“He’s got it all figured out, doesn’t he?” Jack shook his head as he lowered his voice. “How can you stomach working with him?”
“I don’t have a choice,” she answered. “Hopefully, someone will quit, and I can move away from him.”
“He’s a reporter?”
“He thinks he is. But he’s not very observant. He didn’t even notice you weren’t carrying handcuffs. How come you aren’t?”
“It’s casual Monday. No ties. No cuffs. Do you want me to carry that?” he asked, reaching for her tote bag. It looked heavy.
The elevator doors opened just as Alec joined them. All three stepped inside.
“All right.” Sophie handed him the bag. “But be careful with it. It’s Louis Vuitton.”
“Can Lou breathe in there?”
She smiled. “It’s Louis, not Lou.”
“Expensive, huh?”
“Yes, very expensive. It was a gift, and I’m trying not to get any scratches on it.”
“A gift from your father?”
The smile vanished. “No,” she answered abruptly.
She was glad he had asked the annoying question. She was starting to like him, and she was certainly attracted to him. Who wouldn’t be? The man was sexy as hell. But fortunately his nosy question reminded her that he was FBI.
She stood between the two men facing the doors. She felt awkward and uncomfortable. If Jack hadn’t been there, she would have been fine. She loved Alec because he loved Regan, and Sophie felt safe and relaxed around him. Alec didn’t judge; Jack apparently did.
“Why don’t you ride with Sophie, and I’ll follow in my car?” Jack suggested.
She didn’t look at him when she answered, “I don’t own a car.”
“Really? Huh. I figured you for a BMW or a Mercedes. Guess I was wrong.”
“Really. Huh. I figured you for an arrogant, judgmental jerk.” She didn’t add, “Guess I was wrong.”
She glanced at him to see how he was reacting to her comment and was taken aback when she saw the laughter in his eyes.
They reached the bottom floor. Jack had parked his car in the garage below the warehouse. When the elevator doors parted, he held his hand up to stop her. He checked to see that the coast was clear before he let her step out. There were no reporters lurking, waiting to ambush her. She thought Bitterman had overreacted when he’d said microphones would be thrust in her face. She climbed into the backseat of Jack’s car. They drove down the ramp, and as Jack was waiting to make a left turn onto the street, a swarm of reporters suddenly appeared. They crowded both sides of the car, but they seemed to be as interested in Jack and Alec as they were in her, even calling them by name.
“How do those reporters know you two?” she asked.
“They don’t actually know us,” Alec hedged.
“They’re shouting your names and taking your photos.”
“She hasn’t seen it?” Jack asked.
“Apparently not. Talk to Regan or Cordie,” Alec told her. “They’ll be happy to explain.”
“Explain what? Alec, what are you talking about?”
He didn’t answer. A cameraman pounded his fist on the hood of the car to get Jack’s attention. He was obviously going for the deer-in-the-headlight shot. Jack didn’t oblige.
“What can I tell you? It must be a slow week.”
“FBI agents don’t give interviews,” she said. “And those reporters know that. Why are they hounding you two?”
“Not now, Sophie. When you get home, call my wife.”
She decided not to wait. She pulled out her cell phone and sent a text to Regan and Cordie.
“How much do you think I’ll get if I run over a couple of them?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know. I’d give you ten, twenty bucks,” Alec answered.
Jack laughed. “I meant years. How many years would I get?”
Traffic opened just as one reporter cleared the bumper, sliding toward Alec’s window. Jack drove away before the man could get a clear shot.
“I hate reporters,” Jack muttered. “Most of them don’t ever write the truth.”
“That isn’t so,” Sophie said.
He ignored her protest. “It’s all about sensationalism. Anything for a story.”
“I’m a reporter,” she reminded him.
“My point exactly,” Jack said.
“Agent MacAlister?”
“Yeah?”
“Bite me.”
JOURNAL ENTRY 113
ARCTIC CAMP
It’s hard to believe we’ve been with the wolves for months now. We’ve gathered reams of data about their habits and have studied tissue samples to understand their physical adaptation, but there is so much more to learn. If our plans succeed, the foundation will extend our grant, and we’ll be able to return to continue our study next year.
There haven’t been any questions about losing the male that Kirk had named Jasper. They know I was the last to observe him, and they have accepted my report about the grizzly. I told them Jasper put up a good fight but succumbed to the strength of the bear.
The truth is a bit more gruesome. Eric and I had sedated Jasper to draw another vial of blood to see if his hormone level had fluctuated. When the grizzly approached, he was too woozy to fight. The bear tore Jasper apart as though he were some limp rag doll.
The violent scene was difficult to watch, but at least Eric was able to gather a sample of blood to compare with Ricky’s.
SOPHIE USUALLY LIKED WORKING FROM HOME. THERE weren’t interruptions; Gary wasn’t hanging over her partition drooling like a St. Bernard while he pestered her for information about her father. Also, in her apartment, all of Sophie’s forbidden snack foods were within reach. She didn’t even have to answer the phone if she didn’t feel like it. And if she were so inclined, she could work in her pajamas.
What she didn’t like was being forced to work from home. She felt like a prisoner, and she didn’t like the idea of anyone else making choices for her. Mr. Bitterman, however, was her boss, and he had her best interests at heart. Unlike the creep threatening to do her bodily harm. Now she was going to have to reschedule all of her appointments, which included apologizing ad nauseam and begging Raul to change her haircut appointment.
And all of this disruption because of a few crank phone calls. It could be worse, she supposed. She should be thankful she hadn’t been dragged downtown by the authorities. Not yet anyway.
It didn’t matter which agency called on her. They all asked the same questions over and over again. Have you spoken to your father lately? Like she would ever tell them if she had. Has he ever told you how he made his money? She had a lot of sarcastic answers for that one, but she kept silent because even at an early age she had learned never to alienate men with badges, especially if she wanted to go home rather than sit in a smelly interrogation room for hours and hours.
They all wanted to know about a safe, too. Did her father have one hidden somewhere? And where did he keep his important papers? Did he ever tell her secrets?
Nowadays, Sophie took the questions in stride, but that had not always been the case. The worst experience she had was when she was nine years old. A cranky old detective told her that if she didn’t spill the beans—she had no idea what that meant—and tell him where her father was, he would call child protective services and have her taken away permanently and put in foster care. No one would know where she was, and she would never see her daddy or her friends again.
To this day, Sophie wasn’t certain how Regan’s brother Aiden found out about that interrogation. She thought perhaps her housekeeper had called him, but the woman never owned up to it.
Like a knight in shining armor, Aiden showed up at the police station with three attorneys to save her from the detective’s terror tactics. Sophie remembered she cried when she saw him and ran into his arms. Aiden had seemed terribly old to her, but he was barely twenty at the time. He was outraged on her behalf and made quite a few threat
s of his own, including lawsuits for illegal detention, public humiliation, and heaven only knows what else. He got in the detective’s face and told him that if the words “foster care” were ever spoken again, he would have his badge. Aiden’s attorneys insisted he could do it, too.
Aiden drove her home, gave her the law firm’s private phone number, and made her memorize it. He told her that she could reach them day or night. To this day she remembered that number, and occasionally she used it.
She never told Regan or Cordie what had happened the night Aiden rescued her, and she had asked Aiden to keep the secret, too, to never let anyone know, not ever, that she had cried. She was a worrier, and Aiden recognized that. He somehow tracked her father down as he was flitting from place to place and got him to agree to let Aiden become her guardian in his absence. Sophie was eternally grateful.
Sophie wondered if she was going to have to call Aiden’s attorneys because of this latest round of threats. Her hope was that it would all die down and be forgotten in a couple of days.
When she arrived at her apartment, Alec and Jack went up with her. They stood by as she played the day’s messages, all thirteen of them. None were threatening, but the last one perplexed Jack. The caller identified himself by the name Muffin, and the readout on Sophie’s caller ID indicated he was making the call from the Southside Reserve Soup Kitchen. The deep timbre of his voice was a contradiction to his name.
“Sophie, honey, I wanted to thank you for the beautiful Fendi special edition purse and wallet. I’m looking at them right now, and they’re spectacular, honey, just spectacular. Once again, you’ve outdone yourself. You know how much we appreciate it, don’t you? And hey, rumor has it you’re going for a Birkin next. That’s awfully ambitious, but I know you can do it. You take care now. You know I love you.”
Jack asked the obvious. “You gave a purse and a wallet to a soup kitchen? Did I hear that right?”
“Yes, that’s right. Alec, are you going to look in all the corners and make sure no one’s hiding?”
“I’ll do that now.”
“Hold on,” Jack said. “You aren’t at all curious about Muffin’s phone call?”
“Not really,” Alec replied, smiling as he walked into Sophie’s bedroom.
Jack didn’t want to let it go. “Explain why you would give a soup kitchen a purse and wallet.”
“Because I wanted to,” she answered. “Don’t look so worried, Agent MacAlister, the purse and wallet aren’t code words for anything illegal.”
Sophie left Jack looking bewildered and went to the kitchen to get a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
Alec finished his inspection, got a bottle for himself, and tossed one to Jack. “Promise me you’ll stay in tonight and tomorrow,” he said to Sophie. “I’m not leaving until you give me your word.”
“I promise. Don’t forget that you already gave me your word you wouldn’t tell Regan about the threatening calls.”
“I won’t tell her.”
“Thank you. You know what a worrier she is.”
“You’re not worried?”
“Not at all.”
“Regan might stop by later.”
“No,” she blurted before she realized it was a trap.
“But you’re not worried,” Alec said dryly.
“I just don’t want to take any chances with my friend’s life, that’s all. I’m being cautious. Besides, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
He kissed her on the cheek. “Lock the door behind us.”
Jack waited until he and Alec were in the elevator and then asked, “You’re just gonna leave it at that?”
“She has protection. She just doesn’t know it. Whenever her dad’s in the news, I hire Gil, and he gets a couple of his friends, all retired cops, to help watch round the clock. No one will get to her. She’ll be okay.”
“The threats … these happen a lot?”
Alec nodded. “Yes, but this is the first time Bitterman has gotten any calls about her. That’s new. But like I said, she’ll be okay.”
Sophie really wasn’t worried. As soon as Alec and Jack left, she changed her clothes and went to work on her computer. Time got away from her, and it was almost seven when Cordie called. “It’s on,” she said. “Start watching.”
Sophie didn’t waste any time. She ran to the television to make certain she was recording the reality show. It was one of her favorites. The truth was, she and Cordie watched and loved almost all the reality shows. Regan called her friends reality junkies. Neither Cordie nor Sophie was offended.
Ten minutes later, Sophie called Cordie. “How can John and Sara think they’re in the desert? There isn’t any sand.”
“They’ll be the first to go,” Cordie predicted.
Five phone calls later, the show was over and real life resumed. Sophie stretched her arms above her head and yawned. Deciding to turn in early, she switched off her computer and headed toward her bedroom. There weren’t any sheets on her bed. She had only one set of king bedding, and they were in the washer. While she waited for the sheets to dry, she ate half of a cold pizza, then went to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
The phone rang. Seeing that it was Cordie, she picked up.
“Oh my God, Soph,” Cordie laughed, “have you looked at YouTube yet?”
“What for?” Sophie mumbled through the toothpaste.
“Jack MacAlister. You’ve got to see the video.”
“Okay, I will.” She hung up the phone and went back to the bathroom to gargle.
The phone rang yet again. “Oh good grief, Cordie …” She plodded back to her bedside table. Caller ID displayed an un familiar area code. She hesitated for two rings, then decided to answer.
“Is this Sophie Summerfield?” Summerfield. Good. He wasn’t calling for Sophie Rose, and he had a friendly voice.
“Yes.”
“My name is Joe Rooney and I’m a police officer here at Prud-hoe Bay. You know where that is?”
She knew it was somewhere in Alaska, but she didn’t know which part. Fortunately, she didn’t have to admit it.
“We’re in Alaska, way up at the tip.”
“Must be cold” was all she could think to say.
“Yes. It’s already chilly here,” he replied. “Unusually so, this early in the season. The reason I’ve called …”
His hesitation made her all the more curious. “Yes?”
“We found your card. Your business card. It’s the only identification, so I thought I’d call and ask if you knew the man we found.”
“He can’t tell you who he is?”
“No, he can’t say anything, ma’am. No easy way to tell you. He’s dead. We found your card inside his red sock.”
It couldn’t be, could it? Sophie needed to sit. “Did you say a red sock?”
“Yes, it is,” he answered, sounding relieved.
Harrington. Oh my God. William Harrington. She remembered he had taken her card and tucked it in his sock. He’d shoved it way down to his ankle and then pulled the sock halfway to his knee. Who else could it be? But it didn’t make sense. Prudhoe Bay? What would William be doing in Prudhoe Bay? He was in Europe.
“I’m sorry to be calling with such terrible news,” Rooney said.
Sophie needed to be sure before she gave the caller William Harrington’s name. “Tell me what he looks like.”
A long sigh came through the phone. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am.”
“Why not?”
“The problem is … we only found a piece of him. We found a foot and part of his leg.”
“A leg and a foot?” She couldn’t take in what he was telling her.
“A foot and art of a leg, not all of it,” he said. “It was his right foot. Would that help you identify him for us?”
“Are you saying … my God … how did he die? And where’s the rest of him?”
Another sigh came through the phone. “No easy way to say this,” Rooney said. A slight hesitation a
nd then he blurted, “We’ve got polar bears up here.”
“Oh my …”
“A polar bear did him in.”
JOURNAL ENTRY 187
CHICAGO
It’s great to be back in Chicago. We spent eight months together in Alaska, survived a bitter winter cooped up in our housing, and I accumulated enough data on the behavior of my coworkers to begin my paper.
The pecking order in our little family shifted over the course of our stay. Brandon could not handle disagreement of any kind, and Kirk became passive in every argument. Eric and I became the alphas, though admittedly Eric is too busy to lead anyone.
The foundation was impressed with our reports and has agreed to fund another two years. In three months we will head back north.
Eric is spending his time off in his lab. I brought with me a few early blood samples from each member of the pack—all but Lucy and her pups, that is—so I’ve also taken time in the lab to see if I can isolate the hormone Eric found in Ricky’s blood. So far I’ve come up with some amazing and startling conclusions. I will have to wait until I return north to show Eric my discovery. I’m anxious to hear what he has to say.
HOLY CRAP! A foot and part of a leg were all that was left? Could it be William Harrington? Her business card had been tucked in his sock, his red sock. It had to be him.
Sophie’s mind raced. She was so rattled by what she was hearing, she couldn’t think of a single question to ask.
Rooney broke the silence. “It was a male.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The polar bear was male,” he explained. “Had to weigh in around twelve hundred pounds, give or take a hundred.”
“Did anyone witness the attack?” she asked, mentally cringing at the possibility.
“No, but there were telltale signs. Can you identify the victim for us?”
“It must be William Harrington,” she said. “I gave him my business card, and I saw him tuck it in his sock.” She gave him Harrington’s home address and said, “He lived alone. His phone has been disconnected, and I was told that he had left for Europe.”