Chapter 11

Flynn wasn’t sure where she’d gone off the tracks and lost control of her heart, but she was in big trouble. Axel stood in the moose-burger line, his dark-blond hair curling out of a baseball hat set backwards on his head, his hands in his faded jeans pockets, wearing a blue flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up over his powerful forearms, smiling in greeting at locals, just a casual hero hanging out . . . Yeah, she needed to run, run away, as soon as she could if she ever had a hope of returning to her life in Minnesota.

Except, what life? Tracking the river monsters, residing in the darkness? She’d sort of gotten used to all this light, the sun pouring over the mountains, glistening on the river, the fresh piney air . . . All of Alaska felt awake and alive and . . .

Maybe Kennedy had brought her here, but staying had suddenly become about . . . living. In fact, it felt sort of like she’d forgotten how to be a detective.

But maybe there wasn’t a trail. Maybe Kennedy was gone.

And maybe it was time to let her go.

“Hey, Flynn.” Peyton walked up holding a piece of beef jerky. “I didn’t know you were still here.” She wore a fleece, a pair of jeans, her dark hair pulled back. Her fiancé, Nash, walked behind her, holding a couple of frothy beers. He also wore the uniform of Alaska—a gimme hat, flannel shirt, jeans, boots. Dark hair, a hint of whiskers.

Alaskan men. No wonder they landed on calendars.

“Yeah. I—” She glanced at Axel, now standing by the cashier. “I like it here.”

“I’ll bet.” Peyton winked. “You look like you’re getting around better.”

“Knee’s back to normal, almost.”

“Good. Any luck with that report Hank gave you?”

“It’s not very long—I thought there’d be more repeat hikers.”

“Our repeaters are locals, usually.”

That didn’t fit with her profile, but she just nodded. “I compared the list to Deke’s list of RV regulars. Just a couple crossed over, but most of them have social media posts that put them in the lower forty-eight at the time of the most recent, um, incident.”

“Sorry.”

“There’s got to be another clue to Kennedy’s disappearance out there . . .”

Axel had paid and, carrying two burgers wrapped in paper, headed over to her.

“So, you’re going to stick around until you find it?” Peyton glanced again at Axel, grinning.

Or maybe she’d stick around for other reasons.

What—no. Oh?—

“Hey, Peyton,” Axel said as he came up. “Nash.”

“Lug.”

Axel grinned and handed the burger to Flynn. “How’s gold mining?”

“Busy. We found a new lode and are opening operations, but Dad’s trying to get some financing for it, so he’s meeting with investors today.” He took a drink of the beer. “Going to throw today?”

She looked at Axel. “Throw?”

“Axel here is a champion axe thrower. At least in Copper Mountain.”

Axel held up his hand. “I won a couple years in a row.”

“Four. Four years. He was only unseated because he went away to be a Coast Guard hero.” Nash singsonged the last word.

Axel rolled his eyes.

“The Remington brothers are in it, so . . . you know. You might have a rep to defend.”

“I don’t need to defend my rep. I’ll always own those four plaques in the VFW.”

“I knew you still cared.” Nash grinned. “See you at the pit.” He put his arm around Peyton’s shoulder and steered her away.

“Axe throwing?” Flynn said.

“Hey, it’s a thing,” he said as he unwrapped his burger. He smiled at her, but it seemed reserved. Something had shifted between them over the past two days since he’d come off the mountain.

Maybe she could blame the hug she’d given him—clearly a little desperate—and maybe that’s when her heart had left the station, because all she could think was she’d nearly lost him on the mountain and . . .

And wow, she’d only known him for three, now five, days and she’d practically unraveled. So, yeah, maybe they should both just cool off these flames.

She unwrapped her burger and bit into it. Tangy, with sauce and pickles and lettuce—”This is delicious.”

“It’s actually part moose, part hamburger—the tourists wouldn’t love full-on moose. Too gamey. But this sells.”

Booths lined either side of Main Street, most of them local artists hawking their wares, everything from knitted goods, dream catchers, polished rocks, oil paintings, and wood carvings to canned jams, wild honey, relishes, fresh-baked nut breads, and monster cookies. A country band played an Oaken Fox cover from a stage set up beside Northstar Pizza, the music drifting into the street. Tourists walked with their leashed dogs, children eating cotton candy and standing in line for pony rides around the block.

Sale signs hung from Denali Sports and Bowie Mountain Gear, as well as the Last Frontier, and even Gigi’s, a cabin turned grocery store, had a sale on their homemade granola bars.

A crowd in front of Bowie Mountain Gear watched a demonstration of a beautiful Bernadoodle as he hunted for the KONG that his handler hid. The handler, a man in his early thirties, maybe, dressed in a pair of green canvas pants and a black T-shirt emblazoned with a logo of some sort, handed the black KONG to a girl, maybe ten, and asked her to hide it.

She found a place behind a flowerpot of geraniums.

The handler let the dog loose—he found it in less than a minute.

“And imagine now that the KONG is a person buried under two feet of snow. Orlando is trained to find you.”

Clapping. Next to her Axel stilled. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

As the crowd dispersed, he finished off his burger and walked over to the man, crumpling his wrapper and throwing it in the trash. “Jericho Bowie. I can’t believe it.” He held out his hand.

Jericho wore his brown hair clipped close to his head, had a military build, a sort of self-possessed aura about him.

Flynn followed Axel, also finishing her burger, trying to remember why that name sounded familiar. Clearly a Bowie . . . Wait. The other brother, gone for years.

And now back . . .

But that didn’t fit the profile either.

Jericho met Axel’s hand but clearly struggled to place the name. “Moose?”

“Close. Axel.”

“Right. Lugnut?”

Axel laughed. “What are you doing here?”

“Back to see the bros. Hud roped me into doing a demonstration.” His shirt emblem read Highland K-9.

Axel noticed it. “What’s Highland K-9?”

“It’s a K-9 SAR school in Montana. We’re located right outside Glacier National Park, and we train dogs to track the lost and missing. Orlando here is a former avalanche SAR dog. I’m going to take him into the park for a few days and do some training.”

“You should talk to Moose. He started an SAR team—Air One Rescue.”

“Right. I heard about that from Hud. Dodge runs a chopper for Air One?”

“Yeah.”

Jericho had dropped his hand to Orlando’s head, glanced at Flynn. “You have the look.”

“What look?”

“You can pet him.” He looked at Orlando. “Down.”

Orlando lay down and Flynn crouched in front of him. “Hey there, Orlando.” She put her hand on his paw, and he raised his eyebrows but didn’t move.

“I heard about the accident on the mountain a couple days ago. You okay?”

She looked up to watch Axel’s response. He’d said little about the accident even when she’d asked, although he’d slept in yesterday and had spent the day at home, icing his shoulder. He still moved as if he ached. Maybe she just didn’t want to know.

Except, the three hours from radio silence to the chopper’s touchdown at Sky King Ranch had taken everything out of her.

She could hardly breathe with his answer.

“I’m great. You know—living the dream.”

Jericho laughed. “Right. I remember you. Weren’t you the one who went cliff-jumping into the Jubilee River?”

Axel gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Yep. Great to see you, man.”

Flynn stood up, eyed Axel. There went that hooded look again.

He glanced at her as they walked away. “Really, I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine. I . . . You want to tell me what happened up there?”

“Not really.”

Oh.

He slid his hand into hers, however, held it, and the strength of it seemed to fill her veins. Yes, something had definitely shifted between them.

They stopped at booths, looking at paintings and photographs, and he pointed out a couple landmarks. “That’s the real Moose Tooth,” he said of a picture of a jutting granite peak. They sampled honey and some homemade granola from Gigi’s, and never once did he release her hand.

They stopped by the booth outside the gift shop, and she found more jade necklaces like the one she wore, the one Axel had given her—the sparrow. And other shapes—turtles and hearts and teardrops and an eternity symbol. She picked up the artist’s card. “It’s from a local art colony,” said the vendor when she inquired.

She stopped at a place that made soaps and got a lotion sample. “What is this smell?” A woman in tie-dye and dreadlocks handed her an ingredients card. “Cedar and pine, with a little lavender. All natural.”

She rubbed her hands with it, then put it on her neck. Axel leaned in. “I like it.”

It felt so much like a date, so much like she’d shed a part of herself. The day soaked into her, turning her warm and sunbaked.

They ended up at the end of the street, in the gravel lot of the Midnight Sun Saloon, where the smell of barbecue could make her barter her future for a basket of tangy ribs or salty fries.

“You’ll love the fries. They’re battered.” He ordered a basket from a hearty blonde woman.

“Thanks, Vic,” he said and took a number for the fries. He pulled Flynn away, toward a picnic bench. He sat, straddling the bench, one arm on the table.

She sat next to him, facing the lot, her gaze on the crowd. Habit, really.

“Vic used to be a cop somewhere in the lower forty-eight. Found her way here and never went back.”

“Sounds mysterious.”

“Maybe she was just looking for a new life.”

She looked over at him, and his blue eyes landed on hers.

Oh.

“I—” She turned to face him, putting her leg over the bench. Took his hand. “Listen, I might have gotten a little worried, and I know that I sort of?—”

“Threw yourself into my arms?” He quirked an eyebrow, added a hint of a smile.

“I panicked.”

His smile fell as he looked away toward the mountain. “Me too.”

Huh?

He grimaced. “After I got in the chopper, I had . . . maybe a little smidgen of a panic attack. Or started to. Whatever.”

Oh. “You okay?”

“Yeah, but . . . aw, shoot. Okay, it wasn’t the first time. In fact, I had to leave the Coast Guard because of them.” He made to let go of her hand, but she tightened her grip.

“It’s okay, Axel. I get it?—”

“No, actually, you don’t. See, it was really bad after the . . . incident in the Gulf of Alaska. And I couldn’t get it out of my head, and I couldn’t sleep. It’s mandatory to have a psych eval after rescues that go south like that, but I . . . I didn’t pass. What kind of born hero doesn’t pass a psych eval?”

Oh, Axel.

“Anyway, they recommended time off and . . . I got angry. So I quit.”

“I see.”

“Not my best move, but Moose gave me a chance, and I have it under control.”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly.” He sighed. “But it’s always there, the sense that it could happen again and I’d be in over my head and . . . let’s just say out at sea, without a way home.”

“You could call for help.” She meant it as sweet, but he frowned. Swallowed.

“I could. I . . . keep thinking about that, actually.”

“Our ham-radio conversation?”

“Yes—sort of.” He met her eyes and took her other hand. “I want more than just right now, Flynn. Something Moose said to me won’t leave me. He says that I keep reaching for happy moments when instead I need joy.” His thumb ran over her hand, and he looked at it. “I guess I don’t know what joy feels like. But I’d like to.” He glanced around, nodded at a local.

Turned back to her. “Everyone calls me a hero. But really, inside I’m just that guy in the river, frantic to find my cousin. Searching, I guess.”

She didn’t know why his words sat in her chest, filled her throat, burned her eyes. Shoot. What was her problem that this guy could so easily unravel her?

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you all that. I think our fries are up.” He made to stand up, but she tugged him back.

“I get that. I came out here searching for . . . well, my sister was the reason, but maybe I was looking for something more. Maybe to let go. To find peace.” She offered a smile but looked away, blinking hard.

He reached out, touched her wet cheek, brushed the moisture away. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“For scaring you.”

She looked at him. “Shoot.”

“What?”

“I told you not to make me fall for you. Now . . . I’m a mess. How do you expect me to go back to Minnesota?—”

“Maybe you should stay.”

The words fell between them.

He wasn’t kidding.

Oh. Oh.

His gaze landed on hers, and a smile slid up his face, sweet like honey, and it warmed her to her bones, her cells, her very core. She leaned forward, the man nearly hypnotic with his power to?—

“Axel. Seriously, your name isn’t on the list. What’s going on?”

She jerked away and looked up to the voice. The man had dark hair, no baseball cap, a chamois shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and jeans. Axel stood up, reached out his hand. “Mr. Remington.”

“It’s Ox, Axel. Every time, —we play this game.” He clamped a hand on his shoulder.

Flynn stood up.

Ox Remington. Handsome man. She tried to remember what Axel had said about him—miner, although he seemed pretty slicked up to be a gold miner.

He turned to her then and seemed to frown. “Have we met?”

“No, I don’t think so. Flynn Turnquist.”

“Flynn. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand.

Her gaze fell on a tattoo on his arm, and her heart hiccupped, even as she shook his hand.

A wolf’s head.

“Flynn is from Minnesota,” Axel said.

“Just visiting?” Ox said and she tore her gaze away, met his eyes.

She nodded.

“Right in time for the fireworks.” He winked at Axel.

Axel laughed.

“Listen. I remember you throwing as a kid. Jude’s competing. I thought you’d want to get your name back up on the wall in the VFW.”

“Not today, Ox. But thanks.”

The man made to walk away, but she couldn’t stop herself. “That’s an . . . unusual tattoo.”

Ox lifted his arm. “Stupid impulse as an eighteen-year-old. You’d think I would have thought ahead fifty years to sixty-eight-year-old me. But no. Used to play for the Silver City Wolverines. We won the state championship, and we all got tats. Or some of us. Not my smartest move.” He looked at Axel before walking away.

“What’s going on?”

“That tat,” she said quietly. “That was in my sister’s journal.”

Axel stared at her.

“C’mon,” she said. “Let’s get our fries and follow him.”

“Follow . . . What?”

She looked at him and grinned. “Ever been on a stakeout?”

* * *

Maybe he should have done a little axe throwing. It might have helped Axel feel less like he was walking around naked, his heart on the outside of his body.

What had he been thinking? Inside, I’m just that guy in the river, frantic to find my cousin. Searching, I guess.

Could he be any more of a pansy?

No wonder Flynn hadn’t answered him when he’d suggested—he could hardly believe the words had come out of his mouth. But she had just sat there listening, those beautiful green eyes fixed on his, holding his hand and . . .

Aw, what an idiot. She’d been here less than a full week, five days since he’d met her, and already he’d thrown out his heart to her, asked her to stay . . .

Even he’d be running.

Except she hadn’t run, just . . . not answered. But she had gripped his hand and dragged him along with her as she followed Ox Remington around the festival.

They’d started at the axe-throwing contest, and Axel had watched Jude win, glad-handed him afterward, then caught up to Flynn, who’d stood looking at some mittens while she watched Ox stop at the real estate office in town and stare at a few postings in the window.

“What’s he doing?” he’d said into her ear, and she’d nearly jumped through her skin.

“I don’t know. Looking at land?”

Then he’d left and they’d looked at land too while Ox went into Ace’s Hardware.

He’d come out with Ace, and they’d headed down the street, toward the music.

“You do know that my dad will recognize me and wonder what I’m doing skulking around town,” he’d said as they’d wandered toward the tent. Flynn had stopped at a pottery vendor and picked up a bowl. Brown with swirls of turquoise and gold. A Bible verse was printed on the rim—Proverbs 3:5 and 6, about trusting God.

The woman in the tent had stood up. “There’s a fish symbol on the bottom. It’s my signature.” She had dark hair, and a baby lay in a sling fitted to her.

“You’re the potter?” asked Axel.

“Yes. We’re traveling the country this summer, attending festivals,” she said. She wore a printed skirt, a turquoise necklace. Had a bit of a free spirit about her. “Also held a workshop at a nearby art colony.”

A man in the booth had packaged up an order and handed it to a customer, along with a card.

“Do you attend every year?” Flynn had asked as she put down the bowl.

“This is our first year,” the man had said. He’d handed her a card, and she’d tucked it into her pocket.

His dad and Ox had taken seats at a picnic table in the beer garden, so Flynn had edged over to the music festival, buying popcorn from a popcorn cart.

“Hungry?”

“It’s a prop. Stand right there.”

So now he stood, eating popcorn, his back to the beer tent, watching the band, acting like nope, nothing to see here.

“This is a stakeout? It feels like stalking. Except with a lot of food.”

“Mm-Mmmhmm,” she said as she held a piece of popcorn, her body angled toward the band, her gaze on Ox in the nearby beer tent. “Who’s he sitting with?”

He looked over his shoulder.

“Don’t turn around!”

“You asked me who he was with. What—I can’t see behind me.”

“Fine.” She tossed the popcorn into the trash, then grabbed his hand and pulled him over to a cleared area where a few people were dancing. Put her arms around his neck. “Now you can look.”

He wanted to look nowhere but at her, the feel of her body warm against him stirring up everything he’d been trying to tamp down over the past two days.

Frankly, her hug—the desperate nature of it—had shaken him to his core. Mostly because he’d needed it. More than he wanted to admit, even hours later.

He was falling for this girl, and . . . despite his teasing about her staying, having a little faith, suddenly it felt way too . . . well, maybe the thought of her walking away had him by the throat, just a little.

So maybe he wasn’t exactly teasing.

In fact, he wanted nothing more than to put his arms around her, pull her tight, twirl her right off this swath of dirt, maybe over to the wan shadows between the beer tent and the ranger’s office, and resume their conversation.

Searching, I guess. Searching for you, Flynn.

Oh boy.Instead, he unlatched her arms, moved her hand onto his shoulder, his around her waist, so he could move her around.

“You know how to two-step?”

“Not even a little.”

“Okay.” He swayed with her, then turned her and peered into the tent. “Okay, sitting with my dad are Ox Remington, Barry Kingston—you know him?—”

“The other guy?”

“That’s Wilson Bowie.”

“That’s right. I knew I’d see him before.” She sighed.

He looked down at her. “What?”

“Maybe this all just . . . maybe I need to accept the fact that Kennedy is gone and stop seeing clues where there aren’t any.”

“What clue did you see?”

“None, just that wolf tattoo on Ox’s arm. And Wilson Bowie, a seasonal fisherman, and then there’s Peyton’s dad, who shows up every summer but isn’t a hunter. And if you want to go wild, Sully, who tromps around in the woods and knew my sister and maybe isn’t telling us the truth. And . . . I don’t know, Axel. I’m so far out of my element here . . .”

She looked up at him. “And there’s you.”

“I’m a suspect?”

She smiled. “No. But you are . . . I . . .” She pushed away from him and walked away from the dance floor, down the street, and—w—here was she going?

He caught up to her, grabbed her hand, then tugged her over to exactly where he’d been eyeing and dodging—the space between the tent and the ranger’s station, a nice, secluded space that meant trouble, probably.

But, “What was that about?”

“That’s about the fact that, yes, I want to stay here. That being here is . . . magical. And perfect, and I can see why Kennedy stayed and . . .” She shook her head. “But this isn’t real life. This isn’t my life. Even if . . .” She closed her eyes.

He had leaned against the building and now pulled her closer, his hands on her waist. “Even if?—”

She opened her eyes, and they looked almost tortured. “I’d like to stay.”

A beat. And he saw the word in her expression. “But.”

“But I . . . I am too curious for my own good. And your own good. Because that usually gets people I love hurt.”

He frowned. She put her hands on his chest. “My sister had a reason to run from . . . well, me, and Minnesota and . . .” She swallowed. “I caused her trauma. I caused her drug abuse. And maybe I even caused her death.”

He had nothing.

“That woman I discovered in the alley when I was a kid—she wasn’t the first victim. There’d been rumors of another girl who went missing in our neighborhood, and I got it in my head that maybe I could find the killer. So I started to sit in my dad’s car at night and watch the neighborhood. I’d pack sandwiches and pretend I was, you know, some cool female detective, like Veronica Mars.”

“Did you find the killer?”

“He found me. Sort of. He found my sister. Maybe he knew I was there—I don’t know. But she knew what I was doing, and it drove her crazy with worry, so she’d come out and sit in the car with me and . . . one night she left to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back. So I got worried. And then I heard screaming, and then . . . He’d grabbed her, dragged her back into the alleyway behind our house.”

“Oh my?—”

“I called 911 and then picked up a tire iron and tried to stop him, and I was thirteen and he was in his thirties, and both Kennedy and I were hurt. But we weren’t taken or raped or killed, and when the cops showed up, they caught him.”

He wanted to shake away the images flashing through his head.

“So you see, her trauma, her drug use, her . . . everything. That’s on me. And you’d think I’d learn, but I . . . I can’t stop. I was made to hunt . . . river monsters, I guess. And in the end, the people with me get hurt. That’s why I don’t have a partner.”

He touched her face. “You do now.”

“You said that in the hospital.”

“I meant it in the hospital. And I mean it now.”

“Yeah, but . . . Axel . . .”

And shoot, here he was, at it again, but, “I said I was searching. But maybe you are too.”

“Searching for what?” she said softly.

His gaze roamed her face, landed on her beautiful green eyes, widened. “For something that makes it all worth it.” Then he lowered his mouth to hers.

She slid her arms up around his neck, her mouth opening, sweetly surrendering to his, and it only stoked a sudden and urgent fire inside him.

The kind of fire that woke from a place deeper than his body, from his heart.

Even, his soul.

Searching, yes, for happiness. For a partner. For someone he could rescue, over and over, and who might let him.

So she got into trouble. He’d be okay getting her out of it, no matter what it cost him, as long as it meant holding on to her.

He tucked her in close to him, angled his head, and heard her emit a tiny sigh. Oh, wow. A rumble shuddered through him, and he caught his fingers in her silky auburn hair, wanted to wrap himself around her as the twilight settled over them. With the music serenading them, the scents of the festival, and then?—

Fireworks. A thousand sprinkles of exploding light arching above them.

She leaned away and looked up. Gave a laugh.

“Right?”

“Oh wow, Axel.” She turned back to him, her eyes on his mouth. “I’ve never . . . I don’t normally . . . You are a good kisser.”

He laughed. “I haven’t had a ton of practice. You just bring out the best in me.”

She met his gaze then. “Really?”

Oh. But, “I think so. You see me, and it’s okay.” He swallowed, because it was more of a question, too.

“It is, Phoenix. It is.” She leaned close, brushed her lips against his, and his arms tightened around her as the fireworks burst overhead.

Barking jerked him back. He hit his head on the building.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Jericho came tromping into the space, scooping up Orlando’s lead. The dog sat, barking, then panting, as if smiling. “C’mon, buddy. This is not your show.”

Jericho held up a hand again. “Don’t know what his problem is—just took off on me, running after you.”

“Did you get him?”

The voice came from behind him, and Axel rolled his eyes as Sully appeared. “Oh. Hey. Oh. Wow.” Sully pointed at Axel. “I get it now.” He nodded, then followed Jericho away.

But Flynn pushed away and followed Jericho and Sully out onto the street. “Jericho.”

He turned, Orlando in hand. The dog sat and whined.

“Why did your dog run after me?”

“I don’t know. I was talking with Sully and he was petting him, and suddenly, he just acted like he scented something. I don’t know . . .”

Sully was frowning too. Then, “Oh, wait.” He knelt and held out a bandanna tied around his wrist. “This was Kennedy’s. She wore it in her hair and sometimes around her neck. Maybe he picked up your smell.”

“That’s a Hail Mary there,” Jericho said.

Sully brought the bandanna to his nose. “Nope, it’s hers. Seeing Flynn sort of . . . I don’t know, made me miss her. So I got out her box of stuff and found this. Been wearing it ever since. Cedar and pine. She got the soap from town, I think. But it was homemade.”

“There’s a booth in town selling soap,” Flynn said. She knelt in front of Orlando. “Good dog.” She looked at Jericho.

“Go ahead.”

She petted Orlando, rubbing him behind his ears. He groaned with it. Yeah, Axel knew how he felt. Jerk.

“We’re getting pizza—wanna join us?” Sully said. He was looking at Flynn, a sadness in his gaze.

“Yeah.” Flynn stood up.

“You’re hungry?” Axel asked.

She smiled and took his hand. “You can eat. Admit it.”

Fine.He followed Sully and Jericho to the pizza place and sat down, Orlando lying at Jericho’s feet.

Sully played with the bandanna around his wrist, looking at Flynn, something in his eyes. Any thought that maybe he might be a suspect seemed crazy, given the expression he wore. Sorrow, grief. Helplessness.

Axel got that. Because as Flynn sat there, smiling, her russet hair tossed by the wind, her hand trailing down to Orlando’s fur, he knew . . .

If Flynn went missing, he’d follow her. And he’d find her, no matter what it took.

Levi came out to their table. “Can I get you guys something?” He wore a Northstar Pizza shirt, a pair of jeans.

“You waiting tables today?” Sully asked.

“Yeah. We’re busy, and we’re short. Parker didn’t show up for work.”

Huh. “A small pepperoni for us.” He looked at Flynn to confirm.

She nodded.

Us.He reached across the table and took her hand and didn’t care what anyone thought.

Sully and Jericho ordered, and Levi promised drinks and left them.

Axel turned to Sully. “So, I saw your uncle in town. I thought your fishing trip was over.”

“It was—he left but came back with Jer, here.”

“Uncle Wilson is a big contributor to the K-9 school. We use his ranchland for some of our training activities.”

“He lives in Montana?” Flynn asked.

Jericho nodded as Levi showed up with the drinks, put them on the table. Levi’s phone rang, and he pulled it out as he walked away. Axel unsheathed his straw as Flynn turned to Jericho.

“Where in Montana?”

“Near Silver City, north of Helena. It’s where my dad grew up.”

She looked at Axel, back to Jericho. “The Silver City Wolverines?”

Axel stared at her, and heaven help him, he was even starting to think like her. “Did he play football?”

“Absolutely. His team won the state championship when he was a senior. Dad was a sophomore. We heard the story so many times—they had three overtimes, and the entire town came to watch them play in Bozeman. They all got tattoos afterward—except Dad. He wasn’t old enough. But Uncle Wilson has one.”

“A wolf,” said Flynn.

“He’s not the only one,” Jericho said. “Remember Idaho? He had one too.”

“You do know he was arrested, right? He’s in jail.”

Jericho frowned. “No, he’s not. I saw him maybe a month ago. At Uncle Wilson’s place.”

Sully’s eyebrows rose. “He’s free?”

“Not allowed back in Alaska, but you know Idaho.”

Sully shook his head. “I never liked him. He hunted on Remington land illegally. And took others there too. Came by the house once when I wasn’t there. Kennedy said that he and one of his hunters came in and took food. She was shaken up.” He took a sip of his soda. “I ever see him again, I’ll run him out of Alaska myself.”

Flynn took all of that in without a word. Now stared past him, toward the tent.

Axel leaned forward. “Are we going on stakeout again?”

She gave a half smile and pulled out her phone. “Stand by for further instructions.”

He laughed. But his smile dimmed as Levi came up to the table. He held a pizza and set it on the table but something . . . he almost looked stricken. “You okay, Levi?”

Levi stared at Axel for a beat, then drew in a breath. Shook his head. “Not sure. I just got word from Deke that Parker’s car was found on the highway, near the Bowie road.”

Axel looked at Flynn and saw the horror written on her face even as she said it, soft, a realization that struck him cold. “He’s back. The Midnight Sun Killer . . . he’s back.”

* * *

“He’s a fighter; that’s for sure.” Moose stood next to the plastic bassinet, cradling little Chase Kingston, with his brown eyes and dark tufts of hair, cooing up at him, and wow, he might even tear up. “Sheesh, he’s cute.”

“Just like his dad,” Dodge said, standing near Echo, but close enough to catch his son if Moose should drop the ball there.

Not likely.

Moose had enough regrets.

“You doin’ okay, Echo?” He glanced up at her. She looked whipped, pale and fading into the pillows and blankets, her eyes bloodshot. An IV of morphine and fluids ran into her veins, and an oxygen cannula boosted her stats.

Moose had heard the story from Dodge—the emergency C-section that’d nearly happened in the hallway, and how Dodge might have lost both of them if Effie hadn’t once been chief of OB here at Alaska Regional.

As it was, Echo had had a brutal C-section, barely going under before they cut Chase out, and even then, the kid had been in pediatric ICU for the last twelve hours.

But he seemed fine now, robust and crying. “Is he . . .”

“Probably. Echo fed him about twenty minutes ago.”

“Back to Dad you go, big guy,” Moose said and handed him into Dodge’s arms.

Moose walked over to the window, staring out. The night had started to flood into the valley, shadows hovering like a haze over the city. He sighed.

“You all right, Moose? I sort of thought you’d be heading back to Copper Mountain by now.”

“I had some things to take care of.”

Things like trying—vainly—to wheedle Tillie’s address out of the diner’s day manager, who’d been less menacing than the night cook but just as unhelpful. He’d left feeling like some kind of stalker.

He’d even called Dawson, asking the Anchorage police detective for help. But what was family for? He pulled out his phone. Shoot. Still nothing.

Pocketing it, he turned to Dodge, who was just finishing changing Chase. The little guy’s arms and legs sprang out, and he wiggled, squeaking, then mewing in protest.

“I don’t blame you, kiddo. It’s cold without pants.”

Dodge finished reswaddling him, then tucked him against himself, rocking his son.

Okay, maybe Moose should loosen his hold on bachelorhood. He wouldn’t mind having a kid. Although babies seemed like a lot of work.

“Family heading this way?” he asked Dodge.

“I think Colt and Tae might be coming up from Florida. Ranger and Noemi are in Minneapolis, so I don’t know. Oh, when you get back, can you check in on my dad? He’s pretty capable, but his eyesight isn’t super.”

“Absolutely. Do you want me to fly the Otter up or take my truck?”

Dodge glanced at Echo.

“We’ll drive, thank you,” she said. “I’m done with airplanes for a while.”

“What? I’m a fabulous pilot.”

“I think it was more about the entire experience,” Dodge said, glancing down at Echo. “Something about trying not to give birth in a plane.”

“I hear that’s overrated.”

“And messy—trust me on that,” Dodge said.

Moose held up a hand. “I believe you. All right. I’ll leave the keys at the Tooth. You can drive my truck up when you get discharged . . .”

“In about a week, if I have my way,” said a voice behind him. He turned and Dr. Effie Yazzie came in, wearing a white lab coat, her hair back, looking every inch the awarded doctor. “Thanks, Moose,” she said, her hand on his arm. “You kept it cool and you got us here safely. And by the way”—she looked at Dodge—“Charlie went over yesterday and brought your dad to the festival last night. I think he’s staying over at the ranch to keep him company.”

“I’ll handle the hauls off Denali until you get back,” Moose said. “My plane is parked at the Copper Mountain airport.”

“The Sky King Ranch chopper is at your disposal,” Dodge said.

“Thanks.” Moose’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out. Finally. “I gotta get this. I’ll see you guys.”

He stepped out into the hall. “Daws? Please tell me there are no bodies in the morgue that look like Tillie.”

“Rose tattoo on her neck, right?”

He was standing in the hallway, and Daws’s question made him put a hand on the wall. “What? Yeah?—”

“No bodies.”

“What is wrong with you?” He bent over, his stomach nearly heaving. “Sheesh?—”

“Sorry. I just needed to confirm. We have a body—about that age, height, weight, but no rose tattoo.”

He sank down into the seats. “Okay. Okay. So, is she in the database?”

“You didn’t give me a lot to go on. Good thing Tillie isn’t a common name. We have a couple Tillies in the system—both of them in their fifties. A Mattie, which is another form of Mathilda, but she’s in her early twenties. And of course, these are women with criminal records, so . . . Too bad you didn’t get a plate on that car. I checked, but there are so many listings for a Ford Focus, especially older than ten years. So, sorry, cous’.”

“That’s okay. Keep an eye out, okay?”

“For . . . dead bodies with a rose tattoo?”

He sighed. “You need to work on your delivery.”

“I’m a cop, not a nurse. Invite me to dinner sometime—I’ll beat you in pool.” He hung up.

Moose blew out a breath. Wanted to hit something.

Where are you, Tillie?

He’d spent most of last night trying not to let what-ifs tear through his brain, but hello, there was a serial killer out there.

Maybe.

Probably.

Which meant Aven had also stepped into his head and walked around, and he’d finally gotten up early this morning for a workout at the Tooth. And then a fruitless visit to the Skyport.

She hadn’t picked up his note, still sitting by the cash register. The whole story, especially the part where she left in the middle of her shift, still sat in his gut, churned.

His phone buzzed in his hand. Axel. He swiped open the call. “Hey. How are you?”

“Where are you?”

“Anchorage.” Something about his tone . . .

“How soon can you get here?”

“Uh, in the Otter, maybe thirty minutes?”

“Bring the new drone. And hurry.”

Now Axel’s tone had him by the throat. “Why?”

“Parker Billings is missing. Has been for twelve hours. And we think she’s been taken by the serial killer. Which means our window is closing.”

“On my way.” He hung up, turned, paused, then headed into the hospital room. Because if he were Dodge, he’d want to know that a local girl, and daughter of a friend, was missing.

He was right. Dodge stared at him, at Echo, then, “I’m going with you.”

“Yes, you are,” Echo said and took baby Chase.

“I’ll be in touch.” He kissed Echo and headed out down the hallway.

“You taking the chopper?”

“Yep.” Moose handed Dodge his keys. “Meet you there.”

Because he was going to find Tillie. But first, he was going to find Parker Billings.

Alive.