A key clicked in the front door lock on the passenger's side. Without a second's hesitation, she jammed her foot on the gas pedal and sped off.
Bad tire or no.
Her skin crawling from the experience, she slowed up ahead, figuring it would take the dog and his owner a little while to follow her, and she didn't want to make more of a mess of the tire than she had to. She crept toward the off-ramp, hazard lights flashing, then headed for a lighted service station on the corner. The truck's lights had vanished. Either he continued on past the exit, or he was driving without lights.
She parked at the service station where, inside, she found two middle-aged men drinking coffee who offered to help her change the tire, so she cancelled the road side service. The whole time the men changed the tire, they asked her where she was from, what she was doing here, genuinely friendly, idle talk, while she watched for the pickup that had parked behind her on the road. Either he was afraid she'd tell on him and he was waiting for her to leave the well-lit service station, or she'd somehow missed seeing him drive on by when she was getting help to change the tire.
Thanking the men, she offered to pay them. They gave her small smiles and declined, the one saying he had a daughter who he hoped someone would help out if she was ever in need. Faith thanked them again, hoping she wouldn't encounter the pickup driver again, left, and a few minutes later arrived at the Woodlands Travel Lodge.
Glancing up at the rearview mirror, she swore the streetlights illuminated the same gray pickup truck that had been following her, but the tinted windows hid the driver as he drove past. Slowly. Didn't matter that the speed limit was thirty here or that the road was perfectly drivable, salted or sanded. She still thought he was going much slower than necessary. As if he was checking her out. But maybe it wasn't the same vehicle at all.
Yep, shades of her father. Although after her boyfriend stole her father's research paper, she could see how Dad would be somewhat paranoid.
Faith sighed. She fully intended to get his flash drive back from Hilson, one way or another. Yet as much as her father wanted it returned, he still wouldn't tell her what information it held. She'd find out soon enough, just as she had told him. It would be just like any other mystery-solving mission she did. Well, maybe not just like any other. This time it was personal.
She grabbed her suitcase and headed inside the blue lodge, her overnight stop before she trekked into the remoter part of Maine and the cabins where she'd stay during her dealing-with-Hilson mission, when her cell phone jingled. She stopped midstream in the lobby, fumbled around in her oversized leather purse, then finally fished the phone out. She kept telling herself she was going to wear it around her neck for easier access as many times as her father had called her since she'd left her apartment in Portland, Oregon.
"Yes, I'm finally, finally here, Dad."
"Any sign of Hilson?"
"He's not here. I have to stay at a lodge for the night in Millinocket since it's too late to navigate the wilderness in the dark. At least that's what the owners of the cabins said. He's supposed to be at a cabin resort about two miles or more from mine, only accessible by snowmobile. I'll confront him as soon as I can, return to Millinocket, and call you."
"You don't need to read my research paper, Faith. Just bring it back home safe and sound."
She couldn't understand why he was so secretive about the research he'd done. But now, just as he was going to reveal it at an upcoming conference, voila! Hilson steals his flash drive as well as his hard drive. "I'll bring it home, Dad. I promise." At least she prayed she wouldn't fail him. He hadn't worked on anything else beyond teaching at the local community college in years and this was so important to him. She kept wondering if Hilson had put the moves on her just so he could get to her father and his research. "Got to check in at the lodge. Call you later."
"Night, Faith. And Faith?"
"Yes, Dad?"
"I hope you dump the guy."
"Consider him dumped." Although it appeared Hilson had already dumped her. "No way would I trust him again. Love you and good night, Dad."
Everything that had gone on between her and Hilson kept running through her mind like a continuous computer loop. How he'd wined and dined her, bought her gifts, but always held back. As if there was someone else in his life. Maybe someone he was still married to? She'd joked about it, but he'd smiled coolly and made love to her as if to prove to her no one else existed. And yet, something had been missing.
Then again, maybe it was all her fault. She'd been looking for love, but hadn't really felt it for him either. She'd needed the intimacy, but somewhere along the line, it hadn't felt real. Now all she felt toward him was anger, betrayal, hurt, and every other negative emotion in the book—but it all had to do with his stealing her father's research and nothing to do with the end of her relationship with Hilson. That's what worried her the most. What was wrong with her?
When she reached the front desk, the clerk said to someone on the phone, "Just a minute, honey. Got another customer."
"Faith O'Malley," Faith said, leaning against the counter, ready for a room-service meal, a hot shower, and a good night's sleep, after missing one connecting flight due to engine trouble, being delayed three hours because of a snowstorm en route, and problems getting her assigned rental car. Not to mention the flat tire. What should have taken only a few hours—if everything had gone smoothly—ended up being an all-day string of disasters.
"Room 318, miss," the clerk said, handing her the card key, nodding as she listened to someone on the phone. She raised her brows at Faith. "Need a wake-up call in the morning?"
"No, thanks." If that was one thing Faith didn't need was a wake-up call. Sleeping in was just something she couldn't get her body to agree with. "Do you know where the Back Country Tours office is?"
"Down the street about a half mile. Can't miss it." The clerk smiled. "Sign out front has a carved white wolf on it. And the owners, Lila Grayson and Kintail Silverman, can be seen around town with a couple of pet wolves in tow when they're not guiding hunting tours in the way back country."
"Wolves."
"Yep. Tame, sweetest-natured old things, just like big beautiful huskies, only pure white."
"Arctic wolves." She thought back to the animal that had pounced on her rental vehicle. It wasn't a Samoyed, but a real wolf? Then it had to belong to the same people she needed to get in touch with. She'd report the man with the wolf who was following her, whoever he was, to the owner of Back Country Tours.
"Guess they would be Arctic wolves. The couple is from the Canadian Arctic up around Yellowknife. Return there in the summers. Real cold weather folks. Although they like hunting different animals here, black bear, bobcat, moose, rather than caribou and whatever else they go after up there. Pretty neat, huh? Winter home here and summer home there? They don't like the summer heat at all, although it's nothing like living in some hot weather places like Florida. When I lived there—"
A man jingled his keys behind Faith, and she glanced back. He frowned at her.
"Thanks, I'll be checking out early in the morning," Faith said to the clerk and grabbed her suitcase, then headed for the elevator, looking forward to dinner and a hot shower without any more delays.
Once she reached her room, she slid the key card in. Green light. She twisted the handle and pushed. The door didn't budge. She tried again. Same thing. She hated key cards. Why couldn't they just use regular old brass keys?