Deadly Fate (Krewe of Hunters #19)(2)

He wasn’t a hunter. The only way he shot things in his spare time was with a camera. His day-to-day life had enough to do with violence.

He heard his cell phone ringing and headed back into the bedroom to snatch it up off his bedside table. His partner, Mike Aklaq, was on the other line.

“You ready, friend?”

“If you call standing in my shorts, drinking coffee and looking out windows ready, then I’m ready.”

“Cool. You’re always Mr. Early. Today I’m on the move. Coming to get you—got a call to rush it this morning.”

“Oh?”

“Just hop in the shower quick. We’re wanted down the road in Seward.”

“What’s going on?”

“Quit talking and shower. Put on something more than your briefs—Special Director Enfield will meet us at the airport.”

“Airport? Seward isn’t even a three-hour drive and only private—”

“Helicopter is waiting for us. I’m almost there. Hey, I’m pretty sure I’m along for the ride on this. Enfield thinks you’re the man for this situation.”

“What the hell is the situation?”

“I don’t even know yet. Just get cracking, eh?”

Thor didn’t say anything more; he hung up and hurried to get ready.

He managed a shave and shower in less than ten minutes. When he emerged—in his blue suit, Glock in the little leather holster at the back of his waistband—Mike was in his apartment.

“Hell, you must have been downstairs when you called,” Thor said.

Mike grinned. “I was. I figured you had coffee—you always have coffee.”

Mike was a big guy with broad shoulders and cheekbones to match. His dad was Native American; his mom had come up to Alaska with her father when he’d worked the pipeline. Mike was one of ten kids, all of them tall and good-looking. Thor and he made a good, colorful team, Thor often thought. He actually had Aleut blood himself. It was from a great-grandmother, while the rest of his family had hailed from Norway and it showed. He was bronzed just because he loved the sun; his hair was lighter than flax and his eyes were a blue only a little darker than ice.

They’d been partners three years in Alaska. Thor had done time in both the New York City and Miami offices while Mike had worked in Chicago and DC. Both of them had asked for the Alaska assignment—a different kind of job, for the most part. They were members of the criminal task division; in the three years they’d been working, most of their cases had been a matter of doggedly following clues and collaborating with Canadian and other US agents.

They headed downstairs. Thor knew that Mike was going to drive—he had the official car and the keys. They both preferred their own driving.

“What time did Enfield call you?” Thor asked when they were on the road.

“Six. He just said shake a leg and get to the airfield, and he’d meet us there. Man, it doesn’t bode well, him calling like that—when we were due in anyway.”

Thor nodded, feeling uncomfortable. The reality of the dream had faded—in his field, nightmares occurred in the darkness and the light. He’d always known that you had to live with the losses as well as the triumphs. But his dad—who was still with the Alaska State Troopers—had once put it into perspective for him by noting, You’ll never stop the flow of evil that some men will do, but each time you save one innocent, you make it all worthwhile.

So he had dreams.

Nightmares.

He woke up and shook them off.

But now, the dream that had plagued him right before he had awakened that morning seemed like some kind of a foreboding.

That feeling increased when they reached the airfield and saw Special Director Reginald Enfield there, waiting for them.

Enfield was a solid, no-nonsense director—a good man in his office. He’d had a kneecap shot out and knew he wasn’t fit for fieldwork, but he could analyze a situation like few other men and collect invaluable information with his group of techs. That he was at the airfield meant they were onto something serious.

Enfield shook hands with the men as he reached them, his expression grim. “Your chopper is ready and waiting. You’re heading straight to Seward—there was a murder last night,” he told them.

Thor waited for him to continue. It wasn’t as if Alaska was immune to murder—far from it. According to reports by statisticians at the Bureau, Alaska was the most dangerous state for violent crime. Most of the time, murders were related to bar fights, cabin fever, drug or alcohol abuse and sometimes, domestic battles.

Thor had a feeling none of the above applied; if so, the local police or the state police would have been called in. Seward, Alaska, had a full-time population of three thousand plus, but tourism and the cruise industry could swell that number considerably. It was still a quaint and beautiful town—one usually loved by those who flocked to see the beauty of the nation’s largest, last-frontier state.

He realized they were going to have to ask questions and so he began with the obvious. “Sir, I’m sure you plan on giving us more. We’re being sent to Seward over a murder? Aren’t the local police and the state guys on it?”

“This one isn’t your typical murder,” Enfield said. “We’ve got agents headed here now from the DC area—it’s that much not your typical murder.”