Lost in the Wild Page 2

  “You’re never off duty,” Dana said.

  “Neither are you. It comes with the training. I see you checking everything. Tomorrow when we go to the events at the school auditorium, you’ll scan the crowds.”

  “It’s true.” She smiled. “What about that vagina of yours?” Dana asked. “Are you getting any use out of that?”

  Meghan laughed and smacked Dana’s arm draped over the back of the sofa. They talked for the rest of the night. When Dana retired to the bedroom, Meghan curled up on the couch. She pulled the heavy blanket over her shoulders and thought about what kind of life she missed. Dana was what Meghan used to be when she had lived as a federal agent.

  They shared a career. They went through the academy together. Meghan got Dana through the struggles of psychology tests and the bookwork of the business. Meghan scored higher in her combat and shooting skills. She scored higher in the aptitude skills. Meghan never compared herself to Dana in aspects of work. Both of them understood, without Meghan’s constant attention, Dana didn’t have the proficiency to graduate the academy on her own. It was Meghan that helped her friend secure the badge and ID.

  Once they took assignments in Upstate New York—Meghan in Syracuse, Dana in Ithaca—they spent time together on various assignments. Though, Meghan moved up in the chain of command, while Dana stagnated as a people watcher and paper pusher.

  Then it all changed when the dynamic changes happened inside the bureau, and Meghan almost lost her life to a suspect. It wasn’t something she thought about. When it came to the weeks of recovery, physical therapy, what kept Meghan going wasn’t the job. It was a dedication to her daughter.

  Now, somehow, Meghan lived alone, divorced, and Dana’s career took off. She took promotions and transfers, and Meghan got to talk to her daughter through social media instead of spending substantial time together between mother and daughter in the same house.

  There were times when Meghan felt like she gave up life, that she ran away. Seeing Dana again, catching up on bureau gossip, and understanding the life behind the prestigious FBI moniker, Meghan felt the sting of regret before the inevitable sleep took over.

  Chapter Three

  When the North Slope School District planned and constructed the mammoth high school gymnasium for Kinguyakkii—home of the Wolverines—they understood the lucrative investment opportunity that came from having a prominent gathering place for the residents of the city, and the surrounding villages. It was a hub of the social congregation. Not only for the endless indoor sporting events, booking the venue was nearly impossible and extremely expensive. Craft shows, traveling delegates, and social occasions, meant every weekend something happened at the sporting arena at the Kinguyakkii High School known as George Hall. The George family earned their name over the door because they devoted their time, energy, and, most of all, money to the preservation of Native Alaskan Rights.

  George Hall was the prime weekend spot in the City of Northern Lights. Community members used the venue beyond the basketball games for ongoing fundraisers, bingo, and the special holiday extravaganza for the Memorial Day Celebration. For people of the north, May was the time when rivers thawed, the bay waters opened, and the caribou herds got closer to town, spreading north across the tundra. Subsistent hunting and fishing meant the sooner spring arrived in the Arctic Circle, the fuller their freezers for the coming winter months. Everything in the north for people who lived off the land, it came down to seasonal migration and clear waterways.

  “You’re going to see what it means to live in Alaska,” Meghan said.

  They arrived at George Hall Sports Arena shortly after seven that Saturday evening. Meghan did the customary and obligated tour of Kinguyakkii for Dana. They spent time at the police department, and Meghan did her best to avoid Duane Warren. The mayor, always looking for more about Meghan, knew Dana came to visit because Meghan requisitioned the time off. He wanted to meet someone from Meghan’s past directly. So far, Meghan managed to steer clear of the buttery man with the smooth tongue and overreaching handshake.

  Duane once had complete access to the police department and all its business. Once Meghan took over, she moved the politics out of law enforcement. Duane didn’t resent Meghan for treating him like an ordinary citizen. Still, she knew he missed the idea that he belonged to the law enforcement side of the business, instead of someone Meghan answered to when it came to doing her job incorrectly. Meghan knew to do her job right because it kept Duane away.

  That Saturday night, KING-AM Radio DJs Dead-Air Dave and White-Noise Wayne took the stage to blare top 40 hits and country favorites for the swelling and dancing crowds. Meghan did her best to mingle, but work took precedence over trying to entertain her friend. Dana didn’t seem taxed by the adventure after flying twelve hours across the planet.

  “Who are you looking for?” Dana asked.

  Meghan smiled. She relaxed a little. “Sorry, occupational hazard.”

  Meghan didn’t have to explain it to her friend. Dana lived life. Law enforcement officers checked exits, made eye contact with more people. They watched body language and demeanor. Dana and Meghan both checked hands and waists of people enjoying themselves at the event. Carrying a firearm was prohibited on school property. Even with the gun laws in Alaska, allowing people to open-carry, and living in an area where polar bears sometimes roamed, having a gun in the bush meant life or death. Meghan had other concerns besides looking for weapons.

  “I’ve got a problem with bootleggers,” she said. “A town gathering like this is a prime location for people to smuggle booze. I’m always watching—what?” Meghan saw the bewildered look on Dana’s face.

  “I’m sorry,” Dana said with a laugh. “I thought you said something about bootleggers or bootlickers.” She waved her arms. “It’s really loud in here.”

  The music drowned most of the conversations around them. No one seemed to mind the volume.

  “I was serious about the bootleggers. That’s a real thing. What in the world is a bootlicker?” Meghan asked.

  Meghan and Dana walked around the main area where most people danced, and more stood on the sidelines watching. Meghan ignored most of the eyes on her. It was territorial and expected. In or out of uniform, Meghan Sheppard, Kinguyakkii Police Chief, was one person no one wanted to have on their heels. Her reputation and experience kept most troublemakers out of her line of sight.

  “The city council keeps the town dry,” Meghan explained. “I appreciate that because it makes my job a lot easier. They don’t want alcohol fueling more problems. If we contact someone intoxicated, they already broke the law.”

  “What do you do if someone drinks and drives?”

  Meghan shook her head. “They go to jail, just like everywhere else. I call the troopers. They send someone out here to transport the prisoner back to Anchorage.”

  “What do you do with a prisoner until they state troopers arrive?”

  “It depends on the severity of the crime. Someone drinking and driving isn’t going anywhere if we take away the vehicle. We know who he is,” Meghan said. “It’s not like we won’t find him again.”

  “What if you get more than a few people causing problems, or you have to make multiple arrests?”

  “We do the best we can. I’m down an officer and looking to hire another person. The problem we have is no money and no real place to secure prisoners. We take their state IDs, passports if they have them. We can wait for troopers to show up and collect them when we need to make arrests. We could let them go and pick them up again later.”

  “That doesn’t sound right,” Dana said.

  Meghan understood that in real-world situations, contacting suspects meant to keep them until everything got resolved. Dana saw it as help around the corner that happened all the time, and everything was black and white with case procedures. It wasn’t like that in Alaska, not where Meghan worked. She did her job and wasn’t interested in getting a lesson of proper police procedures from a woman who h
ad the entire federal government riding on her shoulders.

  Chapter Four

  The evening events had most of the preliminary Alaska Games. Contestants from around the North Slope, as far as Barrow and Point Hope, to the south of Nome and Elephant Point, the young people keeping with traditional interests, competed for big money and scholarships.

  The Native Youth Olympics meant any athlete had an opportunity to shine in traditional games, even if they weren’t hockey or basketball players. It was the reason the Memorial Day Celebration had one of the biggest turnouts for people of the north.

  Meghan and Dana watched children to elders showing off their skills in arm pulls, wrist carries, Eskimo stick pull, Alaskan high kick, one-foot high kick, and scissor broad jumping. The games had senior and junior divisions.

  When it came to the seal hop, Dana saw what it meant to have the endurance to compete between the ages. The seal-like hopping positioned people on their hands and toes. They had to maintain a push-up posture and not allow any other part of their bodies to touch the floor. Boys and girls, men and women, competed between classes where they had to travel a designated distance across the floor, pause, turn 180° and return to the start position.

  It wasn’t about timing the contestant, though that was one of the significant factors. Athletes lost time or failed to maintain the mobile plank position. Once they completed the course, they had to maintain the position until judges measured the distance.

  “I don’t know if Navy Seals could do that,” Dana said.

  “A lot of these kids are in top form. It surprises a lot of people when they see what clean living does for the community.”

  The Native Youth Olympics went for the whole two days in and around the sports arena, with Sunday having outdoor presentations, including the blanket toss and kiosk vendors selling Alaska art and food.

  “Are you enjoying yourself,” Calvin Everett asked. He came up behind Dana and Meghan. The local reporter for the Northern Lights Sounder spent a lot of time at social events.

  “This is Calvin Everett,” Meghan said.

  He shook hands with Dana. “You’re Dana Wyatt, FBI field office out of Syracuse, New York,” he said.

  Meghan frowned because it wasn’t common knowledge. It wasn’t something she talked to Calvin about directly.

  “You’re someone who pays attention,” Dana said. Meghan saw their handshake lingered, and Meghan suspected Dana increased the pressure in the grip. “You think that’s impressive, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I do have my moments. But I promise I wasn’t trying to impress you.” He smiled at Meghan. It was a knowing smile. Calvin did his homework. His grounding meant Meghan turned into a cliché in his mind. It frustrated her because at no other point in her life did she think her life and friends were so predictable.

  “So, you know me,” Dana said.

  Meghan waited because it mattered how Calvin got his information. She knew no one in her department gave away details. She trusted her lieutenant and sergeant with her life and their discretion.

  “I’ve wanted to do an exposé on Meghan since she got here,” Calvin said. “I did all my background work. I’m not spying on her, and I’m not trying to sound gauche, or crass, but I saw your photograph more than a few times in the articles I read about Meghan.” He smiled. “You’re hard to forget.”

  “Oh, my, Calvin,” Dana said. Meghan saw her friend flush. “You’re smooth. I see you don’t wear a wedding ring. Are you single?”

  “Still single, yes,” he said.

  “Well, tell me, why hasn’t Meg given in to the interview?”

  “That’s a good question. I’ve stopped asking. Maybe you can give me a few sound bites, and I can add it to my ongoing article.”

  “Don’t encourage him,” Meghan said. It fell short between them. Dana managed to walk away from Meghan with Calvin at her side. They went to the buffet tables and continued to talk. She didn’t want to know if it had to do with her or not.

  Meghan took in the rest of the scene. It was a perfect family-friend environment. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. She did her best to make eye contact with people she recognized. Mostly young men who Meghan had professional contact with on various occasions, they saw her looking and moved out of view. Meghan knew it helped her cause when they suspected she paid attention.

  “Your friend seems to have an interest in the reporter.”

  Meghan shook her head and looked up at Neil Holt, a local bush pilot, and wilderness guide. He made it to all the social events when he wasn’t on guide duties. It helped grow his business when he networked. People knew Neil by face and name. He was the kind of guy that was hard to forget. Tall, muscular, and a little over fifty, Neil spent his life in rural Alaska. Having a pilot’s license put him at the top of most lists when it came to someone to know professionally and personally. Meghan relied on Neil because he was unafraid to lend a hand at any hour.

  “She’s giving Calvin an interview,” Meghan said. “Dana just doesn’t know it yet.”

  “Calvin’s a good guy.”

  “I know, but he’s a reporter with a job to do. You think I’m always on duty, Calvin never stops writing.” Meghan included Neil with her statement. “You never seem to have extra time. You’re handing out brochures.”

  “Anyone who comes to something like this that owns a business needs to take advantage of free advertising.”

  “Why aren’t you wearing some t-shirt with your brand on it.”

  “I don’t like wearing t-shirts.”

  Meghan knew a man like Neil with a triangular shape, broad shoulders, and a narrow waist was the kind of man the t-shirt manufacturers want to have on their payroll. Meghan saw the definition through the button-down flannel shirts Neil wore most of the time. Sometimes she caught sight of the pectorals and the clavicle, both snippets of a healthy male that reminded Meghan she was single. It didn’t help Dana trying to kick-start Meghan’s sex drive talking about her dating habits back in New York, or watching her friend devour the reporter with her eyes.

  “You want me to make time for a flight?” Neil asked. The man had a business and never stopped working. It was a trend that Meghan noticed more and more around her.

  “I think you can ask Dana. You know how I feel about flying.”

  Neil laughed. They had a few missions together where Meghan had to fly, and it was never easy, and never a pretty sight watching her clinging uselessly to the seat grips with her eyes squeezed shut. Meghan liked having her feet on the ground where things made more sense.

  Meghan watched a boy between twelve and fifteen, weaving through the crowds. He caught her attention as he looked for someone. He was the right age to participate with the other youths. Yet he wore a long-sleeve blue jersey and denim pants. The rest of the competitors wore uniforms of various colors. A lot of the kids wore shorts or sweatpants because it made competition easier in the proper attire.

  When the boy moved by her and Neil, she saw him look at her before moving off. He was a Native Alaskan with a round face and choppy black hair, the length obscuring his eyes if he moved his head right. He darted through the throng and disappeared. Meghan filed it between a mother’s intuition and a cop’s instincts. No one pursued the youth. The boy didn’t look worried enough to chase after.

  “And who is this beautiful tall man.” Dana’s flirtation bordered sexual harassment. Meghan always liked her friend’s forthright attitude when it came to speaking to men. Dana wasn’t afraid to tell a man that was staring at her breasts wasn’t going to make the conversation any different.

  “Dana Wyatt, this is Neil Holt. He’s a guide and pilot.”

  They shook hands. Meghan scanned the crowd again for the boy in the blue jersey and black sneakers.

  “I was telling Meghan that I can show you the sights if you want to book a sight-seeing tour.”

  “It sounds yummy, but I know Meghan isn’t one to get her feet more than a foot or two off the ground. I think it�
��s a little weird. She lives in a city that you have to fly out to go anywhere.”

  “She’s coming around,” Neil said. “We’ve had a few flights together. I got her to sit in the cockpit once or twice.”

  “Really?” Dana said, drawing out the word as her eyebrow arched. She looked at Meghan, and it was easy to read the innuendo without her having to say it.

  “How long are you in town?” Neil asked.

  “I fly out first thing Wednesday morning.”

  “Well, I hope you come back again.” He nodded to Dana and Meghan. Neil slipped away, looking for somewhere to hide from Dana’s glaring that suggested she wanted to undo Neil’s job or buttons on his shirt.

  “You’re awful,” Meghan said.

  “And why are you not getting more use out of that V-jay-jay with all these hot guys around here? Honestly, would it hurt you to have a personal relationship again?”

  “I’m doing just fine,” Meghan said.

  “I saw your nightstand drawer. You satisfy your urges, but you’re not living in the world, Meg.”

  Meghan blushed a little. She knew Dana liked the shock value of the statement. She wasn’t embarrassed by Dana, pointing out the obvious. “You stay out of my drawers,” she said.

  “By the way, you need to replace your batteries.”

  “I hope you washed anything you used,” Meghan said.

  Dana shrugged playfully.

  They found a place in line to try some of the Native Alaska traditional foods. Meghan had her limits. She had a strong stomach, but events like the Memorial Celebration pitted rival cooks together, and sometimes desperate measures meant for desperate times because the deeply planted clay jars of kimchi came out for everyone to try a little.

  It wasn’t exactly sanitary or wise to test a year-old canned fish buried in the ground. Meghan knew a lot of the elders swore by the storage method. Meghan liked her canned foods from a factory that didn’t include stewing it and dropping it in a hole. Dana had a broader palette and was on vacation. Meghan warned her friend to taste but not overdo it.