Page 122 of Backtrack

Sixty feet below, Leo Bouchard swam to a ladder off the stern of the ship, scrambling up to the wooden wharf. Special Agent Nguyen was likely still home enjoying her morning coffee. The dockworkers made no effort to stop him. That wasn’t their job. Someone from ship’s Security shouted over the rail, but there was nothing they could do. Even the captain, who possessed Godlike authority while aboard his vessel, held zero sway on land. Once he stepped foot in Juneau he was nothing more than a tourist with a Dutch passport.

Bouchard hauled himself up on the thick wooden planking, then took a scant moment to turn back towardThe Polar Starand blow it a kiss, before sprinting into the fog.

“Wily bastard,” Cutter whispered, pissed but half impressed with the man’s guts and ingenuity.

An electronic chirp made Cutter turn in time to see Lola breeze in from the hallway. The immediate wind tunnel caused by the open balcony sucked the door out of her hands, slamming it like a pistol shot.

“Well, that woke the neighbors,” Lola said. She wore a T-shirt and running shorts. He should have known better than to think she’d slept in. “You hear the man overboard announcement?”

Cutter hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Leo Bouchard just jumped.”

“Is he dead?” Her Kiwi accent turneddeadintodid.

“Not even close,” Cutter said.

Cutter and Lola’s phones rang at the same time. Lola answered first. “Yeah,” she said. “Cutter just told me. Thanks, Ajit. We’ll make a plan and call you back.”

Joellen staggered out of her room a moment later, hair ratted like she’d spent the night draining every last bottle in the minibar.

“Somebody go overboard?”

She brightened when Cutter told her what had happened.

“Outstanding,” she said. “The threat against me has fled, so you can flee as well. Go back to your happy life and leave me to the rest of my vacation.”

“She’s got a point,” Lola said. “A couple of supplemental reports and we can turn this whole mess over to the Feebs. Then we are outta here.”

“Right,” Cutter said. “Still, we don’t know if Leo was the only player left on board. They did bribe a member of the security crew to take the cameras offline—and then kill him to cover their tracks. I’ve seen cartels that didn’t operate with that degree of advanced planning.”

Joellen chewed on her bottom lip. “So, you believe more people are involved?”

“It’s possible,” Cutter said.

“No way of knowing now,” Joellen said. “Leo Bouchard ran. I bet anyone he was working with will slip off this ship and beat feet. If it was some kind of cartel that wanted me, they would have chopped my head off back in Miami. Smartest money has them after Steve Cruz.”

“I agree with her,” Lola said. “About Steve anyway.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Joellen said. “Y’all put on your strategy hats and figure out what you’re going to do. I’m tired of trying not to get killed. I’ve got a date with a team of sled dogs on top of a glacier.” She wheeled and disappeared into her room.

“Dodged a bullet for sure,” Lola whispered.

“Yes, I did!” Joellen said from around the corner. Then, more quietly, mimicking Lola’s Kiwi accent, “…depends on who you’re making the gravy for … I’m on team Mim …You perky little shit …”

FBI Special Agent Sarah Nguyen arrived at ten minutes to eight, none too pleased that Cutter had allowed his ex-wife—someone at least peripherally involved in Malosi’s homicide investigation—to leave the ship and get on a helicopter for the top of a glacier.

Cutter and Lola redeemed themselves by volunteering to take copies of Leo Bouchard’s Texas driver’s license photos to Juneau PD while Nguyen combed over the crime scene with Ajit.

“There’s a 1:21 p.m. flight to Ketchikan on Alaska Airlines,” Lola said as they walked out of Juneau PD, a blocky glass building on Egan Drive near the airport. Fog and mist had given way to a deluge of biblical proportions, pelting the parking lot. They stopped and waited for a beat under the covered awning by the flagpole. “Think we could ask the chief for another day? Still gives you plenty of time to get home and make gravy.”

“Plenty of time,” Cutter repeated.

“Well,” Lola said, bouncing in place. “What do you reckon?”

“I can’t stop thinking about Bouchard. He went to a lot of trouble just to get at Joellen.”

Lola threw back her head in exasperation. “I wish I could argue with you. We’re definitely missing something. One of those little details you’re always talking about … your grandpa’s horseshoes.”

“Horseshoe nails,” Cutter said. “But you’re right. We have three choices. Head to Skagway aboardThe Polar Star. Fly to Ketchikan tonight. Or return to Anchorage and meet with the chief about that special task force you want.”