Cold Case Affair Loreth Anne White
Table of Contents
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Copyright
About the Author
LORETH ANNE WHITEWhen shes not writing you will find her long-distance running, biking or skiing on the trails, and generally trying to avoid the bearsalbeit not very successfully.
She calls this work, because its when the best ideas come. For a peek into her world visit her website, www.lorethannewhite.com. Shed love to hear from you.
Dear Reader,
How far would you go to keep a secret? Are some secrets better left buried, or does truth liberate, always? And at what point, exactly, does a secret between two
people who care for each other start becoming a lie by omission?
These are questions my heroine, Muirinn ODonnell, must confront when she returns to her childhood home, where the secret of her fathers murderand her grandfathers deathlies buried deep in an abandoned mine, and in the psyche of a small Alaskan coastal town.
To find the truth, she has no choice but to turn to Jett Rutledge, the man she has always loved, but couldnt have. And in unearthing the dark and terrible truths of their shared past, Muirinn and Jett must in turn reveal their own deep secretssecrets that both bind and divideand fight for a second chance.
But will a killer give them time?
Loreth Anne White
For Toni Anderson, who is always ready to meet me at the water cooler on days both good and bad. To Susan Litman, for keeping that bar raised. And to Jennifer Jackson for believing in me.
Prologue
Spring runoffan icy sludge of water and mudgushed down over him as he descended a wooden ladder slick with rot and moisture, foot by tortuous foot, into the cold womb of the earth. The small lamp on his mining cap pierced the blackness with a quavering halo of yellow, shadows lunging at him whenever he moved.
It was 3:42 a.m.
By the time he reached the 800 level, his knee was locked in pain, his fingers dead. He suffered from white handthe nerves in his hands permanently damaged from the constant vibration of the heavy pneumatic jackleg drill that shuddered daily through his body as he drove blast holes into rock.
Miners got cold, they got wet and they got old as they toiled in perpetual blackness, forcing tunnels deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth to extract ore that would be turned into bright, gleaming gold. And he was no differenthis body just as battered.
Dragging his left leg now, he made his way to the scoop tram shop. He was edgy. Even at this hour, someone could be in this part of the mine. He took a tram and drove it along the tunnel to the powder magazine. Breathing hard, he worked quickly to load two bags of explosives, a couple of powder sticks, detonator caps, B-line.
By 5:02 a.m. he was tackling the knee-grinding, lung-busting seventy-story ascent to the earths surface. He exited the shaft at the deserted Sodwana headframe, three miles away from the main gates of the Tolkin Mine, limbs shaking. Waiting for him in cold predawn shadows was a friend with a hard shot of whiskey and a ride back into town.
At 6:33 a.m., on that bleak Alaskan morning, a man-car loaded with twelve miners trundled and screeched along the black drift eight hundred feet below ground. The menall from the small town of Safe Harborhuddled facing each other, knees touching, clutching thermoses and lunch pails as they made their way to their workstations for the day.
The beam from the headlamp of the man sitting in front lit the rail ahead. He spun around suddenly, terror on his face as he tried to shout a warning.
But it was too late.
The blast was massive, rocking the ground above, registering on sensitive seismic monitoring equipment as far away as the university in Anchorage.
The first external agency to be notified of an unexplained explosion in the bowels of Tolkin Mine was the Safe Harbor Fire Department. Seconds later Safe Harbor Hospital was on high alert for possible mass casualties, and frantic calls were going out for all available doctors to be on standby. These calls were picked up on home scanners, the news rippling like brushfire through the small, close-knit community. Family members hysterical with worry converged on the mine site.
Adam Rutledge, head of mine rescue and the shop steward for the local miners union, scrambled into his Draegersmine rescue gear complete with breathing apparatus. He hurriedly contacted the members of his volunteer team.
When they reached the mine, acrid black smoke was billowing out from D-shaft and the extraction vents. At this point, no one aboveground knew what had happened eight hundred feet below. Snowflakes began to crystallize in the frigid air and a group of women shivered together against a biting wind, not knowing if their men were alive, injured or dead.