.

“I see. But what about it?”

“Look at it!” I bounced up and down on my toes. He was such a man! Didn’t notice anything!

Zoya just stared at the box. Not saying a word. How was she not as excited as I was? What was wrong with her? I stopped bouncing.
God?

Cole leaned over the table and placed the box on its surface. His brow scrunched. “Andie, why do you think this could be a clue?”

My heart pounded. Was he that unobservant?

“Look,” I pointed, wanting to hit him on top of the head. And hit him hard.
You know, Jesus said many, many times, “he who has ears to hear, let him hear.” I think that goes for eyes as well . . .

“It seems a little duller under the inscription like something was erased, or like sandpapered over, and Dad’s initials were etched over it.”

He flipped the box to the side the initials were on.

“I’m not sure.” He tampered with the lid, then sighed. “I’ll have to break it open. Is that okay?” He turned to me.

I didn’t want to ruin it. Not since it was Dad’s. But it was for the good of our country. I nodded. Then sat back down as Cole got out his nifty tool thing-a-majigger and started working on it. Sean leaned in close from the other side of the table and helped hold it still.

Zoya slipped a piece of paper into my hand.

If I tell you something, you have to promise you won’t tell a single soul.

I looked into her eyes.
There
has
been something wrong, it wasn’t just me!
“I promise,” I whispered.

She slipped a folded-up letter into my hand. Again I looked into her eyes. She looked . . . sad. And angry.

I stood up. Best to read it in private. “Mom, can I go to the restroom?”

Without even looking at me she nodded. Everyone’s attention seemed to be on the little black box. I could feel the tension in the room thicken as Cole worked on it. No one noticed that something was wrong with my friend.

I walked to the bathroom, slipped into a stall, and opened the note:

Andie,

I know you want to be there for me, you always have. But you can’t help me with this. Please don’t get mad at me, I love you very much. But God and I aren’t seeing eye to eye. And I know that your words couldn’t help. You’ve been a great friend and I love you. Thanks for sticking with me, but I need to go on alone.

Love, Zoya

What was she saying? Go on alone? Go where? She was still mad at God . . . why? I thought she was over that. I had promised, but we had to talk. And I needed Mom’s help.

I rushed out the door, slamming it into the wall, and over to the table. Zoya didn’t look me in the eye.

Everyone else stared at the box. Mom’s hand covered her mouth.

Cole looked up to me and stood. “Andie, this box isn’t Marc’s.”

I blinked. What?

Zoya needed me. Why was he—

Cole stood.

Something was wrong.

He leaned in close, hand clasping my elbow in a tight squeeze. “This box belonged to Viper.”

SEAN

3:45 p.m.

Cole’s grip on his shoulder intensified. The tension and urgency flowed through his heavy jacket. Whoever this Viper fellow was, Sean knew the stakes had just been raised.

“Anesia, can you spare Sean for a little bit?”

She studied Cole’s face, then nodded. “All right, but we all rode together today, you’ll need to get him back to the cabin.”

He glanced from Anesia to Jenna. Suspicion filled both their eyes. Zoya sat, gaze down, hands clasped in her lap. And Andie looked pale, like the news about her father’s precious memento had pushed her over the edge.

As they headed out the door to their vehicles, Sean had the feeling things were about to get worse.

“We need to talk.”

It was a barked command. Sean angled a look at Cole. “That’s obvious.”

Cole’s shoulders dropped a bit. “Sorry. You’re not one of my soldiers. I shouldn’t treat you like one.”

“I do understand. But orders being bellowed at me are not a pleasant reminder.” In fact, it made him want to punch someone. Like his father.

They climbed into Cole’s truck. “I’m sorry, Sean. I need your help.”

“Go on.”

“Andie and Zoya were correct. I don’t know why he did it, but Viper switched boxes with Marcus. There were three that I know of. The leaders from our ops group each had one. Maybe he thought Marc’s held the secret to obtaining AMI, I don’t know. But this goes back farther than I thought. I’ll have to contact the FBI to see about getting Viper’s box out of evidence. Because that one, I hope, is Marc’s.”

“So how did you know the other one wasn’t Marc’s?

“The girls were correct. The etching on the bottom had been changed. It was planted.” Cole sighed. “Why, I don’t know. But I plan to find out.” A tic in his jaw showed Sean the tightly-wound anger.

“What do you need me to do?” Cole might be used to all this stuff, but Sean’s brain was spinning. National security. Secret defense weapons. Treason . . .

“I received another call this morning. Someone is either trying to hurt Zoya and Anesia, or trying to frame Anesia for something.”

“What was the call?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, but Anesia is family and I’ve got my guard up. I’m not clear what’s going on—the pieces are too scattered. But something is happening. On Anesia’s property.” Cole stared him down. “Don’t let anyone near them, you understand?”

Sean gave a terse nod and a fierce protective instinct kicked into high gear. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled.” His cell phone rang, cutting off the rest of his thought process. He looked at the screen.

Great. Just what he needed. He flipped open his phone, letting his anger singe his words. “What do you need, Father?”

Cole snapped his head to look at him and then looked back to the road.

“Well, is that any way to greet your dear ol’ dad?”

His father’s syrupy sweet tone didn’t bode well. “Why are you calling?”

“I’m sending the jet up there for you. It’s time you came back.” His dad sounded almost jovial.

Sean’s anger heated up a notch, but he worked to keep his tone respectful. “That’s not going to happen, Father. I’ve stated my intentions.”

“Don’t toy with me”—his father hissed—“You will listen to what you are told and get back here immediately!”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, no. Disown me, disinherit me, whatever you want to do. I’m not taking orders from you any more, not when the road you’re choosing goes against what I know is right.”

Silence. Had he hung up? Sean hoped so.

“We’ll discuss this later.”

“No, we won’t, Father.”

“Yes. We will.”

Sean pressed END.

Cole shifted in the seat beside him.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“You’ve got guts, man. I’ve heard the senior Connolly is quite a hothead.”

“He’s always gotten what he wanted. Always. And no one has ever told him no.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, now isn’t there?” Cole flashed him a grin.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” Sean sat a little straighter in his seat. “Let’s get back to more important matters. What do I need to do to protect Anesia and Zoya?”

DETECTIVE SHELDON

North Pole Police Department

3:49 p.m.

They’d ID’d the two dead men. One of the guns proved to be the murder weapon. That left one of three—probably the shooter—still alive.

What was he missing?

Was it this Rick Kon’? He picked up a profile. Too many holes.

Dave’s gut told him that Anesia didn’t know anything, but the FBI were sure barking up her tree. Why weren’t they more concerned with protecting her and her daughter? So much at stake, and a kid stuck in the middle . . . and Dave was afraid the Naltsiines were in greater danger than any of them realized.

Of course, the FBI wanted him to share information from his investigation, but the more he gave, the more they kept to themselves.

Something just didn’t add up.

Dave had no choice. If he wanted answers, he’d have to find them on his own.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ZOYA

January 30

3:50 p.m.

Mom and I hopped in the car. I buckled up, thoughts tumbling over one another. Mom didn’t say a word.

What was she thinking? Was I in trouble? I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t figure out why. Was it because I was worried or angry? I didn’t know. Didn’t know anything really.

Mom pulled out of the parking lot. She didn’t say a word. She knew me too well. But I couldn’t let her see what was going on. I had to protect her. But how? Did she notice something was wrong? I wanted to talk to her. But then again, I didn’t.

As we drove onto the roundabout something caught my eye.

I squinted. A man turned around.

Orange hat.

I gasped.

He stared at me. Then smirked.

They were following me?

No! This couldn’t be happening.

Did Mom see him?

“We’re gonna have a talk. And you’re going to tell me what’s going on, is that understood?”

My heartbeat quickened.
Not now! God, if You’re there, help me!
“Why should we talk? It won’t do any good.” Try to keep her off the subject . . . yeah. Keep her off the subject. I swallowed.

“Excuse me?
I’m
the one who will determine that, young lady.”

We drove on in silence.

After about fifteen minutes Mom pulled onto our road. Soon we’d be to the house. If I could keep her sidetracked until then . . .

Minutes passed by. Each moment my anxiousness grew. Was the man following us? Would he hurt Mom? Did I need to do something?

Mom still said nothing. As if she were waiting for me.

We pulled up to the house. “Go to your room. I’ll be up in a minute, and we’ll talk.”

Before she could scold me again, I opened the door and hopped out. I couldn’t let her find out about the note. About those men . . . They would kill her.

I ran into the house, glancing around. Was the man here?

Sasha jumped up and ran over to me, tail wagging.

“At least I don’t have to worry about you questioning me all the time.” I patted her head. Somehow that comforted me. Eased my shaking. Would she protect Mom? Of course she would. But Sasha couldn’t stop a gun . . .

Mom came through the front door and walked into the office, then shut the door behind her.

A walk. I’d go on a walk. Maybe for a day or two.

“Stay, Sasha.” I walked over to the back door. She whined.

“No, girl. Not this time.”

She obeyed. But I could see the worry in her eyes.

Once again I glanced around, then slipped out the back door.

Tiny plate-like discs of ice scattered here and there crunched and crackled underneath my feet as I walked. I neared the end of our property. Thoughts and emotions wouldn’t stop swirling within me.

Where was I going? I couldn’t trespass on other people’s land, and if I took the road Mom or Auntie would find me.

I should have taken Sasha. She could have comforted me, kept me company. But then again she would have made noise and Mom would’ve known what I was doing.

It’s cold out here. I wonder if there are any wild animals watching me. What’s Andie doing right now?