Race Against Time: A Novel Read online

  Nothing seemed to make any sense. No heavenly words of wisdom popped out on the page. No trumpet sounded.

  No magnificent instruction came.

  Nothing.

  I swallowed and focused on the words in front of me.

  “Many, O LORD my God, are the wonders which You have done.”

  Wonders? Like a murder was wonderful.

  “You, O LORD, will not withhold Your compassion from me; Your lovingkindness and Your truth will continually preserve me.”

  Lovingkindness? Preserve me?

  A little voice in the back of my mind started talking . . .

  “He hasn’t done anything for you. He’s abandoned you. He didn’t protect you from those murderers. He didn’t help that man.”

  My eyes shut. No . . . I would not let those thoughts take over. And yet, everything in me said to let the anger burn. To let God have a piece of my mind.

  But why? The Bible said He was watching over me . . .

  Why couldn’t I believe that?

  I frowned down at the thick book. And I thought you were supposed to be full of the truth . . .

  I slammed it shut. Then walked over to the window.

  Lovingkindness?

  If You loved me, then why did You let this happen? If You’re a kind God, then why was that man murdered?

  I tried to hold back the tears. Blinked.

  What was I thinking? He was there.

  Wasn’t He?

  My squeezed eyelids did little to stop the flow of tears from escaping. One by one they fell.

  Like bodies on a battlefield.

  I may have failed Him, but He had abandoned me. He was the one that left, took off without warning. Left me behind to fend for myself. Couldn’t He see that I’d needed Him most right then and there? Did He know what kind of suffering I was going through?

  Did He want me to go through this?

  My brow furrowed. No, how could He? He was loving, kind, caring, devoted . . .

  Or was I supposed to be the devoted one?

  No! A strong shake of my head sent pain shooting through my shoulder, reminding me once again of the murder, of the images. Of the scars. Mute proof that God hadn’t watched out for me.

  Or had He? I mean, I wasn’t killed, was I?

  Ugh!

  I flopped back onto my bed. Grabbed the blanket and held it against me. I needed to feel something . . . anything. Even if it was a soft ts’ede’. Or anger.

  The bandage on my neck itched, hurt, was too tight. My wound hurt, burned. Just another reminder of the murder. Of that man . . .

  Would those murderers come after me? Did they know who I was?

  Of course not. How could they?

  Stop it. Just focus. Everything would be fine, I just needed to get back to normal.

  If I even had a normal.

  Stop it! Focus. Focus. Focus.

  It’s January 14. That gives me about two months until the big race. You can do it, Zoya.

  But the more I did, the more questions rose within me.

  God? Why did You take my dad away? Why did you let all those things happen to Andie and Auntie Jenna? Why haven’t You come again to take the sin out of the world?

  Where was He?

  My stomach knotted. Thoughts came flooding in. Memories. Emotions. Pain.

  Andie in Uncle Marc’s arms. Andie playing with Uncle Marc.

  Andie hugging Cole. Andie teasing Cole. Andie and Cole doing a craft. Andie and Cole laughing together.

  Why did she get all the good stuff?

  She had the faith. She had the dad. Two dads. How come she got two when I didn’t even have one?

  I’d always believed God was my heavenly Father . . . but He was supposed to take care of me. Right?

  It wasn’t fair. The tears kept building up. But I couldn’t let them escape . . . Mom didn’t need another thing to worry about.

  It just isn’t fair!

  I sniffed. I would not cry. Mom would hear. Try to talk me into spilling my guts. But she wouldn’t understand. She didn’t need more stress.

  No. No crying.

  I swallowed. Why aren’t You here? I can’t feel You.

  I stared at the Bible. Waiting. Searching.

  Nothing.

  I picked it up and threw it. Its thud against the wall made me wince.

  But it felt good.

  I did it again. Over and over. The spine tore. A chunk of 1 Timothy fell to the floor beside a few pages of Matthew and Job.

  I let the tears fall. Bit my bottom lip, trying to hold back the sobs.

  My Bible lay on the floor. Pathetic . . .

  “Zoya? Are you all right?” Mom’s voice echoed up the stairs.

  I poked my head out the door. “I’m fine.” Sasha sat like a sentinel and cocked her head at me. Blue eyes searching.

  “I heard a bunch of thuds?”

  She sounded worried.

  Great. Way to go, Zoya.

  Whatever. “Yeah, that was um . . . just Sasha.” I dragged Sasha in and shut the door. Would Mom figure out my lie? Did it even matter?

  My shoulders slumped. Why was I so angry?

  I fell onto the bed and let every emotion simmer. Every tear fall.

  God, what’s going on with me?

  Sasha jumped onto the bed and whimpered. I wrapped my arms around her neck and buried my face in her fur.

  The voice in the back of my head ranted: “Don’t listen to Him!”

  I jerked upward. Then picked up the tattered Bible and shoved it onto the top shelf of my closet.

  Sasha barked. I sniffed and wiped my nose on my sleeve. See if I care what that book of lies says.

  Lovingkindness . . .

  See if I care.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SEAN

  January 14

  Naltsiine Kennels

  11:09 a.m.

  “Okay, Sean, I’m ready for you again.”

  Sean turned to follow Anesia back into the office. He’d been pacing the hallway since she received a phone call that interrupted her explanation of how her previous full-time employee was killed.

  “Sean, I’m so sorry for that interruption. It was my daughter’s doctor. If I hire you, I promise to explain everything in detail, but right now, well, it’s enough to say we’ve had some major things to deal with the last couple weeks.”

  Sean sat down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Forgive me for asking, but is it financial?”

  She waved a hand at him. “Heavens, no! Don’t worry about it.” She sat back in her chair. “Now, let’s get back to the interview.”

  “Yes, Ms. Naltsiine.” He couldn’t blame her for brushing his question aside. He’d asked out of concern, but she probably thought he was worried she couldn’t afford to hire him.

  “Anesia, remember? Now, what is your educational background?” She pulled out a pen and paper.

  This could be awkward. He cleared his throat.

  “Mr. Connolly, we don’t stand on ceremony here. There’s no need to be ashamed. Please, just be honest.”

  Ashamed? Yes. But not for the reasons she thought. “I attended Harvard.”

  Her gaze shot up at him, eyebrows raised. She stared him down for a moment and then wrote it down on her paper. “For how long?”

  “Ten years. Bachelors, Masters, and Ph. D.”

  She dropped her pen as her mouth fell open. Several seconds passed. Her mouth closed. And then opened again. “You mean to tell me that you have a Ph. D. and you’re asking me for a job?”

  “Yes.”

  Long dark lashes swept down on her cheeks in rapid succession as she blinked. But her eyes gave no
hint to what she was thinking. “That’s interesting, Mr. Connolly. You do understand I will be doing a background check?”

  “Of course.”

  She blinked again. Several times. Then looked back down at her paper and wrote some more. “All right, then. What about work experience?”

  “I’ve only worked for one company.”

  “And that would be?” She continued writing.

  “CROM, Incorporated.”

  There went her eyebrows again. “The CROM? The multi-billion-dollar manufacturer?”

  “That’s correct.”

  She licked her lips and looked back down at her paper. “Interesting. What exactly did you do for them?”

  “Do?” He stalled. Complicated didn’t even begin to describe the direction of this conversation.

  “Yes, what was your title, your position with them?”

  He straightened his shoulders. Here goes nothing. “I was a vice president, Miss Naltsiine.”

  Anesia’s mouth closed again and her lips formed a thin, straight line. The pen in her hand made a slow journey down to settle on the desk as she tidied up in front of her. Each movement exact. Forced.

  The chair rolled back and she pushed herself up to a standing position and leaned over, resting on her steepled fingers. “I know I asked you this before, but this time I’m serious. Are you running away from something, Mr. Connolly? In trouble with the law?” Her narrowed eyes were pure steel.

  Sean didn’t flinch. “No. But I am starting over.”

  “Might I ask why?”

  “God wanted my attention, and He got it.” No need to say his family had taken a turn for the illegal. That would come out soon enough. He met her eyes. “I discovered I was being used for purposes that went against everything I believe in. So I left. What I want now is to find a job I love and work hard at it.”

  Something flashed across her expression. Skepticism? Acceptance? He wasn’t sure.

  “Mr. Connolly . . . Sean. I appreciate you sharing that with me. I don’t want you to think that I don’t believe you, but your story is a little uh . . . shall we say incredible? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Not entirely, Ms. Naltsiine.”

  “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very clear.” She sat down with a sigh folding her hands in front of her on the desk. “Your background is interesting, and your statement about your faith was refreshing to me. But please, understand that I can’t hire just anyone. I will not put my daughter at risk, or anyone else I welcome on my property.”

  “I understand perfectly.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And you don’t want to change your story?”

  “No, Ms. Naltsiine. It’s the truth.”

  She hesitated a moment and narrowed her eyes. “Okay then. Well, maybe there is a solution to this problem.”

  “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

  “I have a friend with the FBI.” She shuffled a few papers and eyed him from the corner of her slit lids. “I’ll still need you to sign this form for a regular background check.” A paper and pen slid in front of him.

  “I’m a bit confused. What exactly are you proposing?”

  “I’m going to call him and check into your story.” A pause rested between them.

  Was she waiting for him to tell her something different?

  “Do you mind?”

  Was she trying to scare him? Threaten him?

  “Not at all. I have nothing to hide.” He hoped his quick response would portray he was unafraid of her finding anything. But deep down, he knew there was plenty he kept hidden.

  “Good.” She stood. “Thank you for your time today. I’ll give you a call.”

  And with that, he was dismissed.

  * * *

  ANESIA

  January 14

  8:00 p.m.

  The living room floor took the ferocious pounding of Anesia’s feet with not a creak or a groan. “I just don’t get it. Why would someone like that come looking for a job here?”

  Cole and Jenna sat on the couch saying nothing and watching her pace in front of them. As if it would be dangerous to their health at this point to interject anything. She cringed. Was she that bad? “Come on, guys. I need your input.”

  Jenna leaned forward. “Are you sure you really want it?”

  “Of course! That’s why I asked you to come over.” Ridiculous. Why wouldn’t she want their advice? She crossed her arms around her middle.

  “Anesia.” Cole’s steady voice calmed her a tad. “We’ve been listening to you rant for thirty minutes now—”

  “I am not ranting!”

  Cole laughed. “Yeah. You are.”

  She huffed. Could feel the knots tightening in her stomach.

  “Cool it and sit down.”

  At Jenna’s raised voice, Anesia stilled. Jenna never raised her voice to Anesia unless she wasn’t listening. Which she hadn’t been.

  She sat down.

  Cole leaned toward her. “Well, I think you’ve already figured out that this Sean guy was telling the truth. Sounds like Agent Philips didn’t have any problems with him. When will the official background check come in?”

  “In a day or two.”

  “Good. I’m glad he’s handling it. After everything that happened with Marc and AMI, I agree you need to be careful. The FBI has promised to help us, but if you’re going to be paranoid, that’s going a bit overboard.”

  She stood up and planted her hands on her hips. “Cole Maddox, you think I’m paranoid?”

  “No. We completely understand”—Jenna stood next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, patting her in a no-we-don’t-think-you’re-crazy-please-calm-down-before-we-get-the-straight-jacket kind of way—“but I do think there’s something you’re not telling us.”

  “Yeah, she’s paranoid.” Cole ducked to avoid the pillow Anesia chucked at him.

  Jenna shot a look at her husband. “I’m gonna have to separate you two.” Her best friend turned back to stare into her eyes. “Spill it. What’s really going through that head of yours?”

  The leather couch squeaked around her as Anesia settled back into it. “God and I had been wrestling over a matter and then all this blew up in my face.” She fiddled with the ivory carvings on the coffee table.

  “Now we’re getting to the heart of things.” Jenna sat beside her.

  “I need someone here. Someone strong and trustworthy. Someone to live on the property. I still can’t believe that Zoya witnessed a murder. That she was shot at. But no matter how hard it is, I have to admit that I need someone here. Does that make sense?” Her fidgeting hands moved to the wooden udzih carved by her great-grandfather.

  Jenna nodded. Cole stared.

  “Ugh!” She threw another pillow at Cole. “You just don’t get it. Men!”

  Jenna laughed, patted her knee, and removed the caribou from her.

  Anesia tried again. “I’ve been strong on my own all these years. Taken care of myself. Sheltered my heart and my mind. Haven’t needed anyone. Good grief! I built this kennel with my own two hands, with my sweat and tears.” She stood again, walked around the coffee table once, and collapsed back into the sofa. “And yet”—Anesia choked back a sob—“when things got hard, when my world fell apart around me . . . I found out I wasn’t that strong after all. This has shaken everything—”

  She looked away from her friends. From the weaknesses she’d denied for so long but could ignore no longer.

  Weaknesses she hated. Because they meant one thing. One terrible, unavoidable thing.

  She was going to have to trust someone besides herself.

  * * *

  RICK

  January 14

  An
chorage, AK

  8:18 p.m.

  The slight pain in his chest turned into a hot searing. Shallow breaths. One. Two. That’s it. Nice and slow.

  Rick popped four Tums in his mouth, knowing full well heartburn wasn’t the problem. But he could pretend, couldn’t he? Trick his mind into believing that was his problem, instead of a heart on its last leg.

  The phone call this morning with his boss had not gone well. The man was a control freak. A tyrant. As hard as they came.

  If he didn’t watch it, he’d turn into the same thing.

  Dark thoughts urged him to unlock and open his middle desk drawer. He did so, then pulled out the file on his niece. Time to focus on something positive.

  Family.

  He thumbed through the pictures, finding the one of her with her prize winning sled team. The blue eyes of the lead mutt were fixed on the young girl’s sweet face. Her lopsided grin was why he loved this picture. An exact replica of her dad’s smile.

  Maybe he should go check out one of her races. That might ease some of his guilt. That was it. He’d go. Just be another fan on the trail. Another race lover.

  And maybe, just maybe he’d figure out how on earth to get out of the mess he’d gotten himself into.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  COLE

  January 15

  Fort Greely, Alaska

  10:45 a.m.

  “Cell phone, sir?” The young MP secured Cole’s other belongings in a locker as Cole reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He dropped it into a bag and the young man sent it through the scanner.

  “Clear.”

  Another soldier at the security checkpoint picked up the bag and placed it in the locker with the other items.

  “Here’s your badge and M9, Major Maddox. Captain Lewis will escort you down to AMI ops.”

  Cole nodded and returned the young man’s salute. He followed Captain Lewis down a long corridor and into a waiting elevator. They entered the elevator and the captain slid his card into a security slot on one side while Cole slid his into one on the other side. At the green light, the doors closed. Cole and Captain Lewis placed their thumbs on the opposite touch screens.