On Thin Ice. Debra Brown Lee

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      “Yes.” She gripped his arm tighter, her eyes locked on his. “I looked around but didn’t see him. That’s when I heard it.”

      “Heard what?”

      “I wasn’t sure. I thought it was shouting, but the wind was so deafening, I couldn’t tell.”

      “So you…” He nodded, urging her to continue.

      “I picked up his hard hat and walked toward the sound. Over by the reserve pit.”

      “Without a jacket, in this weather.”

      She shrugged. “I know. Stupid. But that’s what I did.”

      “And then?”

      “As I got close, I saw something in the mud. When I realized it was Paddy…” She looked away again, struggling to keep her composure.

      “You tried to save him.”

      She nodded. “But he was already dead.”

      He wanted to believe her. The thought of her killing someone bothered him more than he wanted to admit. On impulse he grasped her hand and squeezed it. “You’ll be okay out here?”

      “Yes. I just need some sleep.”

      He was halfway out the door, zipping his jacket, when she stopped him one last time.

      “Thanks,” she said, and shot him a tiny smile.

      “Any time.”

      He stood there in the biting wind after she closed the door, wondering why he’d acted like a schoolboy in there instead of a cop. She was damned attractive, that was why. And not as tough as he’d first made her out to be.

      Maybe she wasn’t the one he was after. He’d like to believe that. Hell, ten minutes with her and he half believed it already.

      A flash of white shot across his field of view. “What the—?” Arctic fox. Two of them, racing across the yard in the direction of the camp. Seth knew exactly where they were headed. To the Dumpster behind the kitchen.

      He jogged after them, fighting the wind and trying to forget how good Lauren Fotheringay had felt in his arms. A few minutes later his suspicions were confirmed. One of the cooks had left the heavy, metal Dumpster lid open again.

      A half-dozen arctic foxes huddled around a black plastic trash bag that had blown off the overflowing pile of garbage. One of them had a glazed doughnut in his mouth. No wonder the EPA was all over these drilling companies.

      Seth let out a whoop and the foxes scattered. What a mess. He reached for the open bag, then froze. “Son of a—”

      He forced his eyes wide against the wind and blowing snow, not wanting to believe what he saw. The overhead yard lights lent a harsh reality to the blood-covered tool stashed amidst the frozen remnants of that day’s breakfast.

      Its shaft was thick and sheathed in blue rubber, the head square. The claw end was like a pickax, long and curved to a single sharp point. Seth had seen plenty of them growing up to know exactly what he was looking at.

      A geologist’s rock hammer.

      Chapter 4

      Where had these rock samples come from, the moon?

      Lauren pushed back from the microscope and focused her eyes out the trailer window. Not that it helped. She couldn’t see a thing except blowing snow. The wind velocity had increased overnight to dangerous speeds. She’d woken with a start that morning when an empty fifty-five-gallon drum had blown up against the side of her trailer with a powerful thunk.

      She grabbed her calculator and ran through the sequence one more time. “This can’t be right.” For the third time she checked the smudged label marking one of the small plastic sample bags littering her workstation.

      Someone had clearly made a mistake.

      As drilling progressed and the well got deeper, rock samples mixed with mud and fluids were sucked up from the bottom of the hole. At the surface they were collected and bagged by one of the Altex roustabouts. It was a dirty, thankless task, usually assigned to the lowest man on the totem pole. She wondered who among the Altex crew had been elected.

      The Caribou Island well wasn’t at its target depth yet, so at this point Lauren didn’t expect to see anything out of the ordinary, like traces of oil, in the samples. And least of all rocks so unusual she was certain some mistake had been made.

      She shut down the microscope and grabbed her jacket, then paused to consider her options. She wasn’t that anxious to make another appearance in camp. Earlier that morning she’d been bombarded with crew members’ questions—the same question, actually, over and over.

      Are we going to keep drilling?

      Didn’t they understand? They were so close to finishing the well, it didn’t make sense to shut it all down now. Tiger had invested a small fortune to get the data from Caribou Island. Her boss Bill Walters, the VPs—Crocker included—and Tiger’s CEO would be counting on her. On all of them.

      And she wasn’t about to let them down.

      Last night after she’d left the camp, Salvio had changed his mind about continuing the drilling. But only temporarily, he’d warned her this morning. Fine. She’d take whatever she could get. Once communications were up, they could let the bigwigs at corporate decide what to do. Until then, she wasn’t changing her position.

      She breezed out the door, then locked it with her key. No one was touching these rock samples until she figured out who had screwed up. The bags were clearly mismarked. It was impossible for that kind of rock to exist at the Caribou Island location. She should know. She’d interpreted all the subsurface maps of the site herself, just last year.

      There would be hell to pay with her boss if she didn’t get this mess sorted out. And fast. No way was she shipping mismarked samples back to Tiger’s lab in town. But with Paddy gone and all communications down, she wasn’t sure who exactly from Altex to talk to about it.

      Adams, maybe.

      Warmth washed over her as she recalled the feel of his arms around her last night in the lab. Strong, solid, comforting. When was the last time Crocker had held her that way? Stroked her back, soothed her? It dawned on her that she didn’t even know Adams’s first name.

      The camp’s forklift rumbled past, jerking her from her thoughts. Sheesh. Forty below, winds screaming across the tundra like a banshee, and she was lost in some fantasy about a roughneck. Great. Just what she needed. To act like an idiot out here on the job.

      A man was dead. Tiger’s operation was weeks behind schedule, and the biggest promotion of her career hung in the balance. She needed to focus, to do what was expected of someone in her position. Not break down like a crybaby and fall into the arms of one of the crew, for God’s sake.

      It had taken her years to win the respect of her male peers, of Tiger’s senior personnel, not to mention the rough-and-tumble drilling crews, most of whom still believed women didn’t belong in the field.

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