Chapter 12

Where are you, Parker?

Flynn stood in the tiny conference room of the Copper Mountain sheriff’s office, staring at the crime board that she’d constructed in the wee hours as the sun cast a shadow over Copper Mountain, then rose again, despite clouds tumbling over the jagged purple mountains.

Now, the sunlight was a blade through the one window in the room, a slice of light across the board, dissecting the map as if God might be trying to tell her something.

Thirteen pins on the board. Thirteen faces down the side, with details of most of them. A handful remained unnamed. All of them with dates of when they’d gone missing, when they were found, and their presumed death, along with orange yarn trailing from their faces to the locations where they were found. And on the other side, a profile of the target. Male, possibly married. She’d put him forties or older. He kidnapped them as if the victims knew him, or at least weren’t threatened by him. A hunter, or maybe just an outdoorsman.

And he’d been hurt by a woman, or women, enough to want to hurt one back.

Please, God, save Parker.Maybe Flynn didn’t have faith, but she needed someone to turn to.

“Moose is flying up from Anchorage,” said Shasta Starr, who’d come in to man the radio. She stood at the doorway of the room, and her eyes widened at Flynn’s board. “What is this?”

“These are all the victims of the Midnight Sun Killer. Where they went missing”—she indicated a point on the road connected by yarn to another push pin—“and this is where they were found.”

Shasta came in and stared at the board, her arms folded. “They were all taken by the Bowie camp road, where it connects to the highway.”

“Some of them. We don’t know where a few of these Jane Does were taken.” Flynn pointed to the yellow push pins.

“They’re unidentified?”

“So far. This one was found wearing my sister’s necklace.” She pointed to a picture of a girl, early twenties, with long dark hair.

Shasta stared at her. “Wait—your sister is an MS Killer vic?”

She didn’t love how Shasta said that, but maybe that had more to do with the way she’d flirted with Axel before. Aw, she should let that thought go.

Wait.Shasta was a reporter, right? “What do you know about the victims?”

“Not much, just the local rumors.” Shasta stepped up to the board. “They were all found on the Copper River. Although this one”—she pointed to the most recent victim, found near the resort—“was quite a ways from the others.”

“It’s a panic kill, which can happen if killers get desperate.” Flynn pointed to a list. “Those are the dates of the finds and their supposed dates of death.”

“There’s a five-year gap between the first two and the others.”

“Yes. Or maybe we’re just missing victims.”

Shasta nodded. “All in June or July.”

“Tourist season.”

“Fishing season. Tourists aren’t here until mid-June. Climbers earlier, but they’re here with the purpose of Denali, so . . .”

“Right.” Flynn stepped back from the board. “And given the river location, the killer might know the Copper River.”

“This is Bowie land here.” Shasta palmed the northern section. “But most of the victims were found in Remington land.”

“They could have been dumped in the river and swept downstream.”

“I guess.” Shasta stepped back, scanning the list of faces. “Wait, that’s Aven Mulligan.”

“The second official victim. She was fifteen and also an anomaly. She was swept downriver and found a month after she disappeared, dead by gunshot. .270 Winchester.”

“A deer gun.”

“That’s why we were looking at hunters.”

“It’s an open-range gun,” Shasta said. “It uses a scope and a bolt action, single-shot big-game rifle. For people who sit in a deer stand and wait. My dad has one that belonged to my grandfather. They’re a terrible gun to ward off a bear, so any hunter using that gun out of season is poaching.”

She turned her attention to a picture of Idaho that Flynn had downloaded from the arrest files in the department. “You should be looking at his clients.”

“You’d make a decent detective.”

She glanced at Flynn, grinned. “Investigative reporter.”

“Right.”

“Besides, my family has been in the area since the dawn of time. My brother Deke is the sheriff. And my brother Levi runs the pizza joint.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Five. Goodwin runs Denali Sports, and Winter is a pilot. And there’s me . . . Local investigative reporter, waitress, and front desk for the local sheriff department. And I know things.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that Starr Air ran a lot of flights for Idaho into the bush, and Winter might have a list of his clients.”

“Can you get it?”

“It’s on the family cloud. Which I have the password to.”

“You’re my new favorite person.”

Shasta looked at her, winked. “You’re not bad either, even if you are taking Axel off the market.”

Flynn shrugged. “We’ll see.”

“Really? I saw you guys snoggin’ behind the ranger building. That didn’t look like ‘we’ll see’ to me.”

Flynn’s eyes widened.

“Just saying, everyone in the beer tent was watching.”

Oh. Her face heated. Shasta grinned, then turned back to the map. “By the way, this whole area used to be Bowie land.” She put her hand over the Remington property. “Senator Bowie sold it to Ox when he first came here. I think he needed money for a campaign or something. Ox thought he might mine jade, I think, but then his gold claim hit big, so he focused on those operations.”

“Ox bought it from a Bowie?”

“Their families are connected. Ox’s wife and Wilson’s first wife were sisters.

She used to come up here with him in the spring, when Wilson came for his annual fishing trip.”

“With Sully.”

“Wilson still comes up. Brings his son Dillon with him. And sometimes his grandson, Laramie.”

Laramie.She knew that name. She took a sip of coffee, made a face, then set it down. Cold. Wait. “Laramie was the kid Axel rescued last week. He was on a fishing trip with his father.”

“I’ve seen them in town.”

In the next room, a voice came over the radio. Axel, out with Levi Starr, checking in.

Flynn walked over to the door and listened.

“We’ve checked the river all along the Bowie camp road. Nothing so far. We’re going back to the road. Moose is on his way to Copper Mountain and he’s bringing a drone.”

“Roger,” Shasta said.

“Any word from the other team?”

Sully had left with his brother Jericho, and Orlando to see if the K-9 could pick up the scent. His uncle Wilson had gone with them.

Another search party—Ox along with Peyton and Hank, had taken four-wheelers out into the deer paths and woods.

“No joy,” Shasta said.

“Let me know when Moose arrives.”

“Roger.” She looked at Flynn. “Should I order food from the Midnight Sun?”

“I can’t eat.” She went back to the board. Then she pulled out a topographical and elevation map of the area and spread it over the conference table.

Grabbed a yellow highlighter.

She traced all the roads in from the Bowie camp road, including old fire roads and ranger trails. Then she put the map up over the grid of yarn and ran an orange highlighter over the yarn.

If she had her smart board, she’d be throwing this up on a screen, seeing it all overlaid, but Copper Mountain was old-school.

Still, when she put the map on the wall, over the area, a few of the lines intersected. More than a few.

And most of them on Remington property.

“Shasta?”

The woman came in carrying a hot cup of coffee and set it on the table.

“For me?”

“You’re doing all the big thinking.”

“Yeah, well, I need help. There are ranger trails in Remington land. Why?”

“Those aren’t ranger trails. Those are hunting trails. Senator Bowie used the land for hunting trips for his big donors.” She looked down at the spots. “I’ve been out there—just flown over it—but I think this is an old hunting cabin. It’s on the river. And this . . . this is a hunting bunker.” She pointed to a spot near the Copper River. “I don’t know what this is . . . Oh, wait, this is an old homestead. O’Kelly’s cabin. It was on Axel’s show—the first episode. Where Oaken met Mike.”

She’d seen it. “That’s on Jubilee Lake. The Copper River runs into it.”

“Abandoned, though. That’s probably why they used it for the show.”

Flynn stared at it. She hadn’t thought about a guy like Mike Grizz as a suspect. But he was seasonal and knew how to hunt.

Flynn stood up. “Okay, so the killer snatches a girl off the road. Parker’s car was here. She was on her way to a friend’s house down in Willow. Why would she stop?”

“She wouldn’t. She’s smart—she knows about the MS Killer. Everybody does. It’s a thing . . . Women know not to stop.”

“But she did. So why?” Flynn turned and looked at the board. “She has to know him. Not fear him. Not remotely think that he’s the killer.” She looked at her list. “Who would she know?”

Shasta stood next to her. “Who wouldn’t she know on this list? She practically grew up here. She works at the ranger’s office with her dad, so she knows Sully because he picked up permits. She works at the pizza place, so she knows Levi and sometimes helps out Anuk Swenson at the vet clinic. I mean . . . it’s a really small town.”

“Does she know Ox?”

Shasta frowned. “Ox Remington? Of course. Everybody knows Ox, and he attends their church?—”

“Where is that? I haven’t seen one in town.”

“Most people go to Church on the Rock, just out of town.”

“So, Ox goes to her church.”

“And so do the Bowies. Which means Wilson and his family, when they’re in town, probably. And . . . yeah. She knows everyone.”

“That’s a big help.”

“Sorry. But—” She stepped up to the board and pointed to the picture of the Jane Doe with Kennedy’s necklace. “I can help you with this Jane Doe. I knew her. I think that’s Dori Cooper. But I didn’t even know she was missing.”

“How do you know her?”

“My sister brings supplies to their commune. It’s . . . here.” She tracked a finger north of Bowie land, east of the national forest and cache cabin.

“Wait. There’s a commune here?”

“The art colony. Or maybe a commune. It’s called Woodcrest. It used to be this place for hippies, and then Jesus people, and then, I don’t know. They grow their own food and send crafts out to sell, and homeschool their kids. Nice people, keep to themselves. Don’t like outsiders much—I mean, they’re not going to shoot anyone, but generally, they like to stay off the grid.”

“And Dori was from there?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I’d go along with my dad, and we’d hang out while he delivered supplies or chatted up the elders. I liked her.”

“What was she doing on the highway? That’s, like, thirty miles. More.”

“Maybe she wasn’t on the highway. You don’t have an origin pin for her. But she was found here . . . near O’Kelly’s cabin. If you follow this trail, it leads into the national forest.”

She picked up a blue highlighter and ran it into the forest.

Flynn stood there, mentally placing herself on a mountain. Oh, she was an idiot. From there, it was a short hike to the cabin. “What’s this?” She traced a faint line along the bottom of the property.

“That’s Silver Salmon Drive. It’s a high-end, seasonal residential area. Gated properties. It’s near Willow.”

“Seasonal?”

“Yes.”

“I need a list of every single owner.”

Shasta nodded.

“Why was this not on any map?”

“It’s new . . . like, in the last ten years.”

“Who is the developer?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s find out.” Flynn pulled out her phone and started a search. “Says . . . Oh my gosh. Wolverine Construction.” She put down her phone. “Out of Montana.”

Shasta shrugged. “I don’t understand.”

Flynn walked back to the map. “Who was Parker visiting?”

“Um, I don’t know. Maybe someone from the youth group in Willow? She’s pretty active there.”

Right. “Call Hank, find out.”

The door opened in the front area, and Flynn looked up to see Moose and Dodge walk in. She walked to the door of the office as Shasta went back to her reception desk.

“How are Echo and the baby?” Flynn asked.

“All good now,” Dodge said. “I have a son.”

“Congratulations,” Shasta said.

“What do you need from us?” Moose set his sunglasses on top of his head, backwards.

Flynn motioned them into the office and walked over to the map. “Axel said you have a drone?”

Moose and Dodge followed her in. “I do. And I brought London and Shep and Boo with me. Shep can run the drone, Boo watching the screen, while London and I search by chopper. Dodge will take his plane, do a big sweep of the river.”

“Okay. I really need you guys to focus here, down by Jubilee Lake. The rest of the teams are on the Bowie camp road and searching the Remington property, but I have this feeling . . .”

Shasta came back in. Shook her head. “I talked to Parker’s mom. Sarah said she was visiting Laramie Bowie. She was meeting Calista and Adrienne Roberts, along with a few other kids in the youth group. Apparently, they were going to go swimming. Except she never showed up, so Calista called her folks, and they found her car.”

Flynn stilled. “Right. Laramie Bowie is the grandson of Wilson Bowie.”

“Yes. His father is Dillon,” Moose said. “You met him last week—we rescued his kid.”

She hadn’t exactly met him. She’d been busy untangling herself from Sully. But now she repeated the information Shasta had given her. “So they were here on a fishing trip.”

“They come up every year, even after Wilson’s first wife died.”

“When was that?”

Moose paused, then, “I think she died about twenty years ago. Dillon was about nineteen or twenty at the time. Really sad. Dillon is about ten years older than me, so I never really knew him. I barely recognized him at the rescue. He had to remind me.”

He took the cup of coffee that Shasta offered.

“He was a little lost after his mother died. And then when Wilson got remarried. I think he didn’t get along with his stepmom. I don’t blame him—she cheated on Wilson, and they divorced a couple years later. I remember my folks telling me about it.”

“Wilson got remarried? When was that?”

“Maybe fifteen or sixteen years ago? Dillon was already married. I remember Wilson and Dillon on the camping trip the weekend Aven went missing.”

“How old was Dillon?”

“I don’t know. Midtwenties?”

“And how old was Wilson?”

“I don’t know. He’s early sixties now, so, maybe midforties.”

“Still in the range for a serial killer.”

Shasta made an O with her mouth.

Flynn grimaced, shook her head. “It’s just a hypothesis. But the first death happened fifteen years ago, right after Wilson’s second wife cheated on him, so . . . could be a trigger.”

Silence as they gaped at her. She decided not to mention the wolf tattoo. “Listen, it’s how we sort it out—follow one lead to the next.”

“Wilson is a fixture in this community. He’s been coming up for years, helping his nephews . . .” Dodge said quietly. But his voice trailed off and he looked at Moose. Shook his head.

Moose lifted a shoulder.

“I’m going with you,” she said to Moose. “I need you to take me right to O’Kelly’s cabin on Jubilee Lake. And call Axel—we’ll meet him at the cabin.”

She turned to Shasta. “I think you’re in the wrong profession. They could use your detective skills around here.”

“Or yours.” She smiled.

Huh. Flynn headed outside and got into a truck Moose had borrowed from the airport.

“What are you thinking?” Moose asked.

“First, that Ox Remington is not our killer.”

“I didn’t know he was a person of interest.”

“He’s just lower on the list, but now I’m thinking Wilson Bowie fits our profile. He’s here every year, and he has a home near the Remington land. Women in town know him, and he’s flying under the radar, undetected. It feels close. And he could have intercepted Parker on her way to the party. Jericho and his dog are searching, but I fear that he put her in his car and drove away. And then stashed her in the cabin and drove to the festival.”

Moose looked over at her. “That’s dark.”

“That’s a river monster for you.”

He started up the truck. “I just . . . Wilson?”

“You’d be surprised—serial killers can be very Jekyll and Hyde.”

They pulled into the airport, and she spotted Shep working the controls of a drone. Lifting it, maneuvering it in the air, landing it.

Moose walked over. “You all set?”

“It’s a video game. I got this.” He picked up the drone, about twelve by twelve, maybe a couple pounds by the way he handled it. Four arms came off at angles from the body, on which was attached a camera. “This is a thermal imager,” Shep said, probably picking up Flynn’s silent curiosity. “And Boo will have the iPad with the map. I also have a display on the controller, but she’ll get a better lay of the land. And she can send you coordinates.”

He got into the chopper and held out a hand for Flynn. She sat beside Boo. London and Moose took the front seats.

“I was at O’Kelly’s cabin a couple months ago when I dropped off Oaken,” Moose said. He indicated headphones which hung from a hook near Flynn’s seat. She put them on.

Shep closed the door and strapped in.

The chopper shuddered, then wrenched itself into the air. The headphones blunted the whir of the chopper blades, and maybe Flynn shouldn’t have drunk so much coffee, because her stomach swayed with the movements of the bird.

But then again, she always felt a little woozy before venturing into the darkness. And it made her think of Axel.

“You see me, and it’s okay.”

Yes, and he saw her. And it was okay.

And maybe that’s how love was supposed to be. Reaching into darkness, trusting that he’d hold her hand on the other side.

Maybe, in fact, that was faith.

Oh, she was going to be sick. She opened her eyes. “I need a bag.”

Shep’s eyes widened.

“We’re nearly there,” Moose said.

She swallowed. Oh boy.

“I see the cabin,” said Moose. “I’m setting down in the yard.”

He used some superior pilot skills and set them down softly.

Shep opened the door, and Flynn nearly rolled out. Ran toward the woods.

By the time she’d emptied her stomach, Shep and Moose were inside the cabin and back out.

She turned, walked toward them, and if she’d had any more, she would’ve lost it again. They held the cut remains of zip-cuffs.

Cut, not ripped.

She took the ends and swallowed. Looked into the tangled dark woods behind the cabin and turned to Shep.

“Get that drone in the air, Shep. Boo, you stay here. Moose, I’m going to need a radio. And please tell me you have a gun.”

“No, you’re not going after?—”

“Yes, I am. And I need you in the air, watching my back and searching.”

He didn’t move. “Axel won’t like this.”

“It’s my job.”

London had walked to the chopper, taken out a gun from under her seat. “It’s just a bear gun.”

“Okay. It’ll do. Shep, find me our girl. Moose, get in the air.”

Moose took a breath, his mouth pinched. Then he took the radio from his belt, handed it to her. “Channel twenty-seven. Two. Seven.”

“Got it.” She stuck it on her belt. Then she turned. “Tell Axel and his team to follow the river. And to pay attention.”

“I don’t understand—what’s going on?” Boo said. “Didn’t she get free?”

“Yes and no. He freed her. Maybe even gave her a head start. But the hunt has begun.”

* * *

“Flynn did what?”

Axel stood on the shore of the Copper River where it tipped into Remington property, the river’s roar rushing into his ears, Moose’s words on the radio trying to find purchase. “What do you mean, she’s going after Parker. Alone?”

“Shep has her on the drone, and I’m in the chopper. London is watching for her, but Parker is in the wind. Flynn thinks she’s being hunted.”

Hunted.

Axel ran his hand over his mouth, staring at the river.

From here, the river dumped into Jubilee Lake. “What side of the river?”

“North.”

He and Levi had trekked along the Copper River, his gut tight as he searched for a body. They’d stopped above the high falls, a half mile from where the Jubilee Creek tributary peeled off toward the lake.

The cache cabin where he’d found Flynn was just a ways farther.

And if he remembered correctly—it had a kayak. He’d seen it under the porch when he found Flynn.

“Levi!”

The guy stood upstream, staring at the long swatch of rapids that led to the falls. He turned and lifted his radio. “‘Sup?”

The river thundered, deafening, so Axel stepped away from shore. “Parker is on the move. She got away, and they’re searching for her. They don’t know how far she got, but my guess is that she’ll stay by the river. She’s smart, and she knows that the river crosses roads and trails. I’m going to get farther downstream—I’ll get the kayak at the cache cabin. You keep searching the river.” He didn’t add a “just in case,” but it lingered in the crackle of the radio.

“Roger.”

He lifted a hand, then turned and picked up his pace. Deeper into the woods, a thin deer path cut along the river, and he found it, started to run, his breaths sawing through him.

Hunted.

Oh, God, please don’t let Flynn get between Parker and a bullet.

But he knew her—and, shoot, maybe he was exactly the guy for her, because apparently, she was right . . .

She got into trouble. Purposely.

But he was made for this.

He picked up his pace, found the ranger trail, and took off in a full-out sprint.

The cache cabin sat quiet and lonely in the sunshine. He found the kayak, pulled it out, and checked it over.

Battered and scraped, but seaworthy. And it came with a life jacket.

He grabbed the paddle, then carried it to the river. Strapped on the jacket.

Then he got in. No skirt, but he didn’t care about getting wet.

He pushed out into the river, found the current, read the Vs and eddies, the color of the river, the edge drops, rode the outside edges of bends. Spray soaked his shirt, his face, and he kept his body loose, sitting back, letting the waves take him, a bobber in the water, flying downstream.

The first falls roared ahead, a drop that gathered spray, and steam roiling off the boil at the bottom. The waves turned into mini cauldrons, so he moved his body over the bow, digging across the waves with his paddle, pulling harder.

He shot over the turbulence into a breaking wave, the foamy edge trying to upset his upstream edge. He lifted his upstream knee, arced his paddle over the froth on the downstream side, and kept his seat.

He spotted a diagonal wave and turned to hit it perpendicular, his speed high to carry him through.

And then he hit the lip of the falls. He rode the green water over, into the curtain.

He loved falls diving in a kayak, the sense of time slowing as he fell with the droplets?—

Today he dropped hard into the plunge pool, punched back up to the boil, and kept moving.

Water had flooded into his kayak, but he let the river take him, and he moved over the bow, paddling hard over the edges, through the Vs. He spotted the channel to the next falls ahead, where the river narrowed, and forced himself to relax.

He rode the current down, the splash soaking him, sliding into two short drops before hitting the ten-foot falls.

The landing took him down, filled his boat, and he surfaced, sodden. But he worked his way to the shore and climbed out.

He rolled the kayak over, let the water dump out, and pulled his radio from the waterproof pouch in his life jacket. “Air One, this is Axel. Do you copy?”

“Copy, Axel.”

“Any update?”

“Negative. We lost her in the woods. But Shep has located two heat sources. What’s your twenty?”

“I’m on Jubilee Creek, just below Treble Chute, I’d say three miles from Jubilee Lake.”

“According to Shep, she’s on the north side of the river, about a half mile south of your position?—”

A gunshot punched the air.

Axel froze, watched birds scatter downstream. Glanced at his kayak.

Without a skirt, he’d never make the next falls—not without swamping the boat.

“I heard a gunshot—I’m headed toward it.”

He tucked the radio into his vest, picked up the paddle, and took off running. Found the trail along the river.

A scream sounded, but it might be a hawk or an eagle?—

Another scream, and it sounded close, rising above his breaths and his heavy, water-soaked footfalls.

“Axel, do you copy?”

He slowed, pulled out the radio, still running. “Copy.”

“Shep found a heat source—just above Glacier Veil—she’s not moving.”

No. “Is it Flynn?”

“He doesn’t think so—Flynn is south, maybe a quarter mile or less. Be careful?—”

“Copy.” He held the radio in his grip, the paddle in the other, running hard.

The falls ahead roared, growing louder, and he cut toward the shoreline, standing on a rocky outcropping, peering downriver.

Nothing.

Parker, where?—

Then he spotted her, climbing out onto the rocks, her blonde hair in tangles, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. He didn’t see any blood, but—“Parker!”

The turbulence caught his voice, swallowed it. She collapsed onto a boulder, and he took off, skipping across boulders, praying he didn’t slip.

Shots sounded in the woods, and Parker screamed, ducking, pulling herself toward the edge?—

“Parker!”

She looked up, around . . .

Blood had pooled under her, but from where, he couldn’t know. If she’d been hit by a .270 cartridge, the internal bleeding would be lethal.

The fact that she had made it this far said maybe the killer had missed, mostly.

Except, maybe the hunt was still on.

He scrambled over the wet rocks, hunkering down, then crawling over to her. She lay on the rock, halfway in the river, her arms wrapped around herself, eyes closed, whimpering. “Parker—it’s me. Axel Mulligan—I got you.”

She opened her eyes. Drew back, her breaths fast and hard. “What—what?”

“It’s me. Remember me?”

“Axel . . .” Her face crumpled and she started to cry.

“It’s okay. Let me see—are you shot?”

She shook her head. “I fell. I hit a branch—I think it stabbed me.”

He wanted to weep with the relief of that, especially when he saw the wound. A glancing swipe against her abdomen, it hadn’t even broken the hypodermis, but a long, terrible tunnel gouged across her side. “Okay, it’s just a lot of blood, but I don’t think you pierced your body cavity. Let’s get you wrapped up here.” He pulled off his life jacket, then his thermal shirt, wound it into a length, then tied it around her waist, tight against the wound. She cried out, then bit her lip to keep it in.

“What happened—do you remember?”

“Yeah. I was going to Laramie’s place—we were having a youth group event—and I saw a guy standing on the side of the road. He was holding a dog—it looked hurt, so I stopped.”

A dog. A dog. He hadn’t even thought about a dog.

“Did you know him?”

“Of course I knew him—it was Hondo?—”

Another shot boomed through the forest, shuddering the trees with the lift of birds. Parker screamed and clutched her hands over her head.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Return shots, like pops, short bursts.

Sounded like a pistol.

“Okay, I’m going to get you into some cover and call Moose. He’s in the area with the chopper. We’ll get you out of here.” He strapped his life jacket back on over his bare chest, then he scooped her up.

She clung to him, her fists in the straps of his vest as he picked his way back to the thick of the forest. Found a tall pine, the arms bushy, and tucked her under it. “I’ll be right back.”

He scrambled back to the shoreline, picked up his paddle, and tugged out his radio, heading back to cover.

“Air One, this is Axel. Do you copy?”

“Copy, Axel. What’s your twenty?”

“I’m right above Glacier Veil—north bank. I’ve got Parker. She’s injured, not shot. I repeat, not shot. But we need evac.”

“I’m five minutes away. Hang tight.”

“Roger.”

More shots, pops, closer now, and he scrambled under the canopy of the tree, bent over Parker. She trembled, her hands over her mouth, maybe to keep from screaming. “It’s okay. Help is on the way.”

Then he heard crunching, breaking of branches, cracking of needles on the forest floor.

Parker met his eyes, her eyes wide.

He put a finger to his mouth, took a breath, grabbed up the paddle, then scurried out from their hiding spot.

Scrambling over to a trio of birch, he crouched into the mass, searching. Spotted movement—a body—rolled, his back to the tree, caught his breath, counted?—

The loam snapped near him and he sprang out, paddle out, ready to swing.

Flynn jumped back, hands up, bear gun in one grip. “It’s me! It’s me!”

Oh . . . wow. His breaths came out hard, and he dropped the paddle, took a step, and grabbed her against him.

His heart hammered against his chest, his hold probably too tight, but he couldn’t help it. “I . . . I thought—I don’t know what I thought, just . . .”

“I’m okay.”

But she held him back just as hard, her arms viced around his neck, shuddering a little.

She finally pushed away, met his eyes. “You got Parker?”

“Yeah. She’s not shot, but she’s wounded.”

“I saw him—he’s out here, wearing camo. But I might have shot him, so?—”

“What were you thinking?” He didn’t mean for it to just erupt out of him, but maybe the adrenaline and the panic and—“You could have gotten killed!”

She just stared at him, blinking.

“You don’t just go running after a serial killer, alone, in the woods—that’s crazy. That’s?—”

“My job.” She pierced him with a look. “This is what I do, Axel. This is my life. This is who I am.”

And he knew that. Really. Except—“What am I supposed to do with that?” And although she took a breath to respond, he couldn’t stop. “I can’t . . . I can’t . . . I’ve been crazy for the past two hours, trying to get to you, and I can’t . . .”

“What? You can’t what?”

A shot sounded. It ricocheted through the woods, and he grabbed Flynn and shoved her to the ground, his body over hers. The chill of the river had turned to sweat, his heart lodged in his throat.

Silence resounded in the wake of the shot, and he just stayed there, down, holding on to her, hating his answer. Instead, “You okay?”

She pushed away from him. “Yeah?—”

A scream came from Parker’s nest.

He scrambled to his feet, turned. Parker was out of the nest and running hard for the river.

“Parker!”

Another shot, and this one exploded a tree limb over her head. She tripped, fell?—

He took off after her, hitting away the branches, crunching through the loam, breaking out of the forest.

But Parker had scrambled back up, fleeing to the water.

“Parker! No!” He glanced back—aw, Flynn wasn’t on his six.

Parker hit the rocky shoreline.

Another shot broke the air. Return gunfire, little pops—“Flynn!”

Parker stood at the edge of the river, teetering.

“Parker! Stop!”

He caught up and grabbed Parker a second before she leaped. “You can’t go in—you’re not strong enough!”

“Run, Axel!”

Flynn.Heading toward him in a sprint.

“I’m out of pellets!”

Another shot, and Flynn ducked. But the motion tripped her up.

He caught her a second before she careened into the river. But the movement jerked him off-balance.

He scrambled for purchase, fell back, his grip still on Flynn, and knocked into Parker?—

All three splashed into the rapids.

The water grabbed him, spun him, a thousand icy shards into his bones. But he surfaced fast, shook away the haze, and spotted Parker’s head five feet away. She fought the swirl of foam, trying to swim.

“Parker!” He reached for her, but the current ripped her away.

Where was Flynn?

He circled and spotted Flynn downstream, clinging to a rock. She clutched it, fighting the spray.

“Stay put!”

He turned, read the river, and swam hard for Parker. She thrashed in the water but caught the spur of a downed tree, and it slowed her down.

“Hang on!”

She clung to the spur and screamed as he fought the current toward her. Just as her grip broke free, he grabbed her arm. Then he pulled her up to himself, rolled, and shoved his feet against a nearby boulder.

But the rapids jerked at him, the current wanting to send him over. The falls dumped twenty feet ahead, the current inescapable, but maybe—“Hold on to my jacket. Don’t let go!”

Parker, good girl, grabbed his life jacket. Treading hard to stay afloat, he gripped the rock, got his legs under him, aiming for the edge, out of the flow. The river narrowed at the falls, and if he could get close enough?—

Overhead, the air thundered, and he looked up to see?—

Air One. Wow, he loved his brother.

London had let down a line with two slings. They rode the current, got caught up on a rock just beyond his reach, downriver.

He glanced at the shoreline, then the slings and?—

“Get ready to grab the sling!”

Parker nodded, and he turned, took a couple hard breaths, then pushed off.

The river snatched them up, flung them into the froth and wash, the current merciless. He fought to keep them above water, riding it, stretching out his hand?—

Missed!

He rolled, kicked, and his hand caught on a boulder. He gripped it, fighting, the water filling his mouth, his eyes.

The slings broke free, sliding down the river, and he flung himself at them again.

Caught one. He threw his arm into it, then grabbed Parker to himself and shoved her inside the sling. She wrapped her arms around it. “I’m in!”

He reached for the other, got his hand on it, his arm through it, hauling himself?—

A scream lifted and he turned just in time to spot Flynn flying into the green, over the lip and into the falls.

The chopper began to lift. He dove into the sling headfirst, barely in before the world dropped out from under him.

The chopper arched them away from the falls, and he searched the plunge pool for Flynn.

Nothing.

No—

He looked up. London held the hoist, not reeling them up until they stabilized. “I’m dropping!”

“No—Axel!” London leaned out over the river. “There’s another falls—it’s too high!”

He knew that. But he also knew this river. And even if Flynn made it out of the plunge pool, she couldn’t survive the next drop.

And if he didn’t let go now, he’d be too high.

“You got this?” he said to Parker.

“Yeah. Yeah.” She seemed to come back to herself, despite her wide eyes.

“London will get you into the chopper.”

She nodded, wore an expression of survival.

Attagirl.

Then pushed himself out of the sling and dropped into the frothy, unforgiving churn of the Copper River.