Hunted in Alaska, page 1
Hayley’s dog, Mack, began to emit a steady, high whine...
His head was up, nose pricked. Hayley’s gut clenched. Were their pursuers within scenting distance already? She increased their speed as greatly as she dared. Behind her, Sean’s breathing was coming in deep puffs.
“Not much longer,” she said.
Suddenly, a large animal heaved to its feet from among the bushes lining the river. The moose let out a moaning cry and turned tail, its shaggy coat becoming flashes of black amongst the trees.
Behind Hayley, Mack’s whine changed to a full-throated bark. She swiveled to witness her dog lunge from Sean’s arms into hot pursuit. The lunge sent the ATF agent sprawling backward into the creek with a great splash.
Hayley’s heart plummeted to her toes. Their situation had gone from deep distress to the verge of disaster. Unless they stopped to build a fire and dry Sean’s clothing, hypothermia would quickly claim his life. But if they stopped, bullets would soon end both their lives...
Jill Elizabeth Nelson writes what she likes to read—faith-based tales of adventure seasoned with romance. Parts of the year find her and her husband on the international mission field. Other parts find them at home in rural Minnesota, surrounded by the woods and prairie and their four grown children and young grandchildren. More about Jill and her books can be found at jillelizabethnelson.com or Facebook.com/jillelizabethnelson.author.
Books by Jill Elizabeth Nelson
Love Inspired Suspense
Evidence of Murder
Witness to Murder
Calculated Revenge
Legacy of Lies
Betrayal on the Border
Frame-Up
Shake Down
Rocky Mountain Sabotage
Duty to Defend
Lone Survivor
The Baby’s Defender
Hunted for Christmas
In Need of Protection
Unsolved Abduction
Hunted in Alaska
Visit the Author Profile page at LoveInspired.com.
Hunted in Alaska
Jill Elizabeth Nelson
Many there be which say of my soul, There is no help for him in God. Selah. But thou, O Lord, art a shield for me; my glory, and the lifter up of mine head.
—Psalm 3:2–3
To all who choose to trust in the Lord despite pain, loss, difficulties or danger. God is faithful.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Dear Reader
Excerpt from Christmas Baby Rescue by Jordyn Redwood
ONE
The sharp tang of wood stain teased Hayley Brent’s nostrils as she dipped her two-inch-wide brush into a can of thick sable-brown liquid. Deftly, she removed excess stain against the lip of the can, then brought the brush to the work in progress. The tip of her tongue caught between her teeth—a mannerism her brother, Craig, often teased her about—she pressed the wet bristles into a deep groove in the wood and smoothly swiped the stain from one end of the groove to the other. Taking a step back, she scanned the entire carving up and down. Her heart rate kicked up a little faster. This piece was her magnum opus thus far in her career. Could she hope it would be her breakthrough?
The immense and graphically detailed chain saw carving of an eagle clutching a salmon in its talons loomed four feet taller than her five-foot-eight-inch height. Last week, just before Craig left for Seattle to do research for a writing assignment, Hayley had finished the carving process with the chain saw. From then until yesterday she’d labored on the detail work with a chisel and sandpaper. Now she was in the homestretch with stain and sealant. A lot of sweat and effort was invested in this commissioned piece for a deep-pocketed and influential customer in the Lower 48. If this guy was enthused with the carving, her name as a chain saw artist would be made. She could count on shipping many more pieces south to the contiguous United States from her home in the Alaskan interior. A dream realized.
As Hayley reached her brush toward the can of stain, a deep-throated bark shattered her concentration and she gave a little jump. Frowning, she laid the brush flat across the stain can’s open top and went to the screen door of the cavernous, well-ventilated shed where she did her work. As always, her breath caught at the wild beauty of the Alaskan wilderness.
To her left, a boreal forest of white-barked birch trees and stately black spruce framed the sturdy, compact cabin she and her brother considered home base from late spring through mid-fall. Straight ahead, splashes of blue and gold vied with vivid greens in the myriad jumble of plants and shrubs that ushered the eye toward a small, sparkling aqua lake. There, her dock led to the yellow Piper Cub floatplane that was the only transportation in or out of her remote location. Now, at the end of September, nature was putting on its last great show before snow and ice swept in and dominated for at least the next six months. By then, she would be in Fairbanks for the winter, but for now, she meant to finish her vital project and enjoy the peace and solitude.
A rumbling growl drew her gaze to the right. Her deep-chested Alaskan malamute stood stiff and still in the meadow. The breed-distinctive plume of his tail curved across his broad sable back, hairs bristling. His triangle-shaped ears stood pricked to attention. Something wasn’t right.
Hayley’s gut clenched. “What is it, Mack?”
The dog darted a glance at her with almond-shaped brown eyes, then returned his attention to the pristine blue sky above them. Not some critter in the woods, then. Was somebody flying in? She wasn’t expecting anyone.
Hayley stepped out the door, her sturdy work boots crunching on the gravel lining the edges of the work shed. Denim jeans and a long-sleeved shirt beneath a padded vest covered most of her lean frame, but the fall breeze brushed chilly fingers across the exposed skin of her hands and face. A strand of tawny hair escaped her ponytail and swept across her mouth. She tugged the hair away as she gazed upward, straining her ears for plane engine noise. There it was. Faint, but growing louder in the south. Might be someone passing over, but the engine rumble sounded low to the ground as if the plane might be coming in for a landing.
Suddenly, a red-and-white aircraft broke into view over the tops of the trees, sparking an explosion of throaty barks from Mack. The unfamiliar plane dwarfed her Cub. This long, big-bellied type of aircraft would be capable of transporting the carved eagle, but no such arrangements had yet been made. Hayley’s gaze riveted on the tail of the plane. No identifying numbers or letters. Lack of a call sign often meant one of two things—poachers or smugglers. Dangerous people. Hayley’s gut clenched.
With one hand, she shaded her eyes from the westering sun and stared up into the cockpit. The plane skimmed low enough that she made out the figures of two men. The one seated in the copilot position seemed to get agitated at the sight of her. As the man gestured toward the pilot and then pointed at her, he waved a bulky black item in the air: an automatic assault rifle.
Ice congealed in Hayley’s lungs. Nearly everyone in the state of Alaska owned guns, but full automatics weren’t the norm. Those were mostly in the hands of the military, law enforcement or crooks. These guys weren’t soldiers or cops, and they were not happy to see her.
In seconds, the plane shot beyond her property and continued toward a wall of forest half a mile away. Evidently, the pilot had never intended to land his craft in her lake, but he clearly meant to land somewhere close at hand. The nearest body of water to hers was a slightly larger lake about a mile away, where a warehouse-like building sat moldering on the bank. The structure used to serve as a way station for a regional dogsled race, but when the route had been redrawn a decade ago, the building was abandoned. There was no good reason for anyone to land a plane there. Hayley’s jaw clenched. No good summed up what these guys were all about.
She took off for her cabin with Mack loping at her heels. Would her presence be a deterrent to their agenda? Hopefully so. Or would they come after her? Surely not.
Poachers and smugglers preferred to keep a low profile, not draw attention to themselves by attacking people. Then again, they didn’t like leaving witnesses to their activities. No matter what, she needed to alert the authorities about an unmarked plane landing in a location where there couldn’t possibly be a legitimate purpose. Then she needed to grab the engine key for the Cub and get out of here while law enforcement did their job.
Clomping across the cabin’s generous porch, she reached the door and pushed inside. Warmth with a hint of cedar scent greeted her as she strode to the bulky wooden desk on the far left side of the living room space and picked up her satellite phone, a necessity in these environs where cellular service was spotty to nonexistent.
Hayley punched in the emergency numbers and waited and waited and...nothing. She glared at the phone. The handset was turned on, but it wasn’t connecting to a satellite. That never happened. What was going on?
Airplane engin e buzz grew louder outside. Hayley’s heartbeat stalled, then ratcheted into overdrive. The armed intruders were returning. She darted to the picture window and peered out. The large floatplane was nearing touchdown on her lake, meaning the route to her Cub was cut off. What should she do?
Hope for the best; prepare for the worst—one of her brother’s cliché sayings that often drew an eye roll from her, but today sounded like sage advice. Heart thumping, she turned toward Mack. The dog eyed her with focused intensity, waiting for her word.
“We may have to bust out the back door and run for the woods,” she told him. “Let’s get ready to move.”
Mack answered with a solemn woof as if he understood everything she said.
Hayley hustled to the closet and pulled out her hiking backpack. Wilderness Alaskans kept an emergency pack filled and ready. She set the bulging pack on the floor behind the sofa and quickly stuffed the satellite phone into a side pocket. Then she returned to the closet, grabbed her down-filled parka and tossed it on top of the pack. The temperature dropped dramatically after dark, and who knew how long she might have to hide. A hiking pack and a jacket—little enough preparation for the worst, but she was out of time.
Outside, the plane’s engine was already ratcheting down. Whoever these people were, they had landed on her property carrying assault weapons Hayley’s pulse hammered in her throat as she pulled her bolt-action Winchester Model 70 Featherweight rifle off the gun rack and loaded it with .30-06 cartridges.
Please, God, help. I don’t want to have to shoot anyone. She was proficient in handling the rifle, and a more than adequate shot, but she’d never fired at a person before. Could she bring herself to do it?
“Hello, the house,” a pleasant baritone voice called from outside. “Permission to approach.”
Holding her breath, Hayley peered out the window. From the plane’s cockpit, two people gazed out toward her cabin, but neither was the person trying to communicate. The craft’s passenger door stood open, and a tall, dark-haired man was stepping off the dock into her meadow. The man was too far away for her to make out his features, except that he had a close-cropped beard and a muscular build. He was dressed in black jeans and a dark brown jacket. An ebony strap around his shoulder indicated the presence of a firearm at his back, but both of his hands were empty and raised to shoulder height, palms out.
Tension eased in Hayley’s gut. Could she have overreacted? Maybe these guys were no threat. Her jaw firmed. No, a lone woman in the Alaskan wilderness couldn’t possibly overreact to armed strangers trespassing on her property.
Hayley pulled her front door ajar but didn’t step outside. Instead, she sheltered behind the thick wooden panel. Growling, Mack moved forward, but she grabbed his collar and held him back. The dog went still, though his coarse fur bristled against her fingers.
“I’m armed,” she called out. “I have a dog, and I’ve been on the satellite phone.” No need to tell them she hadn’t gotten through to anyone.
“All of that is understandable,” the reasonable-voiced man answered. “Let me come on up and—”
A masculine yell brimming with profanity interrupted the man’s words. Hayley peeked around the edge of the door. Breath fled her lungs as her pulse jackhammered in her ears. One...two...three...no—four men leaped out of the red-and-white plane onto her dock and charged toward the cabin, weapons trained. The man who’d been talking to her whirled on his buddies, reaching toward them and hollering as if trying to stop their rush. But the foursome barreled past the dark-haired spokesman, nearly knocking him off his feet. Their automatic weapons erupted in a stream of bullets.
The cabin’s picture window exploded inward. Glass shards stung Hayley’s torso, and particularly her exposed hands and face. The rifle fell from her grip. She threw herself to the floor, hauling Mack down with her. Whatever she did now had to happen fast. These guys meant to kill her.
* * *
Heart in his throat, Sean O’Keefe grabbed for Wade Becker as the hothead and his cronies swept past him, blasting their guns in full-automatic mode. He missed the grab and staggered, nearly hitting the ground.
When the boss man had ordered their plane to turn around and land here so they could deal with the problem, Sean had talked fast. He thought he’d convinced him and the rest of the gang that it would be wise to go easy on the unexpected innocent witness to their rendezvous with the buyer. Subduing the woman and tying her up until they were gone should have been sufficient, especially when the crew planned to disband and disappear after this crucial deal. Why add murder to their rap sheets? But, as usual, Becker couldn’t contain his violent impulses, and this time a civilian was paying the price.
What could possibly be a worse ending to Sean’s undercover assignment with the federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives? He grimaced. The thing he needed to do next might make that cut. He was probably too late, but he had to stop the attack even if he blew his cover or got himself killed.
Sean shrugged his M16 rifle from his shoulder into his hands and swept a burst of bullets toward the heels of the lowlifes he’d been forced to rub shoulders with for the past five months. The foursome jumped and ceased fire. Whirling, they pointed their weapons at Sean’s chest.
Becker called him a foul name. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Sean met the man’s molten stare. “I’m not adding murder to my rap sheet just because you guys like to shoot first and think later. Assaulting the cabin was never the plan.”
“Plans change,” said a flinty voice behind him.
Sean looked over his shoulder to find Sherman Patterson standing on the dock. The man’s empty, inky stare reminded Sean of a python he’d once seen eyeing a rodent in a zoo. As far as character quality went, Sean would rate the reptile over Patterson any day. Even out here in the Alaskan wilderness, the guy wore an impeccably cut three-piece suit and designer loafers and every salt-and-pepper strand of thick and glossy hair was locked in place. A snake in a suit, and from day one of his undercover assignment, Sean had been looking forward to slapping the cuffs on him. But if the woman in the house was still alive, to get her out of here he might have to kiss that dream goodbye.
Sean schooled his expression to reflect indifference. “I’ll go up there and see if these trigger-happies—” he jerked his chin toward Becker and his bunch “—accomplished anything.”
The quartet of shooters scowled at him, but Patterson nodded. “Be my guest. Let us know if you run into her gun or her dog.” A thin smile flickered across the man’s sharp features.
Gut roiling, Sean trotted toward the silent cabin. Every hair on his body stood on end. If she was alive in there, he could take a bullet from her at any moment. But if she hadn’t returned fire by now, she was probably incapable of it. These thugs he’d been running with over the past excruciating months knew that fact as well as he did. He glanced at them over his shoulder. Becker’s quartet wore smug sneers on their faces. Patterson had retreated into the plane. Typical. Never one to risk his neck or get his hands dirty.
Sean reached the cabin and soft-footed up two stairs and across the porch boards. The front door hung open, peppered with bullet holes. Swallowing hard, he stepped over the threshold and peered into a living area. A hunting rifle lay at the foot of a shredded sofa, explaining why he hadn’t been shot while approaching the cabin.
His gaze searched the space. No one in view, neither dog nor human, but a few droplets of red speckled the floor. Sean drew in a stuttering breath. Clearly, someone in here was wounded, though they’d been able to move. Did he dare hope the woman and her pooch had escaped through the kitchen and out the back door? He scanned the kitchen area that formed an L with the living room. Shattered crockery covered the space, and the back door sported multiple bullet holes. Not likely she would have survived attempting that exit.
No blood speckles led in that direction. They did, however, lead toward the far wall of the living space. There, a closed door adjoined a set of rustic wooden stairs that gave access to the second story. Had she retreated up there?
