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His spine tightened as his instincts heightened.
“Stay tuned for the answer you’ve been waiting for right after this break.” He hit a commercial for Death at a Garden Party, a murder mystery game that sponsored his podcast, and pulled his headphones off.
The next part of the podcast required his full attention. For that reason, he needed to ease his mind and confirm he’d simply heard a caribou.
He would grab his rifle from the living room and peek outside quickly. He’d be back on the air in no time.
He opened the door to his small studio.
But as soon as he stepped into the hallway, a shadow lunged toward him.
“What . . . ?” he muttered as he tried to duck out of the way.
“I tried to warn you,” the intruder growled as he shoved Craig into the wall. “I left you those messages. You should have backed off.”
Before Craig could react, a knife plunged into his abdomen.
Craig gasped as shock took over.
“This is all your fault!” the man growled. “You made me do this.”
Craig stared at the man in front of him.
It washim.
Henrietta’s killer.
He was in Craig’s home.
And he’d come to silence Craig . . . for good.
But if Craig died . . . how would this man ever be caught?
chaptertwo
“No!”Andi Slade hit her palms against the steering wheel of her eighteen-wheeler as she yelled at her radio. “You can’t leave me hanging like this!”
Why had the podcast gone off the air? Craig Rogers’ deep voice was the only thing keeping her sane on this bleak, icy journey.
She kept her eyes glued on the road ahead as her headlights illuminated the dark, infamous Dalton Highway—or Haul Road as truckers liked to call it—in front of her. Snow came down so thick and fast it was like white, fluffy blankets being thrown on her windshield, layer upon layer.
She compared the experience to water torture—only while driving and with snow instead of liquid.
She slowly released the air from her lungs as she continued down the highway.
Not only was the podcast gone, but she’d finished her caramel latte twenty minutes ago. She’d made it herself using a piece of candy, ten packets of creamer, coffee, and a microwave.
She just needed to make it back to Fairbanks tonight. Because tomorrow, Victor Goodman was meeting with executives from the Middle East and Russia about an oil deal.
She already had a plan in place and had been hired as a server for the meeting.
This was her opportunity to find out information about him—a goal she’d been working toward for the past four months.
Week after week, she’d had no leads.
Until now.
No one in Alaska knew Andi had once been an attorney—or that she’d been disbarred, disgraced, and practically dismembered—in a figurative sense, of course.
