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my own all these years. Taken care of myself. Sheltered my heart and my mind. Haven’t needed anyone. Good grief! I built this kennel with my own two hands, with my sweat and tears.” She stood again, walked around the coffee table once, and collapsed back into the sofa. “And yet”—Anesia choked back a sob—“when things got hard, when my world fell apart around me . . . I found out I wasn’t that strong after all. This has shaken everything—”
    She looked away from her friends. From the weaknesses she’d denied for so long but could ignore no longer.
    Weaknesses she hated. Because they meant one thing. One terrible, unavoidable thing.
    She was going to have to trust someone besides herself.
----
    RICK
    January 14
    Anchorage, AK
    8:18 p.m.
    The slight pain in his chest turned into a hot searing. Shallow breaths. One. Two. That’s it. Nice and slow.
    Rick popped four Tums in his mouth, knowing full well heartburn wasn’t the problem. But he could pretend, couldn’t he? Trick his mind into believing that was his problem, instead of a heart on its last leg.
    The phone call this morning with his boss had not gone well. The man was a control freak. A tyrant. As hard as they came.
    If he didn’t watch it, he’d turn into the same thing.
    Dark thoughts urged him to unlock and open his middle desk drawer. He did so, then pulled out the file on his niece. Time to focus on something positive.
    Family.
    He thumbed through the pictures, finding the one of her with her prize winning sled team. The blue eyes of the lead mutt were fixed on the young girl’s sweet face. Her lopsided grin was why he loved this picture. An exact replica of her dad’s smile.
    Maybe he should go check out one of her races. That might ease some of his guilt. That was it. He’d go. Just be another fan on the trail. Another race lover.
    And maybe, just maybe he’d figure out how on earth to get out of the mess he’d gotten himself into.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    COLE
    January 15
    Fort Greely, Alaska
    10:45 a.m.
    “Cell phone, sir?” The young MP secured Cole’s other belongings in a locker as Cole reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He dropped it into a bag and the young man sent it through the scanner.
    “Clear.”
    Another soldier at the security checkpoint picked up the bag and placed it in the locker with the other items.
    “Here’s your badge and M9, Major Maddox. Captain Lewis will escort you down to AMI ops.”
    Cole nodded and returned the young man’s salute. He followed Captain Lewis down a long corridor and into a waiting elevator. They entered the elevator and the captain slid his card into a security slot on one side while Cole slid his into one on the other side. At the green light, the doors closed. Cole and Captain Lewis placed their thumbs on the opposite touch screens.
    “Verified match.” The monotone, computerized voice echoed in the tiny compartment. “Captain Richard Lewis. Major Cole Maddox. State your code for voice recognition.”
    “Captain Lewis. Charlie Bravo Victor Two-Eight-Seven-Six Tango Alpha.”
    “Major Maddox. Alpha Golf November Three-Niner-Seven-Four Kilo Zulu.”
    The elevator began its descent. “Access granted.”
    Funny, the elevator sounded as stiff as some of his superiors.
    Captain Lewis turned to Cole in an at-ease position as the elevator stopped. “Sir, let me know if I can be of further assistance.”
    “Thanks, Lewis. I believe that’ll be all for now.”
    “Hooah, sir.”
    Both men slid their cards one more time and the doors opened. Cole stepped out and shared a parting salute with the captain.
    Turning on his heel, he faced the immense security entrance to AMI.
    Advanced Missile Interceptor.
    His long-time friend and spec ops boss, Marcus Gray, had invented the technology, prototype, and the guidance system for this defense weapon. Marcus almost let greed take over—he’d almost sold it all on the black market—when Cole found out and confronted him. Marcus came to