Chapter Three
If Sam thought it would have done any good, he’d have argued until he was blue. But from what he’d learned from Paul, Kat was a stubborn woman. When she settled on an idea, she held on to it like a pit bull in a dogfight. If he hadn’t been worried about her, he might have appreciated her confidence and strong will.
Luck of the draw had Sam leaving as number twenty-seven at the Wasilla start point behind Paul’s twenty-three. Or should he say Kat’s twenty-three? The officials had approved the replacement at the last minute, knowing her past racing history.
Sam had barely spoken to Paul and Kat the past two days. He felt as if Paul had coerced her into following Sam to keep him safe. He didn’t like the idea of being assigned a babysitter to dog his every step on the trail. He didn’t need anybody to watch his back.
He packed his rifle and handgun in the three hundred pounds of gear and equipment on the sled. Many mushers brought weapons in the event a cranky moose decided to attack. If animal or human tried something funny during the race, Sam was prepared.
Paul insisted Kat was only taking over his position in the competition because his dogs deserved a chance to win. Sam knew better. Paul was more worried about the sabotage than his dogs making a good show.
As the dogs dipped down into a ravine and back up to climb the slight rise before Knik, Sam braced himself for the onslaught. Well-wishers lined the path to see family and friends off at the last stop before they headed into the wilderness.
A slew of people milled about at the checkpoint with a collection of trucks scattered across the snow.
“Whoa!” Sam called out to his team. He eased down on the brake, digging the snow hook into the hard-packed snow as he pulled to a stop next to Vic’s old pickup.
Paul sat inside, with the door open, his injured foot wrapped in a blanket and secured with duct tape.
With her coat collar pulled up around her cheeks, Tazer stood beside the truck, a soft gray headband protecting her ears from the bitter wind, her nose bright pink.
Working with the veterinarian, Vic walked the line of dogs, scanning microchips, checking paws, booties and necklines until they reached the sled.
“You’re good to go.” The vet checked off the paperwork and nodded before heading off to the next arrival.
Sam flexed his gloved hands, tugged his wool scarf down below his chin and strode over to the truck.
“Kat pulled through ten minutes ago.” Paul reached out a hand and shook Sam’s. “She said she’d meet you at Yentna, if you can catch her. All I can say is good luck, buddy. She’s a tough competitor. And my team knows her and vice versa.”
Sam nodded, relieved Kat planned to compete rather than play nursemaid to him. Although he’d kept his eyes open for signs of her powder-blue jacket and pants.
A large white van armed with satellite dishes, antennas and the bright red logo of the local Anchorage television station stood to one side. A cameraman and female reporter watched for the next contestant.
A sled pulled in behind Sam and, as if on cue, the reporter pushed the hair out of her face and the scarf away from her mouth before turning to the cameraman.
“What’s all that about?” Sam asked.
“Looks like Al Fendley’s team.” Vic shook his head. “Never fails, he manages to get the best press for the race.”
Paul studied the man in the showy yellow parka, smiling broadly and stepping from the runners of his sled like a movie actor on set. “’Course, it doesn’t hurt to get free publicity for your business.”
The name sounded familiar, but Sam couldn’t place it. “What does he do?”
“He and his brother, Warren, run a summer lodge and dogsled training camp outside of Denali Park. They also have a hunting-outfitter business in the interior.” Vic brushed the snow off his gloves. “Al got a name for himself when he won the race two years ago.”
Paul glanced across at Al. “I hear one of the other mushers fell out of the race when his dogs got sick that year.”
“Tough break,” Sam said. “It’s a long race. I can imagine the dogs take a beating over the eleven hundred miles.”
“Not when you’re neck in neck, only a day out from the finish line and your brother is one of the folks helping with the food drops.” Vic’s gaze collided with Paul’s. “Rumor had it the dogs were slipped a mild poison at one of the checkpoints. The Fendley boys take winning seriously.”
After a narrow-eyed glance at Al, Paul turned his attention to Sam. “Take care out there. You’re a long way from civilization if anything happens.”
Sam knew the dangers of the Iditarod. “I’d better get going.”
“Oh, before you go.” Tazer stepped up to Sam. “Kat wanted me to give you something.”
His hand went out automatically and jerked back when she tried to place a radio and headset into his gloved palm. “What the hell is it?”
“A two-way radio and voice-activated mic. You two can keep in touch in case you have trouble on the trail.”
“No way.” He recognized the standard-issue radio from his days working for the S.O.S. He’d given up that life long ago and he didn’t intend to go back. Still, he shouldn’t have reacted so strongly. Sam’s lips pressed into a tight line. “I’m not interested.”
“In the radio or Kat?”
He glared at the woman. “Either.”
“Please, Sam,” Paul said from his position on the seat of the truck. “I usually go along on the race when Kat’s out there. I’d feel better knowing she had you looking out for her.”
“If this is your way of putting Kat on me for protection, no deal.” Sam shook his head. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can take care of yourself,” Paul said. “What I’m worried about is that it could have been either me or you they were after. If it’s someone wanting to win the race at all costs, any one of the teams and mushers could be in trouble. I’d feel better knowing you were looking after my little sister.”
The little-sister part hit Sam square in the gut. If he’d said Kat, the government agent, Sam might have told him which cliff to jump off. But Kat, the little sister, was another story altogether. Sam had a little sister back in Virginia. A grown-up little sister with a life of her own working as a legislative assistant to a congressman. If someone posed a threat to his only family left, he’d be equally concerned. “You play dirty, Jenkins.”
Without batting an eyelash, Paul grinned. “Damn right I do. Got to take care of my two favorite mushers.”
“Kat can take care of herself,” Sam noted. “Or so she says.”
“Oh, she can,” Paul agreed. “But it never hurts to have backup.”
Tazer held the radio out. “Does that mean you’ll wear it?”
With a sigh, Sam took the equipment and adjusted the headset to fit in his ear, tucking the radio into his pocket.
Tazer reached out and flipped the On switch. “Say something.”
“I don’t have time to talk. I have to get back in the race,” Sam grumbled.
“That you, Sam?” Kat’s voice sounded soft and smooth.
Blood flowed through his system like warm molasses and he fought the