Alaskan Wolf (14 page)

It was still a short while until sunset, so it was easy to make out the cabins and dock with the pontoon boat that held the small submersible.

The place looked the same as the last time they'd been by. But Mariah changed her mind as they started up the paved walkway toward the cabins. Blood spattered the ice at the side of the cleared path. Even worse, there were chunks of bloody muscle from some poor animal.

Mariah gasped. “Oh, no.” She'd thought Carrie was exaggerating what her father was up to, yet this was evidence of the slaughter of animals. But why?

“Come on.” Carrie hurried ahead of them. Mariah hadn't paid attention before, but the boots, warm slacks, jacket and snug hat worn by Emil's daughter all appeared dressier than called for at a scientific campsite. Had she returned from somewhere else and seen what her father had done?

“Wait here,” Carrie whispered at the door to the largest wooden cabin. “I'll go in and see what's happening now.”

Mariah exchanged glances with Patrick. This seemed so odd. Yet, they'd seen the horrible evidence of animal cruelty and worse.

“Fine,” he said. “Let us know what we can do.” Once Carrie had disappeared into the house and shut the door behind her, he held out his key and said, “Now's the time for you to get back into the car and call Wes. Tell him to send the cops.”

“What you can do now,” came a female voice from the side of the building as Carrie reappeared,
pointing a gun at them, “is to go inside for a little talk. Don't even think about it,” she said to Patrick, who had thrust his hand into his backpack. “I assume you have a gun, so let me have that.” She got closer and yanked Patrick's backpack away. “Now open the door and go in.”

Mariah again looked at Patrick. He gave her a reassuring look that she hoped was more than just an attempt to comfort her.

With luck, he had a plan.

But her hopes were chilled when they walked onto the cabin's wood floor. Emil Charteris wasn't there, and neither were any animal remains.

Instead, Carrie's husband, Jeremy, was slumped on a chair in the middle of the room. He looked unconscious. And bloody.

And even though Mariah still had no idea what was going on, she had a sinking feeling that Carrie intended that Patrick and she share Jeremy's fate. She rushed over and knelt to check the man. He had a pulse, but he didn't wake up, even when she touched him.

“What's going on, Carrie?” Patrick demanded. “Why bring us here to see what you did to your husband?”

“You're jumping to conclusions,” Carrie huffed. “I told you my father is acting nuts. What makes you think I'm the one who harmed Jeremy?”

“Your gun, for one thing,” Mariah said quietly, rising. She recalled the silence at Fiske's earlier that night and Thea Fiske's superstition that it meant death. Shaun's murder had supported that possibility.

Was Jeremy Thaxton dying? Or, might the superstition come true because of her death, or Patrick's?

“Well, I couldn't take the chance on your running away. Not when I have to find out… Tell me what you were doing here the other night, Mariah. I saw you snooping around.”

The night she had come to this area with Patrick while, in shifted form, he looked around? No way would she mention that.

“You know I'm researching local wildlife,” Mariah responded. “I've been exploring different parts of the glaciers and surrounding areas, taking pictures of anything I might use in my article. I was here that night just seeing what I could see. If I'd seen you, I'd have come over to say hi. Maybe ask about your wildlife statistics. You'd said once you would share them, even though Jeremy and your father weren't as accommodating.”

“I lied.” Carrie's grin looked snide.

“What are you really doing here, Carrie?” Mariah asked.

“None of your business, which is entirely the point.” Approaching Mariah, she brandished her gun.
“You're not what you claim to be, are you, Mariah? I looked you up online and found a bunch of articles you wrote a while back that required prying into things that didn't concern you. You were getting a fair reputation as an investigative journalist, in fact—at least until your family became the subject of those kinds of stories. You lay low for a while and wrote cutesy articles on wildlife for your Alaskan magazine. But you've been much too pushy for me to believe that's all you're doing now. Are you writing an article about us?”

“Only about wildlife,” Mariah insisted. “I was especially hoping to get something helpful from Jeremy.” She exchanged a brief glance with Patrick. Carrie had turned enough for her confrontation with Mariah that her back was mostly to him, and he was edging toward her. If Mariah could continue to distract the woman… “But your dad—what's happening with him? We saw the evidence of his—someone's—dismemberment of animals on the roads near here. Did Emil do that?”

Carrie laughed. “Of course not. I did it to be sure you'd follow me all the way to check it out. It's stuff I bought at the supermarket, not any of your beloved wildlife.” She abruptly stepped sideways and waved the gun between Mariah and Patrick. “Don't think I wasn't aware that you were getting ready to jump me, Mr. Worley. Or should I say, Lieutenant Worley?
You're with the military, aren't you? That's what Wes Dawes told me when I got him drunk enough at Fiske's.”

Not a good thing. Patrick had told Mariah he'd had reservations about using Wes as a backup, but more because he couldn't be certain that the musher hadn't been Shaun's killer. His big mouth hadn't been an issue then. But Patrick was supposed to be here undercover.

“My dad got really suspicious of you when I told him what I'd learned,” Carrie said. “He's genuinely concerned about what's causing the glacier destruction in Alaska and believes it's the result of government testing in this area. Finding out about a hidden military presence helped to get him really jazzed about his theory.”

Mariah turned toward Patrick. Was it possible that he was hiding his real reason for being here from her, even now?

But what would a shapeshifter do to assist the military in any covert project that destroyed the glaciers?

Observe what was going on and people's reactions?

“That's a bunch of crap, Carrie,” Patrick said, “and you know it—even if your father doesn't. Were you just encouraging him to go off on this tangent to hide the truth?”

Carrie didn't respond. That intrigued Mariah. Did it mean Patrick was right?

That suggested Carrie knew the truth. And that it had nothing to do with the government.

“You're just guessing.” Carrie sounded almost bored, but it didn't mean she had relaxed her guard.

“How did your dad know about the calving on Kaley Glacier?” Mariah asked.

“What do you mean?” Carrie looked confused.

“I heard you talking on the phone with him the other day, when I was at Elegance Restaurant for lunch. I heard you say something about major breakage.”

Carrie laughed. “Oh, I wasn't talking to…never mind. Get over there, both of you.” She waved her gun toward a battered sofa leaning against the far wall. “Go sit down.”

“No, really,” Patrick pressed as he took Mariah's arm and led her toward the couch. “What's going on with the glaciers? I'll bet you know. Is your father involved and only pretending to be studying the glaciers to figure it out?”

“You're way off base,” Carrie said with a laugh.

“What's the truth, then?” Patrick cajoled. “You obviously intend to kill us, and we wouldn't be able to tell anyone else.”

Was he nuts? Mariah hadn't assumed they were
going to die…or had she? That superstition. Maybe it would come true yet again.

“I'm not telling you anything.” The sound of a car's engine sounded faintly from outside. Carrie smiled. “But that doesn't mean you won't learn something before you die. I don't think you need to hear, but maybe he'll tell you anyway. Add to the fun, since you won't be able to do a damned thing about it. In any case, it's showtime.”

I
n a minute, Emil Charteris walked into the cabin. He looked around. Not having much choice, Mariah remained on the couch beside Patrick, watching Emil warily. Waiting for him to take charge of the situation. He always appeared in control of the others in his family. Had he set this up? Why?

“What's going on here, Carrie?” he asked. “I thought we'd agreed to wait before we handled these people. And—Jeremy! What the hell happened to him?”

Carrie edged quickly toward her father, still holding the gun on Mariah and Patrick. “He'll be okay, Dad. But he started asking too many questions.
And I also needed something to distract these two when I got them here.”

“Yeah, we were definitely distracted,” Patrick said. Mariah shot him a warning glance. She didn't think that antagonizing anyone was a good idea at the moment—not till they had a better grasp of what was going on. He had shifted away from her but remained on the couch. His eyes stayed on Carrie, but he glanced briefly, now and then, toward his backpack, which Carrie had dropped on the floor near the door. Did he have a weapon in there, as Carrie had suggested?

She knew what else he had in his bag, but using it now seemed out of the question—even if it could be of help.

Emil's long, craggy face sagged, and his eyes grew rheumy. “I don't understand how they're involved in all this, Carrie.” His voice was a sad whine, as if he had suddenly withdrawn into childhood. He certainly didn't seem in charge at this moment. That raised a slew of additional questions. “Andy, do you get it?” He turned back toward the door he had just entered. The piano player from Fiske's stood there, hunched over and blinking behind his thick glasses. His pallor was emphasized by his white jacket. Why was he here? He hadn't seemed particularly friendly with Emil at the bar/restaurant.

“No, sorry, Emil, I don't. But maybe we can figure this out.”

“Okay.” Emil straightened to his full height, as if taking control once more. “Let's start with an explanation, Carrie. Did these people tell you why they hurt Jeremy? What are they even doing here?” He rounded on Mariah. “I thought you wanted information on local wildlife from Jeremy, Ms. Garver. He wasn't permitted to give interviews, just like I couldn't. But that's no reason to hurt him this way.”

Emil was clearly confused, his mental state unstable. He already knew what had happened to Jeremy. “I'm not the one who hurt him, Emil,” Mariah began, but Carrie approached, raising the gun as if intending to strike Mariah with it.

“Don't try to make excuses, Mariah. We all know that you're getting desperate for information for your damned article, and that you'd go to any lengths to get what you need.”

“I'm doing fine with my research,” she retorted, “no thanks to you and your family. And I certainly wouldn't stoop to hurting anyone to get another quote or two.” She turned toward Emil. “Your daughter admitted doing this to her husband, Emil. What we don't understand is why.”

Patrick had stayed awfully quiet. Mariah assumed he was planning an escape, or some other way to
save them. How could she help? She aimed another glance in his direction. His expression was stony, unreadable. He had moved even farther to the end of the sofa. Was he thinking of doing something—like rushing Carrie and her gun?

“I did it for fun.” Carrie's laughter sounded so carefree that Mariah couldn't help staring. Was the woman insane? That was one possible explanation for what she had done to her husband—and why she had brought them here under pretense. But Mariah didn't buy it.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Emil told his daughter. “Now let's take care of Jeremy. Does he need to go to a hospital?”

“I don't think so, Mr. Charteris,” Andy Lemon piped in. “Doctors would ask too many questions, and we don't want to get Carrie into trouble.” He now stood directly behind Carrie, bent as if in front of a piano keyboard.

“If you want to keep Carrie out of trouble, Andy,” Patrick said, “I'd suggest you get that gun away from her before she hurts anyone else.”

“Oh, but then she might hurt me,” the piano player said in a small, meek voice. He laughed suddenly and stood up straighter, no longer in his characteristic slouch. He peeled off his glasses and shoved them into his pocket. “But that ain't gonna happen, is it, honey?”

He put his arms gently around Carrie, who raised her mouth for a kiss—but without moving the gun she still had pointed in the general direction of the couch where Mariah and Patrick sat.

“No, you SOB!” Jeremy Thaxton's voice was surprisingly strong, considering his injuries and the fact he'd just emerged from unconsciousness. Mariah hadn't been paying attention to him, and apparently no one else had, either. He sprang from his chair and ran toward Andy Lemon, who still had an arm around Carrie. “Leave my wife alone!”

“Oh, I don't think she'll be your wife much longer,” Andy said calmly, sidestepping so Jeremy stumbled as he reached for him. Andy gently took the gun from Carrie and aimed it toward Jeremy's head. “Now go back and sit down like a good boy, or I'll have a wonderful time making her a widow instead of a soon-to-be divorcée.”

When Jeremy didn't move, Andy struck him in the neck with the butt of the gun. Jeremy crumbled to the floor—but the action had apparently been enough of a diversion for Patrick to act. He launched himself toward Andy, too—and there was nothing hesitant in his movement. He looked all efficient, all military, easily able to bring down an opponent in hand-to-hand combat. He grabbed Andy Lemon's gun hand while knocking him to the floor.

“No, you son of a—” Lemon shouted.

“Get away from him!” Carrie shrieked and leaped onto Patrick's back, knocking him off balance. Mariah ran toward the melee, unsure what she could do to help.

The gun discharged. A bullet whizzed by Mariah's ear, and she screamed.

“Stay back,” Patrick yelled. He was still struggling with the others. Neither had his combat background, but the sheer force of two against one kept the odds against Patrick. No way would Mariah stay away.

Carefully yet quickly, she moved behind them. How could she get control of that damned gun? It was the key to ending this.

“Stay back, Mariah,” Emil Charteris said. She had almost forgotten his presence in the turmoil. “You could get hurt.”

“But we have to stop—”

“Oh, we'll do that.” Only then did Mariah realize he had an ulu in his hand—and it was poised near her throat. She'd seen similar native Alaskan knives being sold to tourists, each a deadly looking curved blade on a wooden handle. She'd considered them interesting souvenirs.

This one was a threat.

“Oh, Patrick, see this?” Emil called. “Now, give up that gun and leave my daughter alone.”

Mariah wanted to struggle. To tell Patrick she was fine, to do what he needed to.

But to say anything at all could end her life.

Patrick's gaze had flown upward. For an instant, his studied blankness morphed to horror and dismay.

“Leave her alone, Emil,” he growled.

“You know my terms.”

Patrick's eyes met Mariah's.

Slowly, he released Andy's hand and put both of his in the air.

 

Damn.

If Mariah wasn't here, if Patrick didn't have to watch out for her, things would be different. He'd subdue these criminals, forcing them to reveal all he needed to know before getting local authorities involved.

And if he couldn't do it by using his regular military training, he'd find a way to grab his bag and take full advantage of his own special skills. In fact, that was exactly how he wanted to handle this. And not by using just the 9 mm semiautomatic pistol he had hidden in there.

But without the time to get it, it wouldn't be easy. And he knew the risks of trying to take control—and failing.

Especially since Mariah
was
here. He'd risk his own life, but not hers. So, for now, he had to play
along. When Emil told him to go back and sit on the sofa, he did.

And accepted Mariah's angry glare with equanimity. “You shouldn't have backed down,” she hissed so low that no one else was likely to have heard. “Don't worry about me.”

“Your neck's too pretty for me to have done anything else.” He watched her frown melt, if just a little.

And wished he could grab her and hold her close. Soothe her. And calm his own ragged nerves until he could act.

So here they were. In mortal danger. Unsure of allies and enemies, although Jeremy might be among the former. Patrick glanced where he lay on the floor. Jeremy remained unconscious again, but rhythmic movement of his chest showed that he was still alive.

And Andy Lemon? He was the real unknown in the mix. What was he even doing here? Did Carrie and he have something going on? That's what their prior embrace implied. Jeremy had apparently taken it that way, too.

So—could he distract these three by setting them against one another? Unlikely, as between father and daughter. And daughter and possible lover Lemon.

Emil Charteris against Andy Lemon? Maybe. Emil wielded a mean ulu. But he wasn't waving it
around now. Instead, he'd retreated into the kitchen area and stood by the sink.

Patrick wished he knew more about the rest of this cabin. There was a closed door to their right. It must lead at least to a bathroom. A bedroom, too? Most likely, since there was no bed in here.

His backpack remained near the door where they'd come in.

He ached to get this group under his control by unleashing his wildest self, but that might be impossible.

Still, he'd test things.

“So being a piano playing in Nowhere, Alaska, acts like a chick magnet, Andy?” he asked casually. “I used to plunk out a few tunes on the keyboard. Maybe I should try it. Especially when being a loser in hand-to-hand combat doesn't matter.”

“Shut up.” Andy had pulled a battered chair from beneath a small table near the kitchen and planted himself in it, massaging his wrist. He was leaving it to Carrie and Emil, using their smaller handgun to control their captives, including Jeremy.

“Well, with all those women after you at Fiske's, and I see now that married lady Carrie's among them—I'm impressed.”

“I said—” Andy began, scraping his chair against the floor as he stood.

“I know what you're trying to do, Patrick,” Carrie
said, “and it won't work. You don't know anything about how things are between… Andy and me. Or about what Jeremy thinks about it. Or anything else. So just keep your mouth shut.”

Patrick caught Mariah's gaze. She, too, seemed to tell him to stay quiet. He shot her a brief, grim smile that she didn't mirror.

“You're right,” he said to Carrie. “But I assume Andy's just a fling to you.” Interesting, that she had hesitated on Andy's name. Why? “That's obviously all you are to him, judging by the way ladies are all over him at Fiske's when you're not around. I'm jealous. I want lessons.”

“You're making a lot of noise for a man whose life's in danger,” Emil said. “Why don't you just keep your mouth closed?”

“And here I assumed you'd want your daughter to know the truth about her lover.”

Emil waved the ulu. “He's not her—”

“Keep quiet!” Andy shouted, propelling himself from the chair toward them. His fist connected with Patrick's jaw.

Fortunately, the guy's punch was as wimpy as his appearance so it didn't hurt much, but Patrick used the opportunity to grab the guy, turn him and twist an arm around his throat.

But Carrie pressed the pistol to the side of Mariah's
skull. “Let him go, you bastard,” she hissed, “or I'll shoot her.”

Damn. If she'd threatened Patrick that way, it wouldn't matter much. Oh, yeah, there'd be some pain, but he could only be killed by silver bullets and he doubted that was the composition of their ammo. But she had threatened Mariah instead.

Patrick released Andy, stepped back. The piano player knelt on the floor, holding his neck and choking.

“Austin, darling, are you all right?” Carrie whispered, kneeling beside him without directing the firearm away from Patrick.

“Fine,” the guy gasped. “Now, shoot him.”

She seemed to consider this, and glared at Patrick. He held up his hands in surrender, half hoping she'd try. He could pretend to be mortally wounded, then catch them off guard. But if she shot him, she might also shoot Mariah.

He still needed to take control of the situation. And to achieve that, he might need to act like a regular human being.

He tried to put on a scared, submissive look. Carrie seemed a bit crazed—crazed enough to kill what she assumed was a normal unarmed man in cold blood?

Apparently not. Patrick felt a modicum of relief as she said, “I can't just kill him that way, but we'll
take care of him later. Out on the ice, like we talked about.”

“You're too soft,” Andy yelled, then started coughing again.

Patrick took the opportunity to sit back on the couch beside Mariah, to demonstrate his compliance—however unwilling.

And as Carrie bent over the choking piano player again, the gun wavering in a way that made Patrick damned nervous about Mariah's safety, he realized what he'd just heard.

Carrie had called the punk on the ground “Austin.”

He had heard that name recently.

And suddenly everything that had been happening around Great Glaciers National Park seemed to make sense. His nonscientific investigation might be about to succeed even better than Alpha Force had initially anticipated. Assuming he could end this standoff.

How the hell could he do that?

Well, one step at a time. He needed to confirm his suspicions first.

 

Mariah stiffened as Patrick whispered into her ear. “I'm going to buy us a little time. And things are about to get interesting.”