Read Online In the Barren Ground by Loreth Anne White - Free Book Online
Authors: Loreth Anne White
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but you can feel it. Even in the hot summer sun, you press your bare palm to these stones, and you can feel it. Like it’s transferring into you. Cold shit. Black shit.”
“I wouldn’t have taken you for superstitious, Van Bleek.”
He snorted. “Lived long enough in central Africa, some very deep and dark places, to know that there is sometimes more than meets the eye. On those edges of civilization, the Congo, sometimes . . . boundaries are crossed that you don’t understand.”
“What did you do in Africa?”
“Diamond mines. Security for De Beers.”
“Is that what brought you out here—De Beers?”
“Ja. Worked up at Snap Lake.”
“And then what, you defected to Harry Blundt? He recruit you?”
“Something like that.”
“Blundt isn’t worried about having potentially inserted a De Beers spy into his midst?”
He gave a low, guttural chuckle. “Everyone in this business worries about spies, Constable. It’s diamonds. Canadian ones, at that—the cleanest currency in the world. It’s why Blundt hired me to head up a security team from the get-go, before he’s even got approval for the mine. That kimberlite core he’s testing, if you watch the industry news, you’ll know that he’s onto some of the strongest pipes in the north. This whole place is going to change.”
Yeah, starting with that new ice road come January.
Tana’s thoughts turned reluctantly to the tiny diamond ring she wore on a chain under her uniform, the futility of it all.
Around three in the morning Van Bleek’s spotlight failed, and Tana clicked hers on. Temperatures dropped even lower. She was grateful for the earflaps on her muskrat hat, the big hood of her parka, her long-john underwear, and her insulated waterproof pants. Even her bullet-suppression vest was welcome now. Wind came up, carrying scents from miles across the arctic. It whispered in the rocks above them, telling stories of other kills. Downwind, noses would be rising to meet it, and waffling softly, catching and reading the scents.
She drew her knees in, trying to keep out the creeping cold. At least the mounting wind would clear the fog out of the valley.
“Death by dogs,” Van Bleek said softly, staring at the small tarps Tana had draped over what was left of the bodies. “One of the worst ways to go, if you ask me, being ripped apart while alive like that. At least a lion will break your neck and kill you, quick and quiet, before it starts eating you.”
“Maybe the wolves didn’t kill them,” Tana said quietly. “Maybe something else got them first, a bear perhaps, then the wolves chased it off and took over. We’ll know more after the autopsies.”
CHAPTER 7
Monday, November 5. Day length: 7:49:11 hours.
Crash took his Beaver low, following the silvery course of the Wolverine River to Tchliko Lodge. The day had dawned cold, clear. It was 8 a.m., the sun twenty minutes out from cresting the horizon and painting the snow in shades of gold and pink and orange. Everything was fucking perfect, but even so, he struggled to get the feel of his old Zen back. He felt a niggle, a darkness closing in, something coming. And he was thinking of Tana Larsson out there in Headless Man Valley, alone with Van Bleek and those dead biologists. She—the whole attack thing—had knocked him off kilter. It was nothing he cared to articulate beyond the fact that he was just not as free to do as he pleased before she’d come bashing on his door asking for a ride.
I swear, I’ll put you away. Statutory rape . . .
He gave a snort. That’s the least of your troubles, hon . . .
The lake stretched up ahead, gunmetal gray against the snow. Clouds of steam roiled from hot tubs set into wooden decks outside log cabins that were strung along the lakeshore. Smoke coiled from two of the main lodge building’s stone chimneys. Everything about the Tchliko estate was designer rustic. Super high-end.
Crash brought his chunky baby in, touching her wheels
“I wouldn’t have taken you for superstitious, Van Bleek.”
He snorted. “Lived long enough in central Africa, some very deep and dark places, to know that there is sometimes more than meets the eye. On those edges of civilization, the Congo, sometimes . . . boundaries are crossed that you don’t understand.”
“What did you do in Africa?”
“Diamond mines. Security for De Beers.”
“Is that what brought you out here—De Beers?”
“Ja. Worked up at Snap Lake.”
“And then what, you defected to Harry Blundt? He recruit you?”
“Something like that.”
“Blundt isn’t worried about having potentially inserted a De Beers spy into his midst?”
He gave a low, guttural chuckle. “Everyone in this business worries about spies, Constable. It’s diamonds. Canadian ones, at that—the cleanest currency in the world. It’s why Blundt hired me to head up a security team from the get-go, before he’s even got approval for the mine. That kimberlite core he’s testing, if you watch the industry news, you’ll know that he’s onto some of the strongest pipes in the north. This whole place is going to change.”
Yeah, starting with that new ice road come January.
Tana’s thoughts turned reluctantly to the tiny diamond ring she wore on a chain under her uniform, the futility of it all.
Around three in the morning Van Bleek’s spotlight failed, and Tana clicked hers on. Temperatures dropped even lower. She was grateful for the earflaps on her muskrat hat, the big hood of her parka, her long-john underwear, and her insulated waterproof pants. Even her bullet-suppression vest was welcome now. Wind came up, carrying scents from miles across the arctic. It whispered in the rocks above them, telling stories of other kills. Downwind, noses would be rising to meet it, and waffling softly, catching and reading the scents.
She drew her knees in, trying to keep out the creeping cold. At least the mounting wind would clear the fog out of the valley.
“Death by dogs,” Van Bleek said softly, staring at the small tarps Tana had draped over what was left of the bodies. “One of the worst ways to go, if you ask me, being ripped apart while alive like that. At least a lion will break your neck and kill you, quick and quiet, before it starts eating you.”
“Maybe the wolves didn’t kill them,” Tana said quietly. “Maybe something else got them first, a bear perhaps, then the wolves chased it off and took over. We’ll know more after the autopsies.”
CHAPTER 7
Monday, November 5. Day length: 7:49:11 hours.
Crash took his Beaver low, following the silvery course of the Wolverine River to Tchliko Lodge. The day had dawned cold, clear. It was 8 a.m., the sun twenty minutes out from cresting the horizon and painting the snow in shades of gold and pink and orange. Everything was fucking perfect, but even so, he struggled to get the feel of his old Zen back. He felt a niggle, a darkness closing in, something coming. And he was thinking of Tana Larsson out there in Headless Man Valley, alone with Van Bleek and those dead biologists. She—the whole attack thing—had knocked him off kilter. It was nothing he cared to articulate beyond the fact that he was just not as free to do as he pleased before she’d come bashing on his door asking for a ride.
I swear, I’ll put you away. Statutory rape . . .
He gave a snort. That’s the least of your troubles, hon . . .
The lake stretched up ahead, gunmetal gray against the snow. Clouds of steam roiled from hot tubs set into wooden decks outside log cabins that were strung along the lakeshore. Smoke coiled from two of the main lodge building’s stone chimneys. Everything about the Tchliko estate was designer rustic. Super high-end.
Crash brought his chunky baby in, touching her wheels
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