does everyone think we’re going to want to leave right after we get there?” Tina Paisley muttered. “It’s starting to creep me out.”
“Past experience,” Earl said, completely sincere.
“We have a job to do,” Markham said. “And we will get it done. I am told that the school principal . . . a Ms. Pingayak, has rooms for us at the school.”
“Pin-GUY-akhh,” the pilot said, wet-mouthed, sounding like he was clearing his throat at the end. “You accented the last syllable. The stress should be on the second.”
“Thank you,” Markham said.
Lola leaned in to Cutter and whispered, “Earl better hope he never has a case in federal court.”
“Just call her Birdie,” Lieutenant Warr said. “Unless you were born out there, you’ll never get the language right. She’s a squared-away lady, so she’ll take care of you. Runs her school like a ship—which can be terrifying. Can’t it, Natalie?”
“She’s amazing.” Beck smiled, showing deep dimples. “You’ll see.”
Earl clapped his hands together. “Everyone has what they need? Sleeping bags, air mattresses, food, your last will and testament?”
“He’s kidding.” Warr glanced down at his phone. “But this is the last chance to change your minds. Arbitration can always happen next month when the river is solid and the ice road is passable and flagged.”
“It’s up to the pilot, of course,” Markham said, “but I say we go ahead. All parties are present and ready to proceed. If we have to stay in Stone Cross for a few extra days, that’s just how it is.”
Markham’s clerk stared up at the plane, shaking his head. “Maybe the trooper’s right, Your Honor . . .”
“Brett . . .” The judge chided him like a dog that was getting into mischief.
Earl put his hand on Brett Grinder’s shoulder. “You ride up front with me, son,” he said. “I can tell you’re the brains of the outfit. First time in a small plane?”
The law clerk nodded.
“Really?” Earl leaned in and whispered, sotto voce, “Mine too.” He tapped the grab handle and folding metal stepladder that Grinder would use to climb into the right front seat. “Seriously though. This weather sucks, but it’s still doable. Not even a federal judge can get me to defy the laws of physics and fog. We should be fine. Besides, it’s only a short flight. We’ll know in a couple of minutes if we’re all gonna die in a ball of flames.”
CHAPTER 13
The acrid odor of something burning wormed its way inside the bag over Sarah Mead’s head. She’d read somewhere that people smelled burned toast when they were having a stroke. She had no idea if the toast part was true, but the pain in her brain made it easy to believe there was some serious damage going on up there. She blinked, licking dry lips. Even that small movement brought wave after wave of nauseating agony. She tried to push herself into a seated position. It was impossible without the use of her hands. Where the hell were her hands? And what was over her eyes?
She coughed, a sickening ache yanking her back to the brutal reality of her situation. One big, fat mystery. How did she end up here, bound, facedown? She vaguely remembered getting hit. Twice. The blow must have done some serious damage because her head was on fire. She couldn’t see, her hearing was toast, and her hands were so numb they could have very well been gone for all she knew. She couldn’t even scream like a normal human being. And now something was burning. Maybe the lodge was on fire.
A sudden heaviness filled the space around her, as if someone was standing inches from her face. Shadows flickered across the blindfold. A familiar odor seeped in to replace the burned toast. She tried to speak. “David?” It came out slurred and unintelligible inside her head: “Dwoooid.” Maybe her jaw was broken. She pressed her face downward, bringing more nausea. She swallowed the agony and used her tongue to check for damage. As she expected, she’d lost a couple of teeth. No wonder she could do nothing but babble.
Locked inside her world of pain, she flopped and squirmed like a landed fish when a hand suddenly pressed against her shoulder.
There were muffled words. Sarah couldn’t tell if something was wrong with her hearing or the part of her brain that processed sound, but she couldn’t understand what was being said. She didn’t even know if it was being said to her. The hand seemed gentle enough, but