Chapter 9
Cole woke to gray dawn light filtering through the motel curtains and the ping of an incoming message on his phone. He grabbed it off the nightstand, blinking sleep from his eyes.
Frazier had come through.
Cole sat up, fully awake now. Her driver’s license photo accompanied the message.
It wasn’t the most flattering photo, but he was surprised at how pretty she was.
Shaking his head, he shoved those thoughts down.
Her looks had nothing to do with what he needed to know… was she in danger, and where was she?
The coordinates placed her cabin outside town, accessible via a rough gravel road branching off the main highway. Remote. Isolated. Exactly the kind of place someone "looking at goddamn moose" would be.
He called the compound, and Logan answered on the second ring despite the early hour.
"You got Frazier's intel?" Logan's voice was crisp, alert.
"Yeah. Listen, I know this is a long shot, but…
" Cole paused to organize his thoughts. "Yesterday at Penson's property, I overheard him on the phone.
He was talking about someone 'looking at moose' near his operation. Told whoever was on the other end to handle it, and that money talks. And if that doesn’t work, make it go away however you have to. "
"And you think he was talking about this researcher?"
"The server at the café mentioned her when I asked about moose watchers.
Said she's a wildlife veterinarian working out of a cabin in the area.
" Cole moved to the window, looking out at the snow-covered parking lot.
"It could be a coincidence. But if Penson's company is operating illegally and she's documented it... "
Logan was quiet for a moment. "You think she's in danger."
"I think a man who casually tells his employees to 'handle' problems and 'make money talk' isn't someone who responds well to witnesses.
" Cole grabbed his jacket, already making the decision.
"I just want to check on her. Make sure she's okay.
If it's nothing, I'll apologize for bothering her and head back to Fairbanks. "
"And if it's not nothing?"
"Then we figure out next steps." Cole pulled on his boots. "But I'd rather be wrong and look paranoid than be right and too late."
Another pause, then Logan's voice came back with a note of approval. "Do it. Sadie's pulling up the exact location now. She'll send them to your phone. Be careful out there. Storm's supposed to clear today, but the roads will still be bad."
"I've driven in worse."
"I know. That's why I'm not arguing." Logan's tone shifted, becoming more serious. "Keep us posted. If this researcher has evidence of illegal mining activity and Penson knows about her, things could get complicated fast."
"Understood."
Cole ended the call and checked his phone as Sadie's message came through. The coordinates were sent along with a note. The university leases the cabin for year-long research projects. Current occupant: Janice Lynch, wildlife veterinarian. Contract runs through December.
He packed quickly, threw his gear into the rental SUV, and headed to Cantwell's general store. If Janice were running low on supplies after being snowed in, he'd at least bring something useful. Basic courtesy gave him a legitimate reason to show up unannounced at her door.
The store was opening when he arrived. "You're out early. The storm has barely cleared."
"Need to pick up some supplies for a friend." Cole grabbed a basket and started loading it. Coffee, bread, canned goods, batteries. The essentials of remote living. "She's at a research cabin. Figured I'd check on her."
Walt's eyebrows rose. "You know Janice?"
"Slightly," Cole lied, keeping his tone casual. "But I heard she might need help, and I was in the area anyway."
The older man studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Road out to her place got plowed this morning, but it's still rough. You'll need four-wheel drive."
"I have it."
“She’s an independent woman,” Walt said as he rang up the purchases. "But it's isolated. Nice of you to check on her."
Cole paid and loaded the supplies into the SUV.
The morning was clear and cold, with the temperature hovering around twenty degrees.
Fresh snow covered everything, brilliant white under a still-cloudy day as the snowfall tapered off.
Beautiful, if you ignored the fact that it could kill you if you weren't prepared.
He programmed the coordinates into his GPS and pulled out onto the highway. The main road had been plowed overnight, leaving high banks of snow on either side but reasonable driving conditions. He made good time for the first few miles, the SUV handling the packed snow without issue.
Then he turned onto the gravel road leading to Janice's cabin, and conditions deteriorated fast.
The narrow lane wound through dense forest, barely wide enough for one vehicle. The plow had made a single pass, but drifts had already started reforming across the track. Cole shifted into four-wheel drive and slowed, navigating carefully around the worst spots.
The SUV's tires found purchase in the packed snow, engine growling as he climbed a steep grade. Trees pressed close on both sides, their branches heavy with accumulated snow. A few times, he had to stop and assess whether a drift was passable or if he'd get stuck trying to push through.
Afghanistan had been worse. Winter ops in the mountains, flying Blackhawks through conditions that would ground civilian aircraft.
He'd learned to read weather, to understand the difference between challenging and impossible.
This was challenging. Slow going, requiring attention and skill, but manageable.
The road leveled out after the climb, following a ridgeline before dropping into a valley.
Through breaks in the trees, he caught glimpses of mountains rising in the distance, their peaks lost in lingering clouds.
Wilderness stretched in every direction, vast and empty and unforgiving to those who didn't respect it.
No cell service out here, but he had a satellite phone and hoped she did, too. Along with her self-reliance. If Janice Lynch was documenting illegal mining activity in this isolation, she was either very brave or didn't fully grasp how vulnerable she was.
The GPS showed him getting closer. Then the cabin appeared through the trees. Small, weathered, exactly what you'd expect for a temporary research station. Solar panels on the roof, satellite dish mounted on the side. A truck buried under snow sat near the structure. Good, she was home.
Cole pulled up slowly, not wanting to startle her by roaring in unannounced. He killed the engine and sat for a moment, studying the setup. The cabin appeared secure. A tarp covered an ATV. There was no movement from inside that he could see. No one peered out a window to see who had driven up.
He climbed out of the SUV, boots crunching in the snow. The cold hit him immediately. He moved toward the front door, noting the stacked firewood, a small detail that told him Janice Lynch was competent at wilderness living.
Cole knocked, firm but not aggressive. "Ms. Lynch? My name is Cole Iverson. I'm with Lighthouse Security Investigations. I'd like to talk to you if you have a minute."
No answer.
He knocked again, louder this time. "Ms. Lynch? Just want to make sure you're okay."
Still nothing. He walked around the cabin, peering in windows, looking for any sign of her. The interior was neat, so he didn’t fear there had been a struggle. Everything suggested recent occupation, but no person was visible.
His instincts still prickled. She wouldn't have gone out in the storm. The conditions had been too dangerous, visibility too poor. But maybe she'd ventured out this morning after it cleared, checking equipment or gathering data. Or maybe she’s lying in bed ill or injured.
Taking a calculated risk, he easily picked the lock to the front door. With the door open, he called out again. “Ms. Lynch, I’m Cole Iverson from Lighthouse Security. I’m just checking to see if you’re all right. I’m stepping inside the door now. Call out if you’re here.”
Still silence.
One glance showed a one-room cabin. The bed was made but not occupied.
The corner by the kitchen was clean, with dishes drying on a rack.
The table in the other corner held a laptop and neatly stacked papers.
The only other place to look was the bathroom or the closet.
Calling out his identification again, he walked to what he assumed was the closet and knocked loudly on the door.
Opening it, he spied clothes neatly hung and built-in drawers at the bottom.
No one was hiding in the minuscule space.
Okay, it’s the bathroom. After once more calling out his identification, he gently opened the bathroom door, ready to close it quickly if she was on the toilet or in the shower. It was also empty. Turning around, he stared into the open, and very unoccupied space.
He was heading back to the front door when he heard it. Distant but distinct. The high-pitched whine of a snowmobile engine, growing gradually louder.
Cole stopped, waiting. The sound grew closer, coming from the direction of the creek he'd noticed on the GPS. Someone was approaching through the forest, following a trail he couldn't see from here.
His hand moved instinctively to his hip, where he always carried a sidearm on a mission that was either necessary or he was in an unknown situation. Granted, this wasn't a mission, and he was more of a concerned citizen checking on someone who might be in over her head.
Still, his training kicked in. He positioned himself near the cabin's side door, out of immediate sight but with a clear view of the approaching path. If this was Northern Summit's people coming to "handle" their witness problem, he wanted the element of surprise.