answer.
“Is this Sophie Summerfield?” Summerfield. Good. He wasn’t calling for Sophie Rose, and he had a friendly voice.
“Yes.”
“My name is Joe Rooney and I’m a police officer here at Prud-hoe Bay. You know where that is?”
She knew it was somewhere in Alaska, but she didn’t know which part. Fortunately, she didn’t have to admit it.
“We’re in Alaska, way up at the tip.”
“Must be cold” was all she could think to say.
“Yes. It’s already chilly here,” he replied. “Unusually so, this early in the season. The reason I’ve called …”
His hesitation made her all the more curious. “Yes?”
“We found your card. Your business card. It’s the only identification, so I thought I’d call and ask if you knew the man we found.”
“He can’t tell you who he is?”
“No, he can’t say anything, ma’am. No easy way to tell you. He’s dead. We found your card inside his red sock.”
It couldn’t be, could it? Sophie needed to sit. “Did you say a red sock?”
“Yes, it is,” he answered, sounding relieved.
Harrington. Oh my God. William Harrington. She remembered he had taken her card and tucked it in his sock. He’d shoved it way down to his ankle and then pulled the sock halfway to his knee. Who else could it be? But it didn’t make sense. Prudhoe Bay? What would William be doing in Prudhoe Bay? He was in Europe.
“I’m sorry to be calling with such terrible news,” Rooney said.
Sophie needed to be sure before she gave the caller William Harrington’s name. “Tell me what he looks like.”
A long sigh came through the phone. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am.”
“Why not?”
“The problem is … we only found a piece of him. We found a foot and part of his leg.”
“A leg and a foot?” She couldn’t take in what he was telling her.
“A foot and
art
of a leg, not all of it,” he said. “It was his right foot. Would that help you identify him for us?”
“Are you saying … my God … how did he die? And where’s the rest of him?”
Another sigh came through the phone. “No easy way to say this,” Rooney said. A slight hesitation and then he blurted, “We’ve got polar bears up here.”
“Oh my …”
“A polar bear did him in.”
JOURNAL ENTRY 187
CHICAGO
It’s great to be back in Chicago. We spent eight months together in Alaska, survived a bitter winter cooped up in our housing, and I accumulated enough data on the behavior of my coworkers to begin my paper.
The pecking order in our little family shifted over the course of our stay. Brandon could not handle disagreement of any kind, and Kirk became passive in every argument. Eric and I became the alphas, though admittedly Eric is too busy to lead anyone.
The foundation was impressed with our reports and has agreed to fund another two years. In three months we will head back north.
Eric is spending his time off in his lab. I brought with me a few early blood samples from each member of the pack—all but Lucy and her pups, that is—so I’ve also taken time in the lab to see if I can isolate the hormone Eric found in Ricky’s blood. So far I’ve come up with some amazing and startling conclusions. I will have to wait until I return north to show Eric my discovery. I’m anxious to hear what he has to say.
H
OLY CRAP!
A foot and part of a leg were all that was left? Could it be William Harrington? Her business card had been tucked in his sock, his
red
sock. It had to be him.
Sophie’s mind raced. She was so rattled by what she was hearing, she couldn’t think of a single question to ask.
Rooney broke the silence. “It was a male.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The polar bear was male,” he explained. “Had to weigh in around twelve hundred pounds, give or take a hundred.”
“Did anyone witness the attack?” she asked, mentally cringing at the possibility.
“No, but there were telltale signs. Can you identify the victim for us?”
“It must be William
“Is this Sophie Summerfield?” Summerfield. Good. He wasn’t calling for Sophie Rose, and he had a friendly voice.
“Yes.”
“My name is Joe Rooney and I’m a police officer here at Prud-hoe Bay. You know where that is?”
She knew it was somewhere in Alaska, but she didn’t know which part. Fortunately, she didn’t have to admit it.
“We’re in Alaska, way up at the tip.”
“Must be cold” was all she could think to say.
“Yes. It’s already chilly here,” he replied. “Unusually so, this early in the season. The reason I’ve called …”
His hesitation made her all the more curious. “Yes?”
“We found your card. Your business card. It’s the only identification, so I thought I’d call and ask if you knew the man we found.”
“He can’t tell you who he is?”
“No, he can’t say anything, ma’am. No easy way to tell you. He’s dead. We found your card inside his red sock.”
It couldn’t be, could it? Sophie needed to sit. “Did you say a red sock?”
“Yes, it is,” he answered, sounding relieved.
Harrington. Oh my God. William Harrington. She remembered he had taken her card and tucked it in his sock. He’d shoved it way down to his ankle and then pulled the sock halfway to his knee. Who else could it be? But it didn’t make sense. Prudhoe Bay? What would William be doing in Prudhoe Bay? He was in Europe.
“I’m sorry to be calling with such terrible news,” Rooney said.
Sophie needed to be sure before she gave the caller William Harrington’s name. “Tell me what he looks like.”
A long sigh came through the phone. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am.”
“Why not?”
“The problem is … we only found a piece of him. We found a foot and part of his leg.”
“A leg and a foot?” She couldn’t take in what he was telling her.
“A foot and
art
of a leg, not all of it,” he said. “It was his right foot. Would that help you identify him for us?”
“Are you saying … my God … how did he die? And where’s the rest of him?”
Another sigh came through the phone. “No easy way to say this,” Rooney said. A slight hesitation and then he blurted, “We’ve got polar bears up here.”
“Oh my …”
“A polar bear did him in.”
JOURNAL ENTRY 187
CHICAGO
It’s great to be back in Chicago. We spent eight months together in Alaska, survived a bitter winter cooped up in our housing, and I accumulated enough data on the behavior of my coworkers to begin my paper.
The pecking order in our little family shifted over the course of our stay. Brandon could not handle disagreement of any kind, and Kirk became passive in every argument. Eric and I became the alphas, though admittedly Eric is too busy to lead anyone.
The foundation was impressed with our reports and has agreed to fund another two years. In three months we will head back north.
Eric is spending his time off in his lab. I brought with me a few early blood samples from each member of the pack—all but Lucy and her pups, that is—so I’ve also taken time in the lab to see if I can isolate the hormone Eric found in Ricky’s blood. So far I’ve come up with some amazing and startling conclusions. I will have to wait until I return north to show Eric my discovery. I’m anxious to hear what he has to say.
H
OLY CRAP!
A foot and part of a leg were all that was left? Could it be William Harrington? Her business card had been tucked in his sock, his
red
sock. It had to be him.
Sophie’s mind raced. She was so rattled by what she was hearing, she couldn’t think of a single question to ask.
Rooney broke the silence. “It was a male.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The polar bear was male,” he explained. “Had to weigh in around twelve hundred pounds, give or take a hundred.”
“Did anyone witness the attack?” she asked, mentally cringing at the possibility.
“No, but there were telltale signs. Can you identify the victim for us?”
“It must be William
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