Chapter 5

5

The hangar was quiet, save for the occasional clank of tools and the howling of the wind outside. Despite the sub-zero temps, Burl's hefty wood stove pumped out enough heat to make the vast hangar seem more like a sweat lodge than a freezer. Kate wiped the sweat from her brow and sighed, stretching her legs out in front of her. She'd been working on the strut nonstop since the team left, and her fingers were numb from the constant manipulation of metal. Time seemed almost non-existent without changing sun angles to mark it.

Fenn appeared at her side, another steaming mug of coffee in his hand. "You need to take a break," he said, his voice laced with concern. "Drink something. Recharge."

Annoyance flared at his words. She didn't need him hovering, didn't need his constant reminders to take care of herself. She was a grown woman, perfectly capable of managing her own needs.

She waved him off, her attention focused on the stubborn bolt she was trying to loosen. "I'm fine. Just need to get this part off so Burl can put in an order." Looking up part numbers in a catalogue was one thing, but manufacturers were famous for changing out parts mid-model year. With the difficulties of getting a replacement to the tiny settlement, she didn't want to take any chances on getting the wrong part.

Besides, the work was part of her penance.

Fenn sighed, setting the mug down on the workbench. "You've been at this for hours. You're going to burn yourself out."

She gritted her teeth, her frustration mounting. "I said I'm fine. I've got the bottom section loose. I'm almost done. Just leave me alone for a minute, okay?"

He held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. But I'm giving you another half an hour. After that, I'm dragging you out of here and we're going to dinner. Whether you like it or not."

Wrench in hand, she watched him wander off into McCoy's tiny excuse for an office, his broad shoulders disappearing through the doorway. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, the tension in her body easing slightly.

Finally, some peace.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, a pang of guilt followed close behind. Fenn was only trying to help, only trying to be supportive. And here she was, snapping at him like a junkyard dog.

She shook her head, turning her attention back to the strut. She hadn't asked him to stay, hadn't wanted him to get involved in this mess. But he had insisted, and now she was stuck with him.

With a final twist of her wrench, the strut came loose. She let out a triumphant whoop, the sound echoing in the empty hangar. She grabbed the satellite phone, punching in the number for McCoy's supplier.

The voice on the other end was crackling, the connection tenuous at best. But the message was clear. Weather permitting, they'd have a replacement strut delivered in eight to ten days.

She relayed the information to Fenn as he emerged from the office, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "Eight to ten days? Well, I guess we'd better get comfortable."

She couldn't help but laugh at the look on his face, the absurdity of their situation finally hitting her. "Yeah, I guess so. Unless you want to take up walrus hunting in the meantime."

Fenn grinned, shaking his head. "Nah, I think I'll pass on that particular Arctic adventure. Besides, we've got more important things to focus on."

She sobered at his words, the reality of their situation crashing back down on her. He was right. With the strut taken care of, they could turn their attention to finding whoever had left that threatening note.

And Fenn would get ever closer to her ugly secret.

They bundled up, stepping out into the constant night. The cold was a shock after the warmth of the hangar, the wind biting at their exposed skin.

A particularly vicious gust hit, driving a sprinkling of sharp snowflakes against her goggles. The storm was on its way. They hurried down the deserted street, the glow of the Frostbite Tavern a beacon in the darkness.

The tavern was housed in another pre-fab building, its exterior as uninviting as the rest of the settlement. But as they stepped inside, the now-familiar warmth greeted them. The complete opposite of the plain, severe exterior, the interior was cozy, with rough-hewn wooden tables and a roaring fire in the hearth.

It would have been almost pleasant, if not for the knowledge that one of the patrons could be the person behind the note.

Deciding on a table in the crowded space only added to her frustration. Fenn wanted a spot near the back, with a clear view of the entrance. She argued for a table closer to the bar, where they could overhear conversations more easily.

"I'm telling you, the back is better," Fenn insisted, his jaw set stubbornly. "We can see everyone who comes and goes."

She rolled her eyes, her hands on her hips. "And I'm telling you, the bar is where all the action is. If we want to gather intel, that's where we need to be."

They went back and forth, their arguments becoming more and more ridiculous. Finally, Kate threw up her hands in exasperation. "Fine. You pick. But if we end up learning nothing, I'm blaming you."

Fenn grinned, leading her to a table near the back. "I'm good with that."

The tavern was almost full, with only a few empty tables far from the action. She settled into her seat, her eyes scanning the room. The chatter of voices and the clink of glasses filled the air. She strained to pick out individual conversations, trying to discern if anyone was paying them undue attention.

But as far as she could tell, except for a few occasional glances, they were just another pair of patrons, seeking refuge from the cold and the darkness outside.

She leaned back in her chair, letting out a long breath. Eight to ten more days stuck in this frozen wasteland, with no leads and no idea who was after her.

She glanced at Fenn, who was studying the menu with a look of intense concentration. She had to confess, she was glad he'd forced the issue and stayed.

Even if he did drive her crazy sometimes.

While they waited for their food, Kate focused on the conversations around them. Fenn seemed to do the same, allowing a companionable silence to grow between them.

What had she done?

The thread of actions—poor choices and even worse decisions—had led to this: sitting in an Arctic Circle bar having dinner alone with Fenn, the one man in their outfit she could so easily fall for. She'd actually sabotaged their plane. And then she covered it up. Just like she covered up her cowardice in the South China Sea all those years ago.

The verse from 2 Corinthians flashed through her mind. Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death.

Just then, Fenn eyed her from across the table, his neutral smile shifting instantly into concern. She froze, fearful of giving him any more indication of her mindset. The man knew her far too well. Letting him stay had been a terrible idea.

He looked about to say something when the waitress appeared with their orders.

Fenn reached across the table for Kate's hands, bowing his head to say Grace. The gesture touched her, a moment of quiet reverence amidst the chaos of their situation. She closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her, a balm to her frayed nerves.

As they ate, the tavern came alive around them. A sixty-something Inuit couple entered, their weathered faces creased with smiles as they greeted the other patrons. They settled at a table near the fire, their laughter ringing out above the din.

A moment later, a man in his late thirties approached their table, his gait steady despite the heavy boots he wore. "You folks must be the ones with the plane trouble," he said, his voice friendly. "I'm Jack. Used to be a mechanic with the Royal Canadian Air Force. Stayed up here after my tour ended. Now I drive a snowplow for the roads department."

Kate and Fenn exchanged a glance, surprised by the man's forthrightness. But people in small towns were often more forthcoming, she reminded herself. Plus she and Fenn, and practically everyone they knew were abnormally close-mouthed about their lives.

Fenn extended his hand. "I'm Fenn, and this is Kate. You know anything about de Havilland turbos?"

Jack laughed, shaking his head. "Nah, I worked on the four-wheeled stuff. Jeeps. Tractors. Semis. But if you need someone to clear the runway, I'm your man."

Kate smiled, warmed by the man's easy manner. "We'll keep that in mind."

As Jack wandered off to chat with the Inuit couple, Kate turned her attention back to Fenn. "So, how do you want to approach this? Finding whoever left that note, I mean."

Fenn took a sip of his soda, his eyes thoughtful. "I think we need to involve the team. Paige's cyber skills could come in handy for backgrounding suspects. And the others, they've got expertise we could use."

She shook her head, her jaw tightening. There was no way to explain without outing herself. She'd just have to act the diva. "I don't want to involve them. Whoever left that note is still in the area. It'll just be a matter of eliminating suspects. We can handle it."

Fenn sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Kate, I don't think?—"

"I said no." Her voice was sharp, her words clipped. "I'm not putting anyone else at risk. Not because of my past."

He held up his hands, his expression resigned. "All right. It's your rodeo."

Anger flared at his words, her temper getting the best of her. "Yeah. It is. And I don't recall inviting you." The words were out before she could stop them.

Hurt flashed across his face, quickly masked by a neutral expression.

"I'm sorry." She reached across the table, her hand hovering over his. "I'm just…I'm tired and stressed. I didn't mean it."

He shrugged, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "No problem. I get it."

But even as he brushed off her briskness, guilt gnawed at her insides. It was growing, like an infection, spreading through her body and leaving her feverish.

She hadn't told him the whole truth. Hadn't told him how the weight of what she'd done, the life she'd destroyed, was eating away at her.

But the past had followed her, as it always did. And now, she was dragging Fenn down with her.

She closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer. Lord, please help me end this. Help me find a way to make things right. Before it's too late.

The tavern seemed to fade away around her, the laughter and chatter receding into the background. All she could hear was the pounding of her own heart, the rush of blood in her ears.

When she opened her eyes, Fenn was watching her, his expression unreadable.

"We'll figure this out," he said, his voice low and reassuring.

Kate nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. He wouldn't say that if he knew what she'd done. Why Loaita Cay was a such a poisonous memory.