Surviving Alaska


 
 
 
 “I’m looking for a man.”
 Ian’s eyes dropped to Natasha’s sling, then bulky walking boot. “This guy responsible for all that?” He motioned to the injuries.
 Fury flashed in her expression and Lexi stiffened. A low growl rumbled from the dog’s throat.
 Ian froze. He did not want those teeth sinking into his hide.
 “It’s okay, girl,” Natasha whispered, her left hand stroking the black fur. “We’ve been together for four years. She senses my moods and interprets my body language, then responds accordingly.”
 “She going to bite me if you get mad?” He’d have to rethink his strategy on making the woman go home.
 “Only if I give her the command.” Natasha’s lips quirked. “Or if I’m unconscious and she thinks you’re a threat.”
 “Good to know.” He swallowed, doing his best to radiate harmless vibes. “The man you’re searching for, did he give you those injuries?”
 “Yes.”
 “And you’re going after him? By yourself?” 
 
 
 P.A. DePaul resides outside Philadelphia in the US. In her free time, you can find her reading, working on a puzzle, playing with her dog, winning game nights against her husband (sometimes) or whipping up something in the kitchen. You can learn more about her at padepaul.com, Facebook.com/padepaul and Instagram.com/padepaul.
 Books by P.A. DePaul
 Love Inspired
 Inspirational Mountain Rescue 
 Deadly Mountain Treasure
 Surviving the Storm
 Visit the Author Profile page at LoveInspired.com.
 
 
 Surviving Alaska
 P.A. DePaul
 
 
 
 But the wicked are like the troubled sea, when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt.
 —Isaiah 57:20
 
 
 This book is dedicated to K-9 heroes and heroines everywhere. Thank you for your amazing service.
 Acknowledgments
 A huge thank-you goes to my husband. He’s a sounding board, brainstormer and rock star at keeping the household running while I’m writing.
 Massive squishy hugs go to my agent, Michelle Grajkowski, and editor, Johanna Raisanen. I love you both!
 I don’t even know where to begin on the thank-you scale for Rich Worthington and the Lower Moreland Police Department. Rich, thank you for allowing me to use your name. Hopefully you’re okay with becoming an ASAC with the FBI. :) Thank you for answering my litany of emails, calls, texts and popping in the station. You rule. I own every mistake and stretch of reality.
 My final thank-you belongs to you, the reader. I appreciate the support and your time in reading this labor of love. It means the world to me.
 
 
 Contents
 Chapter One
 Chapter Two
 Chapter Three
 Chapter Four
 Chapter Five
 Chapter Six
 Chapter Seven
 Chapter Eight
 Chapter Nine
 Chapter Ten
 Chapter Eleven
 Chapter Twelve
 Chapter Thirteen
 Chapter Fourteen
 Chapter Fifteen
 Chapter Sixteen
 Chapter Seventeen
 Chapter Eighteen
 Chapter Nineteen
 Chapter Twenty
 Chapter Twenty-One
 Chapter Twenty-Two
 Chapter Twenty-Three
 Chapter Twenty-Four
 Chapter Twenty-Five
 Chapter Twenty-Six
 Chapter Twenty-Seven
 Chapter Twenty-Eight
 Chapter Twenty-Nine
 Chapter Thirty
 Chapter Thirty-One
 Chapter Thirty-Two
 Chapter Thirty-Three
 Chapter Thirty-Four
 Chapter Thirty-Five
 Chapter Thirty-Six
 Chapter Thirty-Seven
 Excerpt from High-Stakes Blizzard by Rebecca Hopewell
 
 
 Chapter One
 Lexi whined, her pitch starting with a high complaint and ending on a low growl.
 Natasha Greene transferred a worthless tissue into her right hand, which was dangling from a sling, and buried her fingers between the German shepherd’s pointed ears. She silently agreed with the assessment.
 Yesterday, they had spent seventeen tedious, and painful, hours locked inside airports and planes, thanks to layovers and delays. Landing too late at night in Anchorage, they had shared a budget hotel room, then, this morning, hopped onto a small charter plane flying northwest, hauling mail and supplies.
 She needed the brief reprieve on solid ground. And yet...
 The village of Whisper, Alaska—population 436—couldn’t be more opposite from Philadelphia if it tried. Tucked into the heart of the untamed interior, basic infrastructure such as highways didn’t exist. Like most of the state, the village was isolated and only accessible by small planes.
 Within Whisper, mud strips simulated roads while colorful homes comprised of wood and scavenged materials were in desperate need of repair. Rusty wires penned chickens but uncollared dogs roamed free. The only asphalt found was at the airport. And calling the single patchwork building an “airport” was generous. The structure pulled triple duty as a terminal, warehouse, and hangar.
 But the view surrounding the locals could not be beat. In the distance, majestic mountains and flourishing forests stretched for miles.
 A strong gust of wind snatched at Natasha’s baseball cap and clanged metal signs, clinging for survival on rusty bolts, against the terminal.
 Summer had decided to skip this part of Alaska, or gave up and let fall have its way. Instead of shorts and tank tops for August, Natasha needed a coat and gloves. Great. She had hoped the internet had lied when she researched what to pack for the trip. It hadn’t.
 Another gust iced through her lightweight jacket and tactical pants.
 “Dalton’s around here somewhere,” the charter pilot, Skip, interrupted her survey. “We’re meetin’ for lunch.”
 For the first time since she left Philadelphia International Airport, Natasha doubted her plan. In her mind, it had seemed so simple. But now...
 “Head on inside,” the pilot yelled over his shoulder as he strode toward an open hangar bay. “It’ll be warmer.” He pointed at a dirty glass door at the front of the building.
 Peering into Lexi’s big brown eyes, Natasha prayed she hadn’t made the second worst mistake of her life.
 
 Ian Dalton tossed the saturated rag on top of the growing pile inside a broken laundry basket. Grabbing another from the warped cardboard box, he dropped the piece of old T-shirt onto the floor of his aging Cessna 180.
 “Never again,” he muttered, attacking the red berry liquid seeping into the crevasses. The old man and young kid on his earlier flight had refused to listen. Ian had told them repeatedly they shouldn’t hold the large beverage cooler. He offered to strap it in the cargo area behind their seats,