A Night Without End

Chapter Two (#u3948d0d2-8bc3-5516-a7e5-b2184d6bbb34)

Chapter Three (#uef56fa7c-c0a4-5960-b50e-10112cfbc2ba)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Prologue

“Did I hear right? Did you say Alaska?” Carlie Myer propped one hip against the kitchen counter, twisted the phone cord and tried to keep the trembling from her voice.

Her husband, Bill, preoccupied and even more secretive than usual, hadn’t been himself lately, but now his former bubbling enthusiasm returned to his voice and came in loud and clear from his car’s cell phone. “I want to show you Chikosh Pass in summertime.”

Perhaps she’d let him talk her into going on an Alaskan vacation, after all. Besides, relief from the tropical heat of August in Tampa, Florida might not be so bad.

If she didn’t know better, from the way he described Alaska, she’d have thought he longed for his old job back. He was practically crooning into the telephone with his husky bedroom voice that he knew she had difficulty refusing. “You haven’t lived until you’ve kayaked blue glacial rivers and climbed Mount Kiska—”

“You know I don’t like the cold.” Or the wilderness. She was a city girl, born and bred in the Sunshine State. And nothing relaxed her better than Florida sun, palm trees swishing in a seventy-five-degree breeze and the aroma of suntan oil on a white-sand beach.

“Come on, Carlie. It’ll be romantic. The aurora borealis is unbelievable at night.”

“So are the mosquitoes that suck a human being dry in half an hour—”

“Think of camping with the scent of spruce in your hair. Fresh salmon baked the way you like it—”

“What about grizzlies?”

Even if she accompanied him to Fairbanks, his intention to revisit his old haunts raised issues she preferred to forget. He made the trip sound so sentimental and appealing, but he had almost died in those frigid mountains he loved.

“You can sleep with your gun under the pillow,” Bill teased.

In spite of her suspicions, Carlie allowed a smile to surface. A seven-year veteran of the Tampa Police Department, she considered her sidearm as necessary as most women did a tube of lipstick. However, on their wedding night, Bill had insisted he wasn’t sharing her with a .357 Magnum and urged her to leave the weapon on her nightstand—a small compromise she’d made after the happiness he’d given her. That she was considering a trip to practically the North Pole was a testament to how much she loved him.

Every so often she had to remind herself that even the best marriage required compromises. If he wanted to return to Alaska, she’d go along with his request, but not before making one of her own.

“This is strictly a vacation, right?”

“And what else would it be? I’m a happily married man.”

The thought of running into one of his old girlfriends was the least of her worries. And he knew it.

“No digging into unsolved cases?” she asked. Bill had worked for Customs in Alaska before he’d received a promotion and transferred to Florida. And he was damned secretive about his work. For all she knew he was still on the same case that had almost taken his life. Fear curdled in her gut. “Promise me, you’ve put the past behind you.”

“Now, honey, we’re just taking a little visit, and I may check out a few things. You aren’t going to lose me. There’s nothing to fear—”

Through the receiver, car horns blared in her ear. Metal screeched. Glass shattered.

“Bill? Bill! Talk to me, damn it.”

His car phone went dead.

“God, no. Please, please, please don’t do this to me.”

With frantic fingers, she redialed his number, but the call wouldn’t go through. Pain and panic slammed into her. Numbly, she tried the police department next.

But she didn’t need anyone to tell her he was dead. Every cell in her body shuddered as the special connection they had shared was brutally severed.

He was gone. She would never again see his warm smile, never again hear his husky laughter or feel the comfort of his embrace. She wrapped her arms around herself to stop the shaking, but the gesture did nothing to halt the tears raging down her cheeks or the shivers crawling over her soul.

Bill was gone.

And deep in her heart she knew the fear had just begun.

Chapter One

Fifteen months later

The herd of elk spooked, taking off on a mad run, and, on the alert, Sean McCabe instantly froze. He read danger in the Alaskan bush easily, rapidly and expertly. While many Alaskans were at home in the woods, his senses were more acute than most, and years in these mountains had endowed him with almost a sixth sense. His ears picked up not just normal animal activity—but the lack of noise. An arctic warbler in the willow thicket had ceased to sing.

Sean did not move, all senses keenly focused. The abnormal stillness spoke to him. In the bush, game could be frightened by an angered grizzly, an approaching storm, a forest fire or an imminent earthquake. But he didn’t see any bear signs, didn’t smell smoke, and though he expected snow within hours, the sky remained blue and clear. Still, his neck prickled with an acute perception of danger and he shifted his stance with vigilant caution.

Well aware wildlife could sense vibrations in the ground long before people felt an earthquake, Sean dumped his heavy backpack of supplies and sprinted toward the Dog Mush Mine. If a tremor were to hit, he might have only moments to warn Jackson, who was most likely prospecting deep in the cave and unaware of the unusual stillness on the mountain.

A Sitka black-tailed deer bolted past Sean into a stand of white spruce and disappeared behind a hummock. A woodchuck dived for its burrow while a snowshoe hare bounded through the gooseberry bushes. Forcing his feet faster along the steep, well-trod trail, he redoubled his effort to reach his partner. And friend.

Jackson was family, the father he’d never had. Twenty years ago when Sean had been a lost and lonely eight-year-old brat, he’d run away from the very thought of a foster home, and the old prospector had taken him in. At first he’d been afraid of the miner, but he soon learned Jackson’s gruff exterior hid a heart of melted gold nuggets. He’d taken in a hungry and defiant boy, fed him and educated him, given him the tools to make a living.

An eagle wheeled in the sky with a cacophony of cries. With a primal caution, Sean rounded the last bend in the trail, his boots pounding the hard-packed dirt. A bone-chilling gust pummeled him, but as he dashed into the mine past Jackson’s bivouac site, the sheer rock pinnacle cut the wind. An eerie stillness made the hairs on the back of Sean’s hands stand on end.

“Jackson! Get out! You hear me, there’s an—”