Dear Reader:
One of my mother’s friends had a dream to travel along a mysterious river in Canada. When my mother told me some of the rumors of this river―the name of which she couldn’t remember―I became hooked and a chilling story began to brew in my mind. The search was on to find that river.
The South Nahanni River in Canada’s rugged Northwest Territories is one of the most spectacular sights in the world. It is fraught with exquisite beauty and hidden dangers. It is also filled with an abundance of plant and animal life―not to mention, woven with legends ‘older than dirt’, as my husband would say.
This may be the river to which my mother’s friend was referring. Or it may not. Nevertheless, the Nahanni River holds many secrets. Decades ago headless skeletons and corpses were discovered along its banks. Over the years, people have gone missing, and I’ve heard it referred to as the ‘Bermuda Triangle of Canada’.
Although THE RIVER is interwoven with fact, this novel is a work of fact…and fiction.
I’ll let you be the judge of which is which.
Take the ride of your life, down…
The River
Any mistakes, or impossibilities, are as always my own.
Unless they’re my editors’!
~ Cheryl Kaye Tardif
August 2005
(There may be minor spacing issues in the following excerpt due to copy paste. These do not occur in the actual novel text. CKT)
The River
© Copyright 2005 Cheryl Kaye Tardif. All rights reserved.
One
She always leads with her heart,” a voice croaked.
Startled by the interruption, Professor Del Hawthorne lifted her head and gasped, shocked.
What the―?
A man stood in the doorway to her classroom, panting for breath. He was in his late seventies and wore a grimy suede jacket over a once-pristine white dress shirt. The shirt was torn and stained with what looked suspiciously like dried blood. The man’s tailored black pants were ripped from the knees down.
He stumbled inside and slammed the door.
Del threw a warning look at Peter Cavanaugh, her young anthropology protégé. Rising slowly from her desk, she faced the old man.
“Can I help you, sir?”
His stringy gray hair covered part of his face and was in desperate need of a shampoo and cut. His mottled, creviced skin reminded her of weathered cedar bark. But it was the man’s glazed yet vaguely familiar eyes that made her heart skip a beat.
Did she know him?
“Sir?”
The man’s eyes flashed dangerously. “She always leads with her heart!”
Del gulped in a breath.
It wasn’t every day that she heard her father’s favorite saying―especially when it wasn’t her father saying it. Instead, the words were coming from a man who looked like he had escaped from the psych ward.
How the hell did he make it past security?
She looked at her watch. Damn!
After six o’clock, security was reduced to two men on the Anthropology wing. And they were probably on rounds or at the snack machine.
She glanced at Peter.
The young man was terrified. He stood motionless at the far end of the room, his head drooping against his chest.
“Campus security will be here soon,” he said quietly.
The man turned half-closed eyes toward Peter. “Who’s that?”
Del took a hesitant step forward. She rested her hands at the edge of her desk, careful not to draw the man’s attention.
Where’s the damn button?
Security had installed silent alarm buttons underneath the lip of every faculty member’s desk. Times had changed. Schools, colleges and universities had become common targets of deranged psychopaths hell-bent on murder.
She pushed the button and drew in a breath, praying desperately that it wasn’t the case today. “Security will be here any minute.”
The old man’s head whipped around, his eyes pleading. “Don’t you recognize me?”
“Should I?”
Whatever reaction she was expecting to see, didn’t prepare her for the one she got. Instead of answering her question, the man slumped to the floor, babbling incoherently. His right hand reached shakily into the folds of the jacket.
She stabbed repeatedly at the alarm button.
Where the hell is security?
Terrified, she saw the man pull something bulky from his jacket.
A gun?
Suddenly, two armed security guards rushed into the room.
Then all hell broke loose.
One minute, she was standing behind her desk. The next, she was on the floor―with Peter Cavanaugh on top of her.
She waited, holding her breath, expecting shots of gunfire. But there were none. Instead, she heard scuffling sounds and a few grunts.
Finally, one of the guards called out. “We got him, Professor.”
She heaved a sigh of relief.
“You okay?” Peter asked, his boy-next-door face bare inches from hers.
She groaned. “Uh, Mr. Cavanaugh? Security has him under control, so you can get off me now. You’re crushing me.”
Peter turned a delicious shade of lobster red.
“Didn’t want you to get shot,” he mumbled, helping her to her feet.
She brushed herself off, then glanced toward the door.
The guards dragged the intruder out into the hall.
That’s when she heard the man shout, “Delly! It’s me!”
Only one person in the world had ever called her ‘Delly’.
“Wait!”
She ran toward the old man.
“I’ve seen it,” he hissed, his eyes wild. “I’ve seen the future…not human…monsters!”
“Professor Schroeder?” she whispered. “Is that you?”
The old man’s gaze locked on her. “You have to stop the Director, Delly!”
A shiver raced up her spine. “Director of what? Professor, we thought you were dead. You, my dad, the other men…”
Schroeder leaned closer, tears welling in his eyes. “They’re going to kill your father, Delly.”
“He-he’s alive?”
“For now. The little bastards have him. You have to destroy the cell. I know how to get in. To the secret river. I know how to get in…and out.”
“ Professor Hawthorne,” one of the guards said. “We have to take him downstairs.”
Halfway down the hall, Schroeder’s head whipped around.
“Follow your heart, Delly. And remember…only one!”
The guards half-dragged him into the elevator.
“Professor Schroeder!” she yelled. “What are you talking about?”
His dull brown eyes flared like a trapped fox, wild and feral.
“It’s all in the book. Destroy the cell, Delly. Find the river and stop the Director before he destroys humanity.”
The elevator doors hissed shut.
Del leaned against the wall outside her classroom. Her legs ached and vibrated. When her vision wavered, she closed her eyes and welcomed the darkness.
They’re going to kill him, Delly.
Was her father really alive?
Someone called her name. Peter .
He stood beside her, clutching something to his chest. Whatever it was, he gripped it as though he were holding the treasures of the Egyptian Pharaohs.
“He dropped this,” he said, handing her a book. “It’s what the old guy was reaching for. You gonna be alright, Professor?”
She nodded. “See you tomorrow, Peter.”
Del returned to her empty classroom, firmly closing and locking the door behind her. She made it across the room before her legs gave out. Dropping into a chair, she took a few deep breaths, then she picked up the leather-bound book that Peter had given her.
The cover was stained, partially missing. There was nothing on it except for an embossed symbol that was hard to make out.
Perhaps a cross.
She traced what was left of it with one finger.
Professor Schroeder, what happened to you?
Arnold Schroeder was a renowned genius in anthropology. Whenever he had visited Del’s father, which was often, he would take Del under his wing and teach her something new. He was the reason she was teaching anthropology at the University of British Columbia. Schroeder had been her idol.
Other than Dad, of course.
Del carefully opened the journal, her fingertips barely grazing it. She flipped the pages, reading sentences here and there, trying to make sense of Schroeder’s notes. Most of the entries in the journal appeared to be written in some kind of code and they were next to impossible to decipher. She was about to put the book down when a name jumped from the page.
Dr. Lawrence V. Hawthorne .
Just below her father’s name, a date was scribbled.
January 2001.
Her hand began to shake.
2001?
She yanked open a drawer and rifled through it.
Finally, she found what she was looking for―a photograph taken seven years ago. Back in 1998. In it, her father and Professor Schroeder stood side by side wearing jeans, t-shirts and silly fishing hats. They had infectious grins on their faces, probably laughing at some private joke. The photo had been taken the day that her father, Schroeder and two associates had left for ‘the adventure of a lifetime’.
In the summer of ‘98, a new intern at Bio-Tec Canada, the company Del’s father worked for, suggested a summer rafting excursion down the Nahanni River in the Northwest Territories. The intern seduced him with native legends about veins of undiscovered gold, and headless skeletons and corpses lining the banks of the river. Her father became consumed by the idea of exploring one of Canada’s most spectacular sights, and he convinced Schroeder and his boss to accompany them.
The four men went missing three days later.
A search party was sent down the Nahanni, and the investigators discovered a headless skeleton a few miles downriver from Virginia Falls. Most of the flesh had been consumed by wild animals and the bones were badly decayed, but a forensics expert was able to identify the body.
It was Neil Parnitski, CEO of Bio-Tec Canada.
There was no sign of Del’s father…or the other men.
A week later, the search party found a bloody shirt on the shore and scalp tissue embedded into a rock. DNA tests showed that most of the blood matched her father’s, while the scalp tissue was Schroeder’s. The investigators also said that based on the amount of blood found at the scene, even a doctor couldn’t have survived without medical attention. Six months later, the investigation was closed, the missing men presumed dead.
Del stroked the photograph of her father.
He’s a dead man.
Schroeder’s words echoed in her mind, and she was unable to shake the doomed sensation that crept under her skin and invaded every pore.
She stared out the window into the darkening night sky, remembering the day her mother had told her that her father was presumed dead, months after his disappearance. She recalled the funeral a week later, and remembered standing in the pouring rain at the edge of the gaping hole as an empty casket was lowered into the muddy ground. The funeral had been three days before her twenty-fifth birthday―a birthday that came and went without any fanfare.
Del never celebrated her birthday anymore. Too many memories.
Now, staring at her father’s picture, the overwhelming grief she had felt seven years ago came back with a vengeance.
They’re going to kill him, Delly.
It was past eight o’clock when Del reached her small house in Port Coquitlam. Parking her car under the carport, she grabbed her briefcase and went inside.
“Honey, I’m ho-ome!”
An overweight, one-eared, brown-tinged Siamese darted toward her and anxiously rubbed up against her leg, mewing mournfully at the same time.
“Oh, Kayber! You act like I never feed you.”
She had found the cat in her backyard five months ago. He was bruised and scratched, his right ear hanging by a piece of skin. He looked like he had been in a barroom brawl―and lost. She had adopted him on the spot.
Although, she often wondered if it weren’t the other way around.
Tossing her briefcase on the couch, she returned to the kitchen, poured some cat kibble into a dish and set it on the floor. Then she sat on the couch, picking at a bowl of leftover macaroni casserole and sipping vanilla tea.
Her gaze drifted over the photographs on the mantle of the brick fireplace and dozens of memories raced through her mind. Memories of good times, happy times. Times when her father was alive―before he disappeared and left a dark void in her life.
She slid the bowl of half-eaten casserole onto the coffee table and pulled the journal from her briefcase. She leafed through the book, stopping when she came to a page filled with unfamiliar words, abbreviations, numbers and symbols.
NB…resistant to…≠
DC #02541-87654-18 prov. base….BSC & syn. CSF in
V. saline…gn.
She found several references to her father but couldn’t make out the content. A few pages in, the journal lapsed into page after page of numerical code. An hour went by and she was only one-third into it when she found an odd entry.
Bio-T Can…key!
She hissed in a breath.
Bio-Tec Canada?
Her father had worked for Bio-Tec. Why was that in Schroeder’s notes? Other than her father, Neil Parnitski and the intern, Schroeder had never had any contact with anyone else at Bio-Tec. He was an anthropologist. Bio-Tec was a research company exploring biotechnology.
Del was baffled.
She pushed the journal aside and flicked the remote control in the direction of the CD player. As Alexia Melnychuk’s smooth voice filled the room, Del stretched out on the couch and closed her eyes.
Kayber, having wolfed down his food, immediately took this as an invitation and jumped up on her stomach. All twenty-two pounds of him.
“What is it with males jumping on top of me today?”
As she thought of Peter Cavanaugh with his Tobey Maguire-like face, a smile formed on her lips. Peter was in his first year of studies, but he had missed too many classes due to an ailing grandmother, which resulted in an ‘incomplete’ on the regular one-year course. That was why he was taking her summer class.
Ten years younger, he was an embarrassingly shy kid, a bit of a loner―except when he was around Del. He had a severe crush on her. She knew it. Hell, everyone knew it. Half the faculty thought she was sleeping with him. But she wasn’t. She wasn’t a cougar. She didn’t go after younger men. Unlike her mother.
Del unceremoniously pushed Kayber aside, then reached for the phone and dialed her mother’s number. After several rings, someone picked up.
“Yeah? Wh-who’s this?”
Ken, her mother’s newest conquest and third husband, had been drinking again.
That’s what you get when you marry a nightclub owner.
“Is my mother there?”
“What ya want her for?”
“Just put her on, Ken.”
She listened while her mother’s husband stumbled through the house. He swore loudly after he dropped the phone. She swore too as the sound reverberated into her ear.
“Hello?”
Jesus! What’s taking him so long? Did he pass out?
She waited, listening to faint shuffling sounds. She was about to hang up when her mother’s cool voice greeted her.
“Maureen Walton speaking.”
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Who?”
“It’s Delila, Mother.”
God forbid if you forget to introduce yourself!
She couldn’t believe that her mother was still playing that game. The woman lived for formality. Proper manners and etiquette, shaking hands, addressing elders by their surnames and owning a house that was treated like a show home. It was all part of her mother’s attempt to become the next Miss Manners. Or, God forbid, Martha Stewart.
“Delila, I haven’t heard from you in weeks. Why haven’t you come to visit us?”
Del cringed, remembering the last time she had visited. The time Ken tried to cop a feel when she passed him in the hall.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to visit your own mother?”
Great! Here it comes.
“When you were sick with the flu, was I too busy to bring you some magazines?”
Her mother’s voice was tinged with disapproval.
“And when you went away with Tyler or whatever his name is, was I too busy to feed that filthy animal?”
Del held the receiver away from her ear and threw Kayber a rueful look. “She’s never going to forgive you for peeing in her shoes.”
She gave her mother a few minutes to vent, then drew the phone back to her ear.
What could she possibly say that would shut the woman up?
“Dad’s alive.”
A sharp gasp on the other end was followed by silence.
“Well, that worked,” she said dryly to Kayber who was busy grooming himself.
She pressed her ear against the receiver.
Dead air.
“Are you there, Mother?”
“Of course, Delila. Now what’s this nonsense about your father?”
“I had a visitor today. Professor Schroeder.”
“Arnold ? But that’s not possible, dear. They found a piece of his head.”
“His scalp.”
“What?”
Del gritted her teeth. “They found a piece of his scalp, Mother. And a bit of hair. That’s all.”
“Well, whatever. He was dead and buried along with Neil, Vern and your father six years ago.”
Del resisted the urge to correct her again. It had been seven years.
“Vern?”
“Yes, dear. The young man, your father’s assistant or whatever he was. At least I think his name was Vern. Or maybe it was Victor …”
Her mother’s voice dwindled away, lost in thought.
“Professor Schroeder says that Dad is alive. He gave me a journal. It has some strange notes in it, Dad’s name―”
“Arnold always was a bit of an odd duck, Delila. I wouldn’t take too much that man said seriously. God only knows where he’s been.”
“I’m going to bring him back, Mother.”
There was a pause on the other end.
“Arnold ?”
“No. I’m going after Dad.”
“You can’t be serious, Delila. He’s dead!”
“I am serious. I’m bringing Dad home.”
She hung up, feeling both relieved and irritated.
Why was her mother so heartless? Her parents had been married nearly thirty years. Didn’t that count for anything? Didn’t the woman care that her husband might still be alive? Or was it that her mother didn’t want her perfect little life to come crashing down?
Del scowled.
She was the first to admit she certainly wasn’t an expert on relationships. Look how long it took her to realize that TJ was screwing around on her. He had moved into her house and her heart.
Then he betrayed both.
She would never forget the day she came home early, barely able to walk and yearning for her bed―only to find that it was otherwise occupied.
Her neighbor, Julie Adams, had always been asking whether the rumors about a black man’s libido and the size of a specific part of his anatomy were true. Now Julie knew.
Del had kicked TJ out on his ass that same day.
She shrugged off the dark mood that threatened to engulf her and gave Kayber a quick pat on the head. With the journal and briefcase in her hands, she walked to the large second bedroom that doubled as an office. She flicked on the lamp and was immediately greeted by a pile of final summer exams that screamed to be marked.
Turning a deaf ear, she nudged them aside, opened her briefcase and pulled out an empty notebook. She wrote a reminder at the top of the first page.
Find out where Schroeder is. Go see him!
Then she began to translate Schroeder’s journal.
An hour later, she gave up trying to make sense of the scribbled notes and strange numerical code. When she finally crawled into bed after marking the exams, it was after midnight .
She lay in the dark, the flicker of shadows moving through her room. She pictured her father as she remembered him. Tall, with golden brown hair and rich brown eyes. He was always happy, always smiling.
She closed her eyes, her lashes damp with unshed tears.
I’m coming for you, Dad.
Two
Early the next morning, Del entered UBC, greeted security and headed down the hall. At her classroom door, she juggled her briefcase and fumbled with the key.
“Del!”
She swiveled on one heel and was greeted by Phoebe Smythe, president of the university. Phoebe was a tall, attractive woman with hair the color of rich, dark chocolate―except for the pure white streak that sprouted from her widow’s peak.
“I just heard,” Phoebe said, tucking the streak behind one ear. “Is there anything I can do?”
“About what? The fact that a dear friend whom we all thought was dead has returned from the grave? Or that he’s adamant that my dad is alive?”
“Oh God! I heard about Arnold, but I didn’t know anything about your father. Are you all right?”
Del shrugged. “I will be. Once I talk to Professor Schroeder. Do you know where he is?”
“They took him to Riverview. He’s in rough shape, Del.”
“What did the doctors say?”
Phoebe patted her arm. “He has an unusual form of Progeria.”
“Accelerated aging? But Progeria is usually found in children.”
“It’s a mystery. That’s for sure.”
“Well, that certainly explains why I didn’t recognize him. But it still doesn’t make sense. Even with Progeria, he shouldn’t look as old as he does.”
“They’re bringing a specialist in, Del. Someone from downtown. I heard Progeria, Werner Syndrome…they really don’t know. But what they do know is that Arnold ’s mental capacity is irreparably diminished.”
“So you’re saying he could have made it up―about my dad?”
Phoebe slipped her a piece of memo paper. “Call the hospital. Tell them you’re family. Arnold ’s wife moved to London and his sons are both married and living in another province. You’re all he has.”
Alone in her classroom, Del called Riverview Hospital and made arrangements to see Schroeder just before four o’clock.
It was going to be a very long day.
“In review, anthropology seeks to understand the whole picture when it comes to the study of man―Homo sapiens,” Del told her summer class. “As an anthropologist, you will explore geographic space and evolutionary time so that you may understand human existence. Anthropology is a unique blend of folklore and commonplace science. It encompasses the evolution of language and the microscopic killer diseases that have wiped out entire civilizations.”
She glanced at the clock. “Time’s up.”
“Mr. Cavanaugh, are you okay about yesterday?” she asked Peter as he scurried past. “About the man who was in the classroom?”
“I heard he’s a friend of yours.”
“He…is a friend of my dad’s.”
Although he looks old enough to be my grandfather.
The young man shifted the laptop and books in his arms. “Is he gonna be alright?”
“I hope so.”
After Peter left, she peered out the window.
It was raining.
Vancouver―the city of rain.
To Del, it was perfect weather to dredge up the past. Perfect weather to revisit the dead. Or not so dead.
By the time she reached the outskirts of Riverview Hospital, an early summer storm had unleashed its fury on the entire Vancouver area, swamping the streets with water. She turned into the visitor’s parking lot, snatched a ticket from the dispenser and made her way to an empty stall. Dashing through the main doors of the hospital, she was caught off guard by the slippery floor. She slid across the tiled surface―straight into the arms of a very handsome stranger.
“Well, hello,” he said, rewarding her with a dazzling smile.
The man who held her was dressed in a casual suit. But he could have been wearing nothing at all as far as she was concerned. His dark brown hair was slicked back, except for an errant lock over one finely sculpted brow. The man’s face was angular, with a strong jaw and ridiculously high cheekbones. He sported a closely shaved moustache and goatee. Kind of a seven o’clock shadow look.
Regardless, Del liked it. Hell, what wasn’t there to like?
If he lets go, I’ll melt to the floor.
“Sorry. I-I…slipped.”
“Good thing I was here to catch you then.”
His voice was warm and inviting, like comfort food.
“Yeah, good thing,” she murmured.
“You don’t look sick.”
“I’m, uh, visiting a friend.”
“Hmm…lucky friend.”
Her mouth dropped. Oh my!
He released her and she was suddenly cold.
“Well, uh…thanks for, uh, catching me.”
She could have kicked herself. Could she possibly sound more dim-witted?
Deep blue eyes swept over her. “Anytime.”
Mesmerized, she stared as he walked away. Then she turned toward the elevator and made it inside before she caught sight of him again. He was standing at the receptionist’s cubicle. Before the elevator doors closed, before her raging hormones kicked into overdrive, the man turned and winked.
Cursing under her breath, she jabbed at the button for the third floor―the secured psychiatric wing. When she reached the main nurse’s station, she signed a form and was escorted through a set of locked doors.
The nurse placed a hand on her arm. “I’ll warn you, Miss Hawthorne, we had to sedate him. When he was admitted, he was hallucinating…and he’s in a lot of pain.”
Del forgot all about Mr. Tall , Dark and Oh-So-Sexy the instant she stepped inside Schroeder’s room―a room lit only by a small night-light glowing in the far corner. Someone had pulled the curtains partially open but it made no difference. Outside, the raging black sky held the sun at bay and unleashed its wrath.
Schroeder was lying in the bed, one wrinkled hand strapped to the rail while the other was swathed in thick cloth bandages. An IV ran from his hand to a bag of clear liquid suspended on a pole, and near the bed, a heart monitor beeped steadily.
Del watched the heart blips.
Schroeder was still alive.
“Professor?”
He didn’t move.
Stepping closer, she stared in shock.
Arnold Schroeder’s face had severely aged. The skin under his chin hung in loose folds across his neck. Every inch of his spotted flesh was withered and scaly. His lips were cracked, peeling.
Yesterday, in her classroom, the man had looked about seventy.
Now he looked like he was nearing his nineties. Nearing death.
What could have happened to make him age so rapidly? Progeria?
Del reached forward and brushed the hair from Schroeder’s face. When she withdrew her hand, the hair went with it. Appalled, she shook the tuft into the garbage can next to the bed.
The man’s rheumy eyes opened slowly.
“You’re in the hospital,” she said, stroking his arm.
“Delly?”
“I’m here, Professor.”
“Aw, isn’t it about time you called me Arnold?”
His question ended with a ragged coughing spell.
She picked up a glass of water that was sitting abandoned on a cafeteria tray. She brought the straw to his mouth and was shocked by the sight of his bloody gums and missing teeth.
After a few weak sips, he waved the glass away.
“Did you find it, Delly?”
“The journal? Yeah.”
“It’s all in there. Everything you need to know. Follow your heart. Find the key first. But, Delly…don’t tell anyone! If you tell the police that you know your father’s alive, you’ll both be in danger.”
He groaned as a spasm of pain wracked his body.
Del gripped his hand. “Do you want me to call a nurse?”
“No, it’s too late for me. It’s only a matter of time now. But you, Delly…you have to go, find the key.”
He coughed sharply, spewing up blood.
“Leave no stone unturned. Remember…that. Take care again―”
Suddenly, the heart monitor raced and an alarm pierced the air.
Del watched, helpless, as every muscle in Schroeder’s body convulsed. The veins in his forehead and scalp protruded, his eyes rolled back into their sockets and he let out a horrific scream of agony. Then he collapsed―silent, unmoving.
A tall Asian doctor rushed into the room. She was followed closely by two men pushing a crash cart.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave.”
Del ’s pulse raced as she stepped out into the hallway. She peered through the small window in the door while the doctor held the paddles over Schroeder’s bare chest. When his body arched in response to the electrical current, Del pulled away from the glass.
Depressed, she wandered into the small sitting area, with nothing to do but gaze at other visitors, their faces drawn in sorrow as they waited to hear news of a loved one. How she hated hospitals! She hated the smell of death and illness, the taste of decay. She abhorred the poking and prodding by doctors, nurses. And the endless tiresome tests.
Yeah, she and hospitals were intimately familiar.
She shook her head.
No time to dwell on that now. There was Schroeder to think about…and her father. Something terrible had happened to them, and she was determined to find out what.
The doctor exited the professor’s room and approached with an apologetic look on her face.
“You’re Arnold Schroeder’s family?”
Del remained silent.
“I’m Dr. Wang. He’s stabilized at the moment but I have to tell you, I think it’s only a matter of time.”
Exactly what Schroeder said.
“We have a specialist on his way. In fact, he arrived about thirty minutes ago.”
Del was shocked. What’s taking him so long?
Dr. Wang suddenly smiled. “There he is now. Excuse me.”
Standing at the counter, the specialist turned his head and Del recognized him immediately.
The man from the hospital lobby.
Dr. Wang greeted him. They exchanged a few words and the doctor shook her head. Minutes later, they disappeared into Schroeder’s room.
Del’s shock quickly turned to anger.
Mr. Tall , Dark, Oh-So-Sexy and Selfish had certainly taken his sweet old time. He should have been checking on Schroeder, not flirting with her.
She left the hospital feeling pissed off and disappointed.
At the handsome specialist…and herself.
An hour later, she was sitting in her living room with Lisa .
Lisa Shaw had been her best friend since high school. They were like sisters, although Lisa was the complete opposite of her in almost every way. Six inches shorter than Del ’s five-foot-nine frame, Lisa was a brunette with a figure made for modeling. Her eyes were hazel in comparison to Del ’s pale blue.
“So exactly how cute was this guy?” Lisa asked between mouthfuls of pizza. “I mean, was he Orlando Bloom cute or Harrison Ford cute?”
“More like Johnny Depp cute.”
“My God!”
“Well, he thinks he is.”
Lisa threw her a knowing look. “You think he’s a God too, Delila Bea Hawthorne. I know it.”
Del felt the heat rising in her face. “Shut up and eat your pizza.”
“So, you gonna show me this book?”
Del grabbed the journal and set it on the table.
Lisa opened it carefully. “What’s with all these numbers?”
One line read 233253 = 3132218142! And one number was repeated throughout the book. 233253.
“I have no idea.”
Lisa scowled. “He’s not much of an artist.”
“Just because you studied under David C. Miller doesn’t mean everyone had that honor.”
Miller was an internationally acclaimed marine artist from the United States, and he had taken Lisa under his wing. In two weeks, Lisa ’s newest collection of giclee canvases would be shown at Imagine―one of the most prestigious art galleries in Canada . There was already a buzz amongst the media, and some influential people planned to attend. Even Miller and his wife would be there for the big reveal.
“This looks like a tree, Del. With two main branches. See? And this N shows that he was looking north through the trees.”
“How the hell am I supposed to find my dad with this?”
“The professor said everything was in this book, right? Well then, you’ll figure it out. When are you leaving?”
Del ’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not sure. I have to make flight arrangements, but I can’t even do that until I find some people to come with me.”
“You know I’d go…if I didn’t have this―”
“I completely understand, Lis. I’ll find someone to help me bring my dad back. You just make sure your show is a smashing success.”
“What about TJ?” Lisa asked hesitantly.
Del arched a brow. “What about him?”
“You know he’d do anything for you. Plus he’s an expert rafter.”
“Yeah, and an expert liar.”
“Have you seen Julie lately? She’s an elephant.”
Lisa mimed a huge pregnant belly, then noticed Del ’s expression.
“Oh, crap, Del. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. TJ made his bed―well, mine actually―and he doesn’t seem to mind lying in it. I hope he’s happy with her. And the kid. He always said he wanted a large family.”
She closed the journal, signaling the end of the conversation.
“Do you want butter or cheese popcorn, my friend?”
Lisa gave her a wide-eyed innocent look. “Why not both?”
Del snorted.
If there was one true gift that her friend had, it was the ability to make her laugh.
“Comic relief. That’s what you’re here for, Lis.”
They watched two Jackie Chan movies back-to-back, pigged out on popcorn and finished off two six-packs of beer. Then Lisa passed out on the couch, snoring softly and fighting for space with Kayber.
When Del crawled into bed, she wasn’t feeling any pain either.
A million thoughts raced through her mind when she awoke.
How could she possibly convince anyone to join her on a crazy trek down the Nahanni River? People would think she was nuts if she told them she was searching for her presumed-dead father. And who in their right mind would go with her, knowing that she had no idea where her father might be and no proof that he was actually alive?
Maybe I should ask TJ to go with me.
Frustrated, she whipped the blankets aside and listened for the familiar clanging of pots and pans that always followed one of Lisa ’s sleepovers.
There were no sounds of life from the kitchen.
Del’s stomach growled rebelliously.
Groaning with hunger, she clambered out of bed. She threw on an old blue robe, stuffed her feet into Tweety slippers and plodded into the hallway.
“Hey, Lisa !” she hollered, raking her fingers through unruly, short blond curls. “Is breakfast ready?”
No one answered.
She reached the kitchen, expecting the aroma of bacon and coffee to assault her senses.
What she got was a note stuck to the fridge door.
Mrs. Johnny Depp ,
I left you some herbal tea. It has some kind of root bark from Africa in it. Supposed to give you energy, ward off the effects of alcohol.
Love Lisa . XO
P.S. I called TJ. He said of course he’ll go.
“Traitor!” Del muttered.
She looked around the empty, foodless kitchen and spotted Kayber pacing by the door. She threw him a disgruntled look.
“The least she could have done was make us breakfast.”
Lisa’s tea sat on the counter, in an unmarked bag.
Sniffing the contents suspiciously, Del prayed that her house wouldn’t be the target of a drug raid.
“Whatever’s in here probably isn’t tea.”
It probably isn’t legal either.
She made herself a cup, just to be sure.
Afterward, she headed for Bio-Tec.
Three
It had been years since she had set foot inside Bio-Tec Canada, the company her father had worked for. The company that was mentioned in Schroeder’s journal. Not much had changed. Even Annette Taylor was still there.
The receptionist’s eyes widened as Del approached.
“Delila, what a surprise. What are you doing here?”
“I’m not really sure, Annette. Who’s in charge now?”
“Edward Moran.”
Moran had been one of her father’s associates, a man with a hard edge and a way of looking at her that made her cringe. She had always avoided him whenever her father had invited her to social events.
“Do you want me to buzz him for you, Delila?”
“I guess so. To be honest, I’m not even sure why I’m here.”
She was starting to sweat and her legs were beginning to shake.
Damn! Not now!
Annette returned with a glass of water. “ Mr. Moran will be down shortly. Can I get you anything else?”
“No, I’m fine, Annette. Thanks.”
Ten minutes later, Edward Moran strutted through the doorway, his chest puffed like an old rooster. He was a heavy-set man with a round, pudgy face. Small, squinty brown eyes were framed by copper-rimmed glasses perched atop a thick nose. Dark, curly hair receded from a wide forehead and settled into gray streaks above his ears. On some men it would look distinguished but on Moran, it just made him look old.
The man’s navy-colored suit strained across his stomach as he approached. It was at least one size too small. The black buttons on the jacket were fastened…barely. One sneeze or cough would likely send them flying like shrapnel, and Del pitied whoever was in the line of fire.
“Delila Hawthorne, is that really you?”
“Can we talk somewhere private?”
Moran shrugged. “Of course. This way, please.”
She followed him down a narrow corridor to a door that read Edward T. Moran, CEO. He opened it and allowed her to pass.
“You’re looking as lovely as ever, by the way.”
It didn’t take Del long to remember what she had always disliked about the man. He had a habit of licking his lips every so often, especially whenever his eyes landed on a woman. His fat pink tongue would sweep around his mouth in a full circle, leaving a trail of saliva behind.
Yeah, maybe Moran had chronic dry mouth, but it probably had something to do with what he imagined when he watched her. His gaze never seemed to fully meet hers. Instead, his eyes constantly drifted toward her cleavage. He made her feel dirty, violated.
I’ll need a bath after this.
Moran beckoned toward a couch in his office.
She moved toward the armchair instead and self-consciously folded her arms across her chest.
Lick. “So what can I do for you, Delila?”
“I’m here about my dad,” she said.
Moran sat down across from her, leaned forward and patted her knee, lingering far too long.
“Your father? Yes, well, it was a sad event. We were all very sorry.”
She brushed his hand away. “ Mr. Moran, haven’t you heard? Arnold Schroeder, my dad’s friend, is alive.”
“Really?”
His face went pale and his tongue slithered over his lips again.
“So, why have you come to see me?”
“I thought perhaps you knew where they had been heading. Before they disappeared, I mean.”
Moran shook his head. “Why don’t you ask the professor?”
“He’s in the hospital. Dying.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry but I can’t help you. I wasn’t included in their plans. Besides, it’s been seven years now. I’m sorry to hear about your friend and I’m sure that you didn’t need a reminder of your father’s death. If there’s anything I can do for you…”
His eyes drifted to her blouse again.
She bolted to her feet, desperate to get out of the man’s office, into some fresh air.
“My dad is alive, Mr. Moran!”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she recalled Schroeder’s warning.
Edward Moran’s jaw dropped and his face lost all color.
The last thing she saw before slamming the door behind her was a small black button springing free from the man’s jacket. She heard the soft ping as it hit the floor.
Heading for the parking lot, she climbed into her car, pulled out her cell phone and called TJ.
He picked up on the first ring. “Yeah?”
“Meet me at the Starbuck’s, near my place.”
She hung up.
Lisa was right. TJ really was the perfect choice. He was skilled in canoeing and rafting, and he was great at organizing outdoor events.
He was great at a lot of things, Del realized.
Including lying, cheating and deceiving.
And being late, she thought twenty minutes later.
TJ was running on Tyrone Jackson time. As usual.
She was about to call him again when she heard her name. She spotted TJ weaving his way through the coffee addict crowd, carrying two venti cappuccinos.
He put the coffees on the table, then grinned. “Long time no see, Del? I missed ya.”
He enfolded her in his arms, kissing her soundly on the lips.
She pushed him away, gaped at him. “What, no more dreadlocks? What happened to you?”
TJ ran a hand over his short black hair. “Julie happened.”
Del flinched, her eyes drawn to the gold-plated dog tags she had given him.
Was that only two years ago?
It had been seven months since she had booted TJ out. Seven long months of lonely nights and an empty bed.
Damn! He looked good―real good.
Suddenly, she stopped herself. What was she thinking? TJ had a girlfriend. A very pregnant girlfriend.
Crossing her arms, she flopped in the chair. “How is Julie?”
TJ slid into the chair across from her. “She’s good. Baby’s doing fine too. Due in six weeks. So what’s going down, Del? You wanna go way up north in the middle of nowhere?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
“You really think your dad’s still alive?”
“Yes.”
“But how do you know for sure?” he asked. “Your dad’s friend could’ve been hallucinating, making it up. Who knows what happened to him out there? Don’t you think if your dad was alive, he’d try to contact you, somehow?”
“What did Lisa tell you?”
His warm brown eyes locked on hers. “That you needed me.”
She scowled.
It would be a cold day in hell before she needed TJ again.
Well, other than on this trip anyway.
TJ let out a frustrated sigh. “She said you think your dad’s alive, lost somewhere up north. And that you have a map or something.”
Or something.
“When you wanna go, Del?”
She held her breath. “Two weeks?”
“That soon?” His brow arched in shock. “Doesn’t give us much time to get organized. We’re gonna need a tracker. Someone good in the mountains. We’ll also need a couple more people, that’s for sure. Someone to work on the code and someone who can handle a canoe. Know anyone?”
“Peter Cavanaugh. You remember him?”
“Ain’t he the kid who’s got a crush on you?”
Del blushed. “He told me he took a whitewater course last summer. Says he’s pretty good, and he seems really excited about going. In fact, he insisted.”
“Man! He’s got it bad. You asking some others or you want me to?”
“No, you go ahead. Ask anyone you want. Whatever it takes to get my dad back.”
They finished their cappuccinos in awkward silence.
When she rose to leave, he restrained her. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. Then he let go of her arm, without saying a word.
“I can’t wait around for you,” she warned. “So if you’re going to do this―”
“Call me Monday,” he said, cutting her off. “I’ll check around, see who I can find to come with us.”
He followed her to the door and she stared at him as he crossed the street. On the other side, he held a closed fist up to one ear, extended his thumb and pinkie, wiggling his hand. “Call me!”
Walking home, Del felt a burning in the back of her throat. She squared her shoulders, fighting the urge to break down. There was no time for tears. Her father’s life depended on her strength and resolve. She would not let him down.
Secure in the familiarity of her small two-bedroom house, her eyes searched the fireplace mantle, lingering on a photograph of her father. She recalled his contagious laughter and corny jokes.
And the dam finally broke.
She wept for her father, a man who was taken away from everything and everyone he loved. A man who was waiting for God-knows-what as his fate. She cried for the lost years, for the young woman who had stood at his graveside believing that her father was gone forever. When her tears subsided, she sunk into a dark depression. She ached for her father, terrified that they’d be too late.
“Dad?” she called out to the empty room. “I’m coming for you.”
Exhausted and emotionally drained, she fell asleep on the couch, dreaming of her father―young and full of life. In her dream, he feigned annoyance when she beat him and his poker buddies one night, even though she knew he was secretly proud. Then the dream flashed to the night she had invited her parents for dinner in her small one-bedroom apartment. Her father had teased her about her hockey puck Yorkshire puddings. He called them doorstoppers.
In her sleep, she smiled.
Until the brash ringing of the telephone jolted her awake.
“Y-yeah?”
“Delly?”
She sat up immediately, gripping the phone tightly.
“Professor Schroeder? How did―”
“Delly, I don’t…time. You need…follow your heart. And remember, leave no stone…care…Bio-Tec.”
“Professor, I can barely hear you! I already went to Bio-Tec. They don’t know anything.”
“Go back! Take care again―”
The line went dead.
Spurred by panic, she dropped the phone, snatched up a notepad and scribbled Schroeder’s words on an empty page.
Damn! She had to pay Bio-Tec another visit in the morning. And sure as hell, Edward Moran―with his slimy wet lips―would be there to greet her.
Edward slammed an angry fist down on the desk.
“Where the hell are they, you sonofabitch?”
It was early morning and he was in the main NB Lab, typing furiously at the keyboard in front of him. The monitor kept flashing him the same message.
No such files exist!
It had been seven years since Lawrence Hawthorne went missing and was presumed dead. In that time, Edward had taken over most of Lawrence ’s research, but he was positive there was more. He suspected that the man had enlisted the aid of an encryption expert, encoded his files so that they were virtually invisible. But they were there. Somewhere. It was only a matter of time before he found them.
Hawthorne had been researching something big before he disappeared. And someone else obviously knew about it. Four years ago, the NB Lab was broken into and tossed. Whoever was responsible for the break-in walked away with a number of files, notebooks…and Hawthorne ’s laptop.
“Looking for something in particular?”
Edward cast a sharp look at a white-smocked doctor standing in one corner juggling test tubes. “Pardon me, Jake ?”
The doctor edged closer while Edward tapped the keyboard and hastily exited from the lab directory.
“Just wondering if you were looking for something specific.”
“I’d appreciate it if you would finish doing whatever it is that you were doing and leave me to my work.” Insolent ass!
Edward struggled to remember the doctor’s surname. Nothing came to mind. Jake whatever-his-name-was had been with Bio-Tec for almost ten years, just two years less than he had, but they had never worked together. When the board had voted for a new CEO after Lawrence ’s disappearance, Jake had come in a close second, but Edward ’s seniority had won out in the end.
Edward hid a furtive smile.
The lab exuded power and success with its state-of-the-art equipment and leading technology. Countless lab workers surrounded him, busily nattering to each other about test results. To Edward , it sounded like some kind of classified code operated by a secret club.
My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.
As CEO of a leading corporation like Bio-Tec, he basked in the glory of astounding discoveries and technological advances that only his research team had accomplished. As far as he was concerned, he was Bio-Tec Canada. The many doctors and experts were simply the mice in his lab, running the maze and searching for results. He was the one handing them the reward for work well done. Of course, he’d dip into those rewards too―whenever he could get away with it.
He strode past Jake. His eyes narrowed when he saw the doctor cast a hasty look toward the main computer terminal. The last thing he needed was Jake snooping around in the files.
Relax. He’s a doctor, not a computer whiz.
Reluctantly, Edward strolled through the automated doors. He was about to head for his office when his pager beeped. Perturbed by the message, he swore loudly and hurried toward the main reception area.
He saw Delila before she noticed him.
Lawrence Hawthorne had created a real beauty, but there was something about the woman that Edward didn’t like. Not only was her confidence intimidating, she was also seemingly immune to his charm.
What in blazes does she want now?
He caught the glimmer of fury in her blue eyes as they fastened on him. His tongue flicked over his mouth, this time from sheer nervousness. He’d have to be very careful around her.
“Did you forget something yesterday?”
“I have a few more questions, Mr. Moran. Your office?”
Edward did not like her curt manner one bit. He stomped into his office, huffing indignantly. Then he closed the door behind them and got right down to business.
“While I can appreciate that you’re having difficulty accepting your father’s death, I hope you can appreciate that I’m a very busy man. We’re in the middle of a huge research proj―”
“I’m not here to talk about your research. I want to know where my dad’s files are.”
He couldn’t believe the woman’s audacity.
“That’s Bio-Tec’s property! Anything your father did here we own. You should know that.”
“It might be the only way I’ll find him.”
What could he possibly say to get her off his back and off Bio-Tec grounds?
He stood abruptly. “Follow me.”
When they reached the NB Lab, he swiped a small card through a keypad, pushed a button and beckoned her inside. He took her arm, steered her toward the main computer terminal.
“This is where your father worked seven years ago. A lot has changed since then.”
Shit! Jake―the obnoxious moron―was sitting at the monitor, with his back to them.
Edward paused. “The lab was broken into a few years ago. Most of your father’s stuff was stolen. His files were deleted.”
The woman eyed him suspiciously but said nothing.
“Of course I knew you wouldn’t believe me so I brought you here to show you. Once I do, I expect you to stop coming here. Do you understand, Miss Hawthorne ?”
“Oh, I understand perfectly.”
The intensity of her glare burned a hole through his skull, and he was the first to look away.
Del battled a multitude of thoughts, furious at Edward Moran ’s demeanor. Her father’s files may have been deleted, but Schroeder had tried to tell her that there was something at Bio-Tec. All she had to do was find out what.
Moran tapped the shoulder of the doctor sitting at the computer, then he leaned down slightly and said something, motioning the man to stay seated.
“Delila Hawthorne, this is Jake. He’ll be happy to show you the folder that your father used.”
When the man in the chair turned, she found herself ogling the attractive blue-eyed doctor from Riverview. Schroeder’s specialist.
Mr. Tall, Dark and Oh-So-Sexy.
She struggled to catch her breath. Oh crap!
The man appeared equally as stunned. “We’ve met. Well, sort of.” He held out a hand. “ Jake Kerrigan, scientist and doctor. How are you doing today?”
She slipped her hand in his, then pulled back quickly, feeling a bit lightheaded from the electrifying contact. “I’m fine.”
“Yes, you are,” the doctor said boldly. “Grab a chair.”
“Thank you, Dr. Kerrigan.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she paused.
Kerrigan. Why did that sound so familiar?
In the hospital, Schroeder’s doctor had never mentioned the specialist’s name. She was sure of it.
“What kind of specialist are you exactly?”
A smile formed on the man’s lips. “I specialize in youth. Actually, in layman’s terms, I’m researching the aging process and aging diseases such as Progeria. We’ve made some fascinating discoveries in the past ten years.”
“Is that why you went to see Arnold Schroeder?”
“I’ve run some tests on your…friend.”
“Professor Schroeder was my dad’s friend. And my mentor.”
There was a look of surprise on the doctor’s face. “You’re an anthropologist? I never would have guessed.”
Behind her, Moran let out an impatient huff.
She clasped her hands tightly. “ Dr. Kerrigan…”
There it was again, that faint recognition.
“Jake,” he insisted. “I’m not one for formalities.”
My mother would hate you then.
Del saw Moran move closer, until his vast stomach pressed against the mahogany desk. He observed every move Jake made on the computer. When the doctor made a data entry error and had to backtrack, Moran’s beady eyes flicked him a look of disdain.
“I’ll leave you two at it then,” he said after a while. “Remember what I said, Delila. I don’t expect to see you back here again.”
He made his way toward the doors.
As far as she was concerned, Edward Moran hadn’t left soon enough. Something about the man made her feel as though an army of fire ants were crawling over her body.
“There you go,” Jake said, angling the monitor toward her.
He pulled up a folder labeled with her father’s name.
It was empty. Nothing. Not one file.
Moran was right. Someone had deleted all her father’s work.
But why?
She stared at the screen, willing it to change.
“Can you do a search? See if he had files stored someplace else?”
“Let’s see what comes up if I search for one of your father’s research topics.” He glanced up from the keyboard. “Do you prefer Miss Hawthorne or Delila?”
“Call me Del. Everyone does.”
“Ok, Del. It could take a few minutes for the computer to scan all the files. Why don’t we head for the lounge, grab a coffee?”
They swiveled in their chairs simultaneously, their knees knocking together.
Jake gave her a rueful look. “Sorry. Ladies first.”
She stood, then followed him.
“Did you know my dad?”
“Yeah, he was a great guy. We worked on a few projects together. You’re a lot like him.”
“Is that a good thing?”
He flashed her a wicked smile. “Uh-huh. Very good.”
Embarrassed, she looked away.
“So, are you going to tell me why you’re here, Del?”
She thought of Schroeder’s warning. No police. Well, Jake wasn’t the police, but could she trust him? She had already let it slip to Moran that she thought her father was still alive. That could prove to be a huge mistake.
Thankfully, the lounge was empty. The pastel beige walls of the room were bare, except for a set of brightly colored prints that someone had hung in an attempt to make the room cozier. Coffee-stained laminate counters held a variety of small appliances, including an ancient microwave―maybe the first ever built. In the corner, an old refrigerator rumbled and coughed, probably on its last legs too.
So much for advanced technology.
“You need a visit from the While You Were Out gang.”
“Hey!” Jake scowled. “I decorated this room myself.”
“Don’t give up your day job.”
“Ha, ha,” he said wryly. “Has anyone ever told you you’re like Samson ’s Delila? Chop off a man’s hair or chop him off at his ego, it’s all the same.”
She laughed at his wounded expression. “So what are the pictures of?”
“Nanomachines.”
She stared at him blankly.
“Extremely minuscule electromechanical devices. Computers. Programmed with different functions, like repairing molecular anomalies or malfunctions. They’re manufactured on the nanoscopic scale, so they’re invisible to the naked eye.”
“It’s hard to imagine a computer that small.”
“Your father was working on a few projects involving Nanotechnology. But he was especially interested in genetic diseases. I was very sad to hear about his death. We all were.”
She flinched.
But he’s still alive!
“Were you here when the lab was broken into?” she asked.
“Yeah, but I was working in another part of the building. It was late, probably close to eleven o’clock. I still don’t understand how anyone could have gotten past security. All the doors are locked and coded at night.”
“So the only people who can get in are those with the codes?”
“Or an ID pass.”
Jake held up a small card identical to the one Moran had used.
“Didn’t security spot anything?”
“Yeah, a ghost.”
Her head shot up in shock.
“Just kidding,” he said. “There was a glitch in the computer system. It showed that Neil Parnitski had logged in.”
“Parnitski? But that’s not possible. They found his body when my dad went missing.”
“Someone could have taken his pass card…if he had it on him at the time. Although, there are no markings on our cards. They don’t even say Bio-Tec. A stranger in the woods wouldn’t have a clue what the pass card unlocked.”
Del bit her lip.
But someone traveling with Parnitski would.
The thought troubled her. If her father was alive, why would he break into the lab and steal his own files? And why would he go back to the Nahanni, put his life in danger? Nothing made sense.
“The computer should be done,” Jake said quietly. “Let’s see what it has to say.”
Following him to the lab, Del read the message on the screen.
No such files exist!
She wanted to cry. The empty folder with her father’s name on it was the only sign that he had even worked at Bio-Tec. It was almost as if he had been…erased.
Jake ’s mouth tightened. “Sorry, Del.”
“I was so sure that there was something here. Arnold Schroeder said there was.”
“What exactly did he tell you?”
“He was rambling on about Bio-Tec. About…I don’t know.”
Frustrated, she reached for her handbag and pulled out the notepad. She flipped the pages until she came to the note on Schroeder’s call. She showed it to Jake .
“You need…care…Bio-Tec,” he read. “Go back. Take care again.”
Del slapped her forehead.
Of course, you idiot! Take Kerrigan!
Her head snapped in Jake ’s direction. He had a bewildered expression on his finely chiseled face.
“Jake, Schroeder says my dad is alive, somewhere on the Nahanni River .”
“After all this time?”
“I know it seems impossible but I believe him. Didn’t Schroeder say anything to you when you went to see him in the hospital?”
“Not a word, Del. By the time I finished reading his files and made it to his room, he had already coded. And when I left, he was unconscious. I’ve been running his blood work from here.”
“How close were you to my dad? I mean, there must be some reason why Schroeder thinks I should take you.”
His eyes flickered nervously. “Take me where?”
“To the Nahanni River. To find my dad. Schroeder thinks you should go with me. Probably because my dad trusted you.”
She paused for a moment.
Maybe she was wrong.
“He did trust you, didn’t he?”
Jake ’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious, Del ! How the hell do you expect to find him after all these years? If he’s really alive.”
“I know he’s alive! I can’t explain how, but I know it. I’ve always known it. When my mother and I buried him, I knew the coffin was empty for a reason. Not because they hadn’t found his body, but because I knew there was no body. At least not a dead one.”
“Wait! I don’t understand why you need me. I don’t know anything about your father’s disappearance.”
“Maybe not, but you knew my dad, how he thinks.”
Tension invaded the air, sucking out the oxygen as Del waited for his answer.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I can’t possibly leave right now. Especially to go on some wild goose chase up north. I’m in the middle of a huge research project and―”
“Forget it!”
Snatching the notepad from his hand, she hurried to the exit.
As the doors parted, she threw him a withering look. “The professor was in perfect health before he went to the Nahanni.”
When he said nothing, she huffed in exasperation. “Doesn’t it make you the least bit curious about how he could’ve developed Progeria?”
She stalked out of the lab.
Bastard!