Page 31 of Bearing North
“Possibly, but would they have this kind of technology? And inside information about where we would be? It’s not like they could use Find My Phone to track us to Coldfoot, and a tail would have been stunningly obvious on the deserted road when we’re stopping like tourists every ten miles. That delay was set by someone who knew our habits and could guess when we’d be vulnerable.”
“Then who would benefit from us being out of the way?” Orson asked. “My brothers would still have ownership of the company, and I wasn’t there long enough for any personal grudges. What would have happened with you out of the way? Who could be promoted? That tech guy? The brute with the ’stache? Sandra?”
“Telly doesn’t want that kind of authority,” Alex said thoughtfully. “John has a rap sheet and a family he wouldn’t risk.”
“Sandra?” Orson asked again.
Alex didn’t even want to consider it, but now that she was…Sandra knew exactly where they would be and when. She obviously disagreed with some of Alex’s business choices, and she had been agitating for a promotion she didn’t qualify for in the slightest. She hadn’t been the tiniest bit concerned about the missing detonator, actively dismissing Alex’s worries.
Did Sandra resent the fact that Alex had never given her special treatment? Was she angry that Alex had been the one to salvage the company and win awards? With Alex and Orson out of the way, she could probably get a management position under one of Orson’s brothers who didn’t know better and fire the people she disagreed with. It would ruin the business, but Alex wondered how much she actually cared about that.
Even her relationship advice was suspect now. Had she been trying to get Alex canned so she could step up? And when Alex told her that she and Orson had worked out an equitable business agreement, had she decided to take more drastic and permanent action?
“I don’t want to believe it,” Alex said, shaking her head. Her ankle hurt wickedly and her head was pounding, but neither hurt as much as her heart. “I thought she was my friend.”
But she’d never been good with friends. Maybe it was all a terrible misjudgment on her part.
“Don’t assume the worst,” Orson said, holding her tighter. “We’ll find proof before we go around accusing anyone.” His mismatched and poorly fitting rain suit rustled around her. “Is that a truck coming?”
An orange pickup was starting up the hill, a construction work crew light on the top of its cab.
As they watched it grow in size, a semi hurtled down the hill, honking helpfully as it passed. The big rig would have no more luck stopping on the way down and blocking the road than it would going up, but Alex thought it was honking to encourage them.
The orange truck finally got to them, and a big, bearded driver got out and boggled at the smoking wreck of their truck. “Are you guys okay?”
“Some bruises and scrapes,” Alex said, not offering to explain why Orson was barefoot and wearing nothing but rain gear or how either of them had survived. The cab of his truck was warm, and they squeezed into the front bench seat with Alex in the middle.
But she wasn’t okay at all.
27
ORSON
Orson could tell Alex was more shaken than she wanted to admit and he squeezed her hand. He held up her part of the conversation when she sank into silence. Had she hit her head? If he hadn’t been able to protect her…
“We’ll have cellphone coverage in a few miles,” the driver said. “Do you need medical attention?”
“We’re fine,” Orson promised. “We just need some warm clothes and food.”
He produced some energy bars, and Orson prodded Alex to eat hers.
As they wound down the mountains, they came out on flat, open land. As promised, there wasn’t a tree in sight and the pipeline was in clear view across the tundra, winding along the road further north.
Deadhorse was a definite step up from Coldfoot when they finally got there. It was a little town that was a cluster of very simple buildings topping out at four stories laid in a careful grid next to a large airfield. Orson was surprised by how many lakes there were, and how industrial everything was. He had built up a concept in his head of snowy cabins and forests, but it was more like Soviet-era bloc housing on a wind-scrubbed plains.
There was, however… “Is that snow?!”
“The snow dumps often don’t melt out until July,” the driver explained as they drove past dirty piles of white.
“I should call Sandra,” Alex said when they finally arrived at their hotel, past the gate to Prudhoe Bay, which was the company town for the oilfield itself.
Thatwas what was bothering her. She wasn’t just rattled from the crash, she was devastated that Sandra might have betrayed her and tried to kill her.
Orson still had her hand and had no desire to let it go. “Don’t call her yet,” he advised. “Let’s think about what we want to do. In fact, let’s put this on my personal card so she doesn’t see the expense on the business account.”
The hotel was surprisingly nice, very modern, and provided all amenities. Did people often arrive with no luggage or clothing? The desk attendant was nothing but professional.
There was only one thing Orson could think of doing with no luggage or clothing, and now that the danger had passed, he was on fire. He wanted to remind Alex of what she meant to him, and being so close to losing her made everything keener.
