Chapter 15

It was a beautiful day to be miserable.

Flynn sat on the bench seat in the back of the speedboat, droplets of lake water sifting into her blowing hair, the sun hot on her skin, the sky so blue, so cheerful it only turned everything inside her dark.

It didn’t help that her stupid—but accurate—words to Axel kept circling her brain, even two weeks after she’d gotten on a plane for Minnesota.

Let’s just say that there is a part of me that belongs here with you, Axel. Just not the part that is real life.

No, her real life was late-night stakeouts, crime boards, and hunting killers.

Even today, a gorgeous Sunday afternoon at Eve’s parents’ home on the lake, she couldn’t jerk her brain away from the copycat 1039 Killer.

That and something else gnawing at her that she couldn’t escape. Yes, Axel and his pained look, but . . . more.

Eve’s husband, Rembrandt Stone, glanced over his shoulder and slowed the boat, then glanced at her. “Flynn! You’re supposed to be watching the tubers to see if they fall out.”

Oh, right.She turned.

Sure enough, the tube had flipped, and Eve and her daughter Ashley had flipped out, were bobbing in their life jackets in the water. “Oops.”

“You sure you’re okay?” He turned the boat. “Seems like you’re not here.”

She shrugged. “I’m everywhere today.”

He slowed the boat as he came alongside his wife and daughter. “Eve says you’re hunting a new killer.”

“He’s a copycat—grabbing girls from a bar, taking them home, assaulting them, strangling them, then dumping them in the river. So many markers from the 1039 Killer.”

She knew Eve had discussed the case with him, given his past as a detective. Now he nodded as he trolled past them. “Ready for another go?”

Eve, her hair pulled back and plastered to her head, gave him a thumbs-up. “But drive us in to shore!”

He pulled the tube—more of an inflated sofa, really—close to them. Eve helped her daughter into the tube, then pulled herself in. She wrapped her arms around Ashley. “Hit it!”

Rembrandt shoved down the throttle, and the boat roared, churning up spray, pulling the tube to plane on the water.

They skidded across the top, and all Flynn could think of were the rapids and how the water had tossed her. Then the waterfall and Axel finding her and?—

“Flynn, can you reel in the tube?”

Oh. He’d slowed the boat, bringing it in to shore, where Eve and Ashley piled off.

Flynn leaned over the back and pulled in the tube.

She refused to think about how Axel had nearly died. She’d leave that for the dark of night, when the nightmares found her despite her attempts to let it go.

She couldn’t be with a man who . . .

What—loved her enough to save her life? To give his for hers?

She held the tube to the boat as Rembrandt maneuvered to the long dock. Eve was there, wearing a sodden T-shirt over her swimsuit, and helped secure the boat.

Flynn pushed the tube onto the dock, then climbed out.

Eve joined her as they walked toward the yard.

The Mulligan family home, a former farmhouse, sat on a half-acre of shoreline, the path from the lake lined on both sides with legacy Hosta. It led to an expansive deck overlooking the lake.

Bets, Eve’s mother, had set a long picnic table and now flung a towel around Ashley’s shoulders. The seven-year-old shivered, her blue eyes big as she bit into a watermelon wedge.

Samson and Asher, Eve’s brothers, played a game of catch-the-football on the lawn.

Smoke tufted from the grill, manned by Eve’s father, Danny, a former police chief. He stood, grilling spatula in hand, talking with Flynn’s dad, Mike. Her father stood, his hands folded across his chest, shadow from his baseball cap casting over his expression, nodding to something Danny said. Probably talking about the game.

Or her.

As if reading her mind, Eve stopped on the path. “You doing okay?”

“I guess.”

“How did your parents take the news?”

“About Kennedy?” Flynn’s mind went to that moment, nearly two weeks ago, when she’d given them the news.

Kennedy is alive. And I found her.

“She’d actually called them before I got there. Out of the blue—they were pretty shocked. And overwhelmed with relief. I think they’re planning on taking a trip to see her.”

As they talked, her mother came out of the house carrying a couple cans of pop. She handed one to her husband, stayed and talked to Danny.

“You going with them?”

Flynn looked at Eve. “What?”

“Back to Alaska.” Eve cocked an eyebrow.

“No. Why would I do that?”

Eve gave her a look. “Four-letter word.”

“Axel?”

“Love. But that works too.”

She’d walked into that one. “No. I knew him for a week. I don’t love him.”

“Since when does love have a time qualification? Listen, I knew I loved Rembrandt almost before we met. I’d read his first book, seen the man he was, and the feelings were already there. Meeting him in real life only ignited everything. I kissed him even before we had a real date.” Eve grinned, winked. “He was the one with the brakes back then. But he knew it too, almost immediately.” Her gaze cast out to her husband, now hauling the tube up the dock to the grass. A handsome man even in his early fifties, he wore a pair of black swim trunks and a T-shirt. “I couldn’t wait to marry him.”

“Yeah, well, you lived in the same city.”

“Not always. I went to Miami for a while there. He came after me and brought me home. But he always said he would have stayed. He said home was where I was.”

“Yes, well, Minneapolis and Miami have a plethora of homicides. Copper Mountain . . . not so much. And I think probably Dillon Bowie was the perpetrator of nearly all of them over the past fifteen years.”

Rembrandt had walked up and now put his arm around his wife’s waist, pulled her against him, her back to his chest, and kissed the top of her head. Looked up at Flynn. “So, you solved the crimes and found your sister. All done with Alaska?”

“All done.”

Eve rolled her eyes.

“Did you take down the crime board in your extra room?”

Right. “Not yet.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know why. Something . . . it’s probably just a hard habit to break. I keep going in there and staring at it. I feel like I’m missing something.”

Rembrandt nodded. Let his wife go. “I get that. Believe me, I get that. I was haunted for years over a serial killer that just kept eluding me. And then when I found him, I realized I’d been hunting the wrong person the entire time. The real killer was right next to him. And me.” He looked at Eve. “The key was the first kill. But we got him.”

But Eve was staring at Flynn. “Right next to him.”

Flynn stared back. “That’s the thing that keeps bothering me?—”

“The copycat had to know the 1039 Killer. We never made the details public,” Eve said.

Except Flynn had been thinking about Dillon. And the fact that—“The key is the first kill.”

“Exactly,” Eve said. “The first was the waitress in the river—she worked at the 1039 sometimes. But she was last seen at the Drift, a local bar with a slew of regulars and a worn-out dance floor. No cameras on the place—but I talked with one of the bouncers who said she was a regular on Tuesday nights.”

“The 1039 is closed on Tuesdays.” Flynn said. “Are all the victims from the Drift?”

“No.”

“But all disappeared on a Tuesday?”

Eve’s eyes widened. “I’ll have to check, but maybe. I should have seen that pattern.”

“The answers are in the details, in the mistakes they make.”

“I’d ask the lead detective to look at the first victim—see if she made any enemies over at the 1039,” Rembrandt said. “And the original 1039 Killer. Who did he hang out with there? Maybe he had a fan.”

“Or an accomplice,” said Eve.

“Besides his sister?”

“Another go-round with her might be beneficial,” Rembrandt said and squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “Ask the lead to check her statement, see if anything is questionable.” He went up to the deck to join Ashley.

As Eve joined him, Flynn stood there, Rembrandt’s words in her head. Her brain on her board in her office. On the trails of yarn, on the victims’ faces, on the dates and the map and?—

The first kill.

Not the first on the books, but the real first kill.

Aven Mulligan.

And then Axel’s words at the hospital when she asked him about Dillon.

“Told me how he’d found her out of the river. How he’d sexually assaulted her?—”

But she hadn’t been sexually assaulted. Just captured, and hunted.

“The answers are in the details, in the mistakes they make.”

“Flynn, want a burger?”

She looked at her mother, standing on the deck. Sweet of the Mulligans to invite them over today—probably Eve’s idea.

“Look at the first victim . . .”

The first person kidnapped, but not killed, a woman nearly fifteen years older than Aven. According to Flynn’s memory, she’d been abducted a week before Aven went missing. Jennifer Greene.

Flynn met her mother’s gaze. “I need to get home.”

Her mother seemed more vibrant today, wearing a sundress, glasses, her honey-brown hair cut short. She came down the deck stairs. “You sure?”

“Yes. I . . . I need to check something.” Flynn made to hug her mom, but her mother stopped her.

“Honey. Your dad and I are flying to Alaska in a week or so. We’d like you to come with us.”

Oh.She’d expected that, but, “Mom, I have work?—”

“Work is not life. Work is so you can live. There’s a difference.”

She sighed. “I know, Mom.”

“Do you? Because I fear the dark life you live. It’s like you and Kennedy are two sides of the same coin. She seeks the light . . .”

“And I seek the darkness? Please. Who was the one who didn’t do drugs? Who finished college? I didn’t run away from my life.”

Flynn didn’t know where those words came from, her tone turning sharp.

Her mother didn’t even flinch. “No, you didn’t. You embraced it—all the pain and fear and darkness—until you could master it.”

Flynn opened her mouth, closed it.

“But you can’t master it, can you? It’s mastered you. You’re so good at finding the monsters, as you call them, it has control of you.”

“What has control?”

“Pride.”

“Mom.”

“I’m just saying that you love being the one who can solve these nightmares. But it’s trapped you. You had a taste of freedom . . . Maybe you need to run to the light too. And maybe this is your last chance.”

Whatever. “I don’t live a dark life, Mom.” She gave her mom a hug. “Have a great time in Alaska. Kennedy will love seeing you.”

She headed up to the deck, to where Eve and Rembrandt sat at the table with Ashley. Danny set a plate of glistening burgers in the middle.

Her father came over. “You taking off?”

She frowned at him.

“You have that look. Same one I get when I’m fishing. Gotta reel in the whopper.”

Huh.

She turned to Eve. “I think we need to take a look at the bouncer. He seemed weirdly uninterested in the case, even when I asked him to alert me to any suspicious behavior. Seems like a guy paid to protect the people inside might be interested in tracking down a killer.”

Eve had put her hands over Ashley’s ears. Oops. But she nodded. “I’ll pass that along.”

Flynn headed out to the driveway and got into her Subaru, turned on the radio as she drove into the city.

Oaken Fox’s newest single came over the airwaves.

“In the darkest hour, I found the strength to pray.

God’s love embraced me, showed me a brand-new way.

Through the storms and struggles, I learned to stand.

With God’s grace, I’ll face life’s shifting sand.”

Clearly, hanging around the Air One team had affected him too. She turned it off.

Still, Barry’s words hung on in the silence. “When God is in control, even death and decay can turn into good.”

She pulled into her underground garage and got out, headed up to her apartment. Inside, a quietness filled the loft space, just the hum of her refrigerator and air-conditioning stirring. Outside her picture window, the one that overlooked the river, people rode bicycles along the river path.

It wouldn’t be long before all this turned to snow and ice.

She walked into the bedroom office, turned on the light, and stared at the wall with the web of yarn and pictures and reports, a timeline, scribbled scenarios, and a picture of her and Kennedy in the middle.

Her hand went to the two hearts, still around her neck. “That half heart doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

She dropped her hand. Took a step toward the board, her gaze on the timeline.

Jennifer’s and Aven’s murders occurred the same summer, weeks apart.

Then . . . nothing for five years.

She needed Axel’s police statement, his exact conversation with Dillon.

And maybe Parker’s also.

Opening her laptop, she googled the Copper Mountain sheriff’s office. And while she was at it, she opened her Gmail.

A note from Deke, forwarded from the Copper Mountain resort, with an attachment. It had fallen off her radar after Dillon’s death—Deke had had to procure a warrant for the information.

She clicked on it, read the greeting from the manager to Deke, then opened the guest list for the dates in question.

Couples, a number of family units. A college group from the lower forty-eight, and a stay by a local group called the Pathfinders, their address in Willow.

Nothing that listed the Bowie family or any of their members.

Her gut tightened as she dialed. It didn’t mean that Dillon hadn’t been in the area.

“Copper Mountain sheriff’s office, Shasta speaking.”

“Hey, Shasta, it’s Flynn. I was hoping to talk to Deke. Is he around?”

“No, he’s out of the office today. It’s Summitfest weekend, so he’s busy with crowd control.”

“Summitfest?”

“End of the climbing season on the mountain. The forest service breaks camp on the higher levels and comes in. It’s a blast—there’s an art festival, a gear swap, a bonfire on the river shore, a concert on the last night. Even a race—it’s called the Summit Scramble. Teams compete on mountain bikes and trail running and even a peak climb. It’s really?—”

“When will he be back?”

“I guess Monday?”

Aw. “Sorry, Shasta. I’m just . . .” She drew in a breath, then looked at the list from the resort. “Have you ever heard of the Pathfinders? It’s a local group. The address is Willow, Alaska.”

“Sure. Pathfinders is a youth group from Church on the Rock. All the kids from Copper Mountain attend—I think they’re actually helping out with the Summit Scramble tomorrow.”

“How?”

“They’re stationed at locations to give out water and check in competitors, things like that.”

“Is that the same group Laramie and Parker are in?”

“Laramie Bowie? I think so. I saw him in town earlier with his grandpa. I think Wilson is one of the volunteers, or maybe just a chaperone on trips. So sad, really. Laramie’s practically an orphan, what with his mom and dad divorced.”

“What?”

“Oh yeah. I heard it from Mal. He said that Wilson couldn’t get ahold of Dillon’s ex-wife. Apparently, she was out of the country or something. Married an Italian guy.”

“When was this?”

“Oh, years ago. Dillon’s been single since Laramie was a baby, I think. I remember rumors about him being cheated on, like his dad was. But you know, small-town gossip, so . . . who knows? Why?”

“Can I get Deke’s cell number?”

“Um . . .”

Flynn glanced at the email. It was listed in his email tag. “Never mind.”

“Okay, sure. By the way, did you see my article about Axel? The local news picked it up. He’s the town hero.”

“He’s always been the town hero.”

“For sure.” Shasta sighed. “By the way, I saw your sister in town—I thought it was you. But she came in for the Summitfest with Sully.”

Sweet.“Tell her hi from me.”

She hung up, hearing her mother’s words in her head.

“I fear the dark life you live. It’s like you and Kennedy are two sides of the same coin. She seeks the light . . .”

Yeah, well.

I am sorry that I’m not Kennedy.

She returned to the board, and her conversation with Shasta and Moose during Parker’s kidnapping replayed.

Dillon had been nineteen or twenty when his mom died. The first kill happened five years later.

Dillon was twenty-five. Newly married. His father newly divorced. Dillon hated his stepmom. Flynn’s words, but it seemed to fit the profile.

But what if he also hated his ex-wife?

She looked again at the timeline.

After Jennifer and Aven, a reprieve of five years passed before the next kill. After the birth of Laramie . . . after his wife left him. Which made sense for the timeline.

It all fit—except for the first two killings, so different from the others.

Jennifer had been severely malnourished, assaulted, and strangled.

Aven had simply been shot, only a few days after she went missing.

Jennifer had been found before Aven, but time of death indicated she’d been killed after Aven.

What if Aven had seen Jennifer at the cabin? Maybe climbed out of the river, gone looking for help, and found Jennifer?

And what if Dillon had been there with her?

Flynn’s own words to Axel came back. Dillon fits the profile—broken family, angry at his stepmother. The real victim in all this is Laramie.

Axel’s reply was almost haunting. “Hopefully he doesn’t turn out like his father.”

What if Dillon had turned out like his father?

But Dillon didn’t know that Aven wasn’t sexually assaulted—because maybe he wasn’t there.

He’d just assumed it.

“Not like this. Not like this.”Wilson’s words at the edge of the pit had razor edges through her brain.

What did that mean?

Family bonds . . . they can be pretty strong. Cause people to do things they would never dream of. Get themselves in over their heads.

A chaperone.

A ski trip to the resort.

Wilson Bowie, reprising his original play?

Or maybe, just like the sister of the 1039 Killer, Wilson had been trying to clean up after Dillon?

She needed a conversation with Axel about his last moments with Dillon.

Axel, who’d fought with Dillon, gotten the story out of him. Maybe even the real story—one that included Wilson’s involvement, even if Axel didn’t know it.

And if Wilson thought Axel might know . . .

She dialed Deke.

Voicemail. “Hey, Deke, it’s Flynn. Call me back—I need Axel’s statement. And . . . I know this sounds crazy, but what do you know about?—”

A call came through on the other line. The sheriff’s office.

She answered it. “Deke?”

“Shasta. Hey, you were asking about the Pathfinders—I was outside grabbing a hot dog and talked to Calista Roberts. She and the youth group are headed into the bush for an overnight before the big race tomorrow.”

And?

“I saw Axel with them. And it got me thinking . . . I was on the camping trip with the Mulligans and the Bowies back when Aven was taken. We all went looking for her and . . . Dillon was with us, searching. It doesn’t fit. Because he couldn’t have taken Aven. Anyway, I just thought of that because Axel is going camping with them, and . . . whatever. It’s just been sitting in my head since it all came out. It’s probably nothing.”

“Shasta, I want you to think hard—was Wilson with you, searching for Aven?”

Silence. “I . . . I don’t remember. I’m sorry. But you could ask him when he gets back from the camping trip.”

Flynn stilled. “The one Axel is on?”

“With the Pathfinders. Yes.”

“Shasta, I gotta go. Thanks.” She hung up.

Yeah, maybe she could call Deke again, but now she had a reason?—

C’mon, Axel, pick up, pick up.

Her call went to voicemail.

She waited for the beep, then, “Hey, it’s me. Um . . . call me before you go camping. I . . . I . . . okay, this is going to sound crazy, but I think Wilson might be our original Midnight Sun Killer.”

The phone beeped, and she saved the message. Hung up.

Then she stared at the map and tried not to let the monsters find her.

* * *

If everything went as planned, he wouldn’t be saving any lives today. Axel stood on the top of a mountain, one side etched with switchbacks for runners to climb, the other a plunging drop into the Copper River. The sky overhead arched blue and free of clouds, a hint of summer lingering in the air, the sun warm on his skin.

A good day to be alive. To stay alive. To mend the wounds inside.

“I see the first team of competitors.” Parker Billings lowered her binoculars. She wore an orange vest with the words Summit Scramble on the front, just like his. She seemed to have recovered well from her ordeal, although his guess was that the memories were still hanging around, despite her smile.

She handed him the binoculars, and he trained them on a husband-wife duo hustling up the switchback. From here, they’d rappel down the cliff, landing shoreside, then take the route back to the starting line, some two miles up the shoreline.

His job, along with London’s and Shep’s, was to belay them off the side of the mountain as they rappelled. The Pathfinders had set up a sort of way station at the top, also, thanks to Moose’s delivery of their first-aid gear as well as coolers of cold water.

The route started from the Copper Mountain River park campground, just a mile out of town but remote enough that he’d left his cell phone in his Yukon last night when he camped with the Pathfinders group. Today, he’d hiked into the location with Parker, Laramie and Wilson Bowie, along with Guy Roberts and his daughters.

He almost felt free. Healed from the trauma two weeks ago. Okay, that might be a little lie. In truth, he still woke in the middle of the night, shaking from the horror of his near-drowning.

And then he’d stare out the window at the dusky night upon the river, listening to Flynn’s last words to him.

Knowing she was right.

“You can’t help but be a hero, Axel. But that’s why this can’t work. Because I’ll always be fighting monsters, and you’ll always be trying to save me.”

Knowing she was right didn’t make it any easier to let her go.

And that was the thought that caught him up every time. “You’re not leaving.”

No, he wasn’t. But maybe . . . well, what if he did?

What if he chased after the voice on the radio, all the way to Minnesota?

What if he wasn’t the vacation guy but the real deal?

“I used to run this race every year with my brother.” Wilson came up beside Axel, interrupting his thoughts. “Although, back then, they didn’t have the rappel. We’d run up Curry Ridge and back.”

Wilson had gone back to Montana for his son’s memorial service, and frankly, Axel hadn’t expected him to return. He seemed recovered, at least on the outside, although pain filled his eyes despite his smile.

Terrible outcome for a man who’d spent so much time trying to care for his nephews after his brother’s death, helping Mal and Hudson take over the resort operations, get the resort rolling every year when fishing season started.

“I ran it once, with Moose, right before I went into the Coast Guard. He was home on leave. We came in third place.”

“I might run it next year, when I turn eighteen,” said Calista, holding a bottle of water, ready to hand it to a competitor.

He walked over to the rappel stations, where London wore a harness and carabiner rig, ready to belay the rappelers. Shep wore the same, and they stood, drinking coffee from their thermoses.

Boo was stationed at the bottom, and Axel walked over to the edge and waved to her. She seemed especially happy today, what with her boyfriend, Oaken, showing up a few days ago for his appearance at tonight’s bonfire and country music show.

“That’s quite a fall,” Wilson said as he came over to Axel. He too carried a thermos.

Sixty feet down onto a rocky beach. Yeah, that would hurt. “No one is dying today.”

“Hopefully not,” Wilson said. “But if they try, you’re here to save them, right?”

Something about his voice?—

Then he clamped Axel on the back. Hard—so hard that Axel jerked. His foot reached out to stop himself and found air?—

Wilson grabbed his vest, yanked him back from the edge, and Axel backed up onto safe ground. “Oops.”

Axel stared at him, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Sheesh, Wilson, are you trying to kill me?”

Wilson gave a snort. Then shook his head and walked away.

Okay, that was weird.

Axel walked over to Shep and London, who broke away from their conversation to greet him.

“All set on belay?”

“Just another Tuesday,” London said.

He looked at her. “It’s Saturday.”

Shep laughed. Clearly Axel had missed out on something.

“We’re good,” Shep said. “Don’t worry, Axel. We got this. Maybe you should go down to the bottom, help out Boo.”

“I think she’s got it, Shep,” London said. She wore her hair back, her blonde ponytail out of the back of her cap, a pair of sunglasses. She put her hand on Axel’s shoulder. “Take a breath.”

He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it. “I’m fine.”

“You’re barely two weeks out from a near-death experience. I’m not sure why you’re even here,” Shep said.

Because he couldn’t not be?

But for some reason Alicia tiptoed back into his head. “You’re not in control. The rest—all if it, actually—is in God’s hands. Any other thinking is just pride.”

Huh.

London took a sip of her coffee. Then, “Any word from Flynn?”

“London—” Shep started, but she silenced him with a look and then turned back to Axel.

“Nope,” Axel said. “She got what she wanted here.” Oh, that sounded more irked than he felt. Maybe.

Maybe not, because with the words came a rush of pain in his chest. She hadn’t been here for him but for her sister. And she’d given him no promises.

He’d simply made them for both of them. Maybe she was just the holiday-romance girl.

“She doesn’t belong in Alaska. She has a different life.” And again that didn’t come out right at all. But she’d been the one to say it—“Let’s just say that there is a part of me that belongs here with you, Axel. Just not the part that is real life.”

But maybe that was the problem. He didn’t want real life.

He wanted the happy ending.

“Besides, we had fun, but we’re not . . . we’re not right for each other.”

“Axel can’t panic every time I go monster hunting. Can’t be there to rescue me. It’s not the life he wants to live.”

Except that was the life he was already living.

“Don’t apologize for doing what God created you to do.”

“It’s over, so I just have to live with that.”

“Do you? Just because you thought of your life one way doesn’t mean that God can’t change course. He knows our hearts better than we do. It’s probably good to listen.”

He stared at her, hearing Alicia’s words. “But with God there are no what-ifs. There is only truth. And the truth is that you’re not in charge, God is, and no matter what happens, he is good.”

“What do you want me to do? Get on a plane for Minnesota? Declare my love for her?” Okay, that was a little overstated.

London grinned and gave Shep a shove. “You owe me money. I told you he was in love with her.” Then she turned to Axel. “What do you want to do?”

Honestly?He sighed. Looked away. “I want to know that if I reach out to her, she’ll reach back.”

“Someone has to move first,” London said. “Someone has to be the one with faith.” She glanced at Shep, before looking away and taking a sip of her coffee.

Huh. But, “You want real peace, real happiness, then it’s time to have some faith. That’s where you find peace.”

The first runners climbed up onto the ridge, out of breath, and London set her thermos down, picked up a harness, and walked over to them.

Shep watched her go, then looked at Axel. “The question is, Axel, will you regret it if you don’t try?” Then he picked up another harness and followed her.

The question hung in Axel’s head all afternoon, dogging him as he checked in competitors, affixed harnesses, oversaw the rappelling, and made sure the day spooled out without any accidents.

But that was it, wasn’t it? Regrets.

He didn’t want to live with regrets. With what-ifs. Didn’t want to spend his life circling, wondering.

The last of the competitors reached the summit, rappelled down the cliff, the sun still doggedly hanging on to its position above the Alaska Range. He helped his team pack up their gear, then loaded it into the chopper when Moose set down on the wide ridge area. Axel decided to hike back to camp with the Pathfinders while Shep, Boo, and London flew back to Copper Mountain.

Wilson had acted as if he hadn’t accidentally tried to kill Axel, and hiked down the mountain with his grandson. When they arrived back to the campground, he broke camp with the rest of the youth group.

He left with Laramie for the festival in town.

Axel dropped his gear off at his house, plugged in his dead phone, then took a shower.

Then he headed to town for the festival.

But all the while, in his mind, he was booking a ticket to Minneapolis. Because . . . faith. And maybe a little hope. And . . .

And this wasn’t the story of Jack and Rose but of Axel and Flynn, and if he had only one life left, he didn’t want to live with the what-ifs haunting him.

Not anymore.

He parked the Yukon and got out.

At the end of town, near the river, the bonfire blazed, and onstage a local band warmed up for the main act, Oaken Fox.

He’d have to swing by and say hi.

He stopped by Northstar Pizza and grabbed a takeout slice, then wandered over to the stage area and spotted Oaken standing with Boo, talking with Moose and Shep. He walked over, held out his hand. “Oaken.”

“Axel. Hey, man.” Oaken took his hand, then pulled him in for a back slap. Let him go. “Turns out you’re the real star of the show.”

Axel frowned.

“What, you don’t know that your interview with Shasta went viral? It skyrocketed the views of the show. Mike’s talking about another season.”

Axel looked at Moose, who raised a hand. “It’s just a conversation.”

“And who’s our victim? An actor? A football player? Maybe a politician?”

Moose raised an eyebrow. “Who pressed your buttons?”

“Sorry.” Axel turned to Oaken. “Good to see you.”

“I’m heading to Moose’s for the weekend. You coming down?”

Axel glanced at Shep, then back. “We’ll see.” Then he smiled and pointed at Oaken. “Can’t wait for the show.”

He left them and walked over to the bonfire. Beyond the fire, the Copper River frothed and rushed in the darkness. A number of the Pathfinders were there, and he waved to Parker. She sat with Laramie, looking back at her phone as they laughed at something.

And for a moment, that night by the river with Flynn came back to him. The way she’d stepped up to him. Kissed him.

The way he’d thought—hoped—it would be forever.

He tugged out his phone. Still off, but he’d managed to charge it half-full while at home. Turning it on, the icon spun, waking it.

A voicemail popped up.

From Flynn.

He drew a breath, then walked away from the bonfire, toward the river walk, a boardwalk that overlooked the river and travelled the rocky shore. It ended in a deck that jutted out over the river.

Not far, actually, from the beach where, once upon a time, he’d nearly drowned, where he’d saved the life of a kid and maybe found his own.

He stood on the river walk and pressed the voicemail.

Drew in a breath at the sound of her voice.

“Hey, it’s me. Um . . . call me before you go camping. I . . . I . . . okay, this is going to sound crazy?—”

“Axel.”

He turned, lowering the phone from his ear, and spotted Wilson walking toward him in the darkness. The man wore a jacket, his hands in his pockets.

Axel pocketed his phone, turned to him, not sure why his chest tightened. “Hey, Wilson.”

Wilson held out his hand. “I wanted to apologize for nearly killing you today.”

Huh?But yeah, okay, the fist in his chest loosened. Axel let out a laugh, mostly relief, and met his hand. “No worries. It was an accident.”

Wilson smiled. Sighed.

“Something on your mind?”

Wilson shrugged. “I don’t know. I just . . . you were the last one with Dillon, and I’m having a hard time with . . . everything. I was hoping you could tell me what exactly happened between you two.” He offered a half smile, sad and wry.

And of course Axel got it. But, “You sure you want to hear it?”

Wilson shrugged. “Maybe we could walk a little?”

Axel nodded and then fell into slow step with him as they traveled down the boardwalk, the river roiling beneath them.

“Dillon was a good man. He just . . . he struggled. He never got over me remarrying. And his stepmom and he never got along.” Wilson glanced at Axel. “I suppose he told you all this?”

Axel shook his head. “No. Not . . . really.”

Wilson had stopped on the boardwalk. Turned to look at the river, the dusk shrouding it, the night starting to darken, a pale moon rising in the east.

Music rose from the band shell, Oaken greeting a cheering crowd.

“We were close. We did a lot of fishing and hunting . . .” He put his hands is his jacket. “I tried to help him.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“He didn’t deserve to die.” Wilson met his eyes. “He was . . . broken.”

“He tried to kill me.”

“Because you tried to kill him.”

The fist in Axel’s chest returned. Tightened. “Uh . . . you do know that he hunted me down—with Flynn—right? Wilson, your son was a serial killer.”

“He was misunderstood.” Wilson pulled his hand from his pocket and stepped back, just out of reach of Axel. “Everyone calls you a hero. You should have saved my son.”

He held a gun, a .44 magnum, a bear pistol. It would stop an angry bear.

Do worse to Axel.

Axel held up a hand. “Hey?—”

“Hey!”

He stiffened, and Wilson looked past Axel toward the voice.

It was enough for Axel to shove him away, to turn, to warn?—

Flynn.

What—

She sprinted down the boardwalk toward him and Wilson, her red hair aflame against the backdrop of the bonfire, her expression fierce. “Get away from him!”

Who was she?—

“Wilson, I said back away.”

Oh.But even as Axel turned back, she flew past him, on her way to chase down Wilson, who’d taken off running.

“Flynn! He has a gun!” But maybe she knew that.

Or didn’t—he didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to let her find out. He took off after her, running hard. “Flynn!”

She’d come back. And he wanted to hope it was for him, but?—

He easily ran her down, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her up, even as Wilson disappeared into the darkness.

She elbowed him, but he hung on.

“Calm down!”

“He’s the one! He’s the Midnight Sun Killer!”

So many questions her words barely registered. Still. “No—Flynn. We got him. Dillon?—”

She tried to unlatch his hands. “It wasn’t just Dillon. Put me down. He’s getting away.”

And then he got it. All of it.

She hadn’t come back for him. But it didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t letting her go. And yeah, if he had to simply keep rescuing her from herself, he’d do it. “Let him go.”

She drew in a breath—he felt it, even as her struggle died.

“Let him go, Flynn. We’ll find him again, I promise. But he’s not worth you getting hurt. Or killed.”

He leaned down, pulling her tight against him. “Or me. Because you know I’ll run after you. Always. And this time, I’m choosing to save the person I love.”

She gasped. “Let me go.” Her words emerged softly, and he loosened his hold. She turned in his arms. Looked up at him.

A moment passed between them.

“I left you a voicemail,” she said. “Two days ago.”

He looked back at her. “I just got it.”

Her eyes searched his, then she glanced down the boardwalk. Sighed.

She turned back to him, her eyes glossy, and smiled.

And maybe he was wrong. Maybe she was here for him. Have a little faith?—

“Why are you here?” He met her eyes.

“Because . . .” She shrugged. “Because . . .”

“You missed me.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re in love with me.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Flynn.”

“Okay, yeah.”

“Because you can’t live without me.”

“Don’t go crazy.” But her eyes sparkled. “But maybe I’m . . . I’m happier with you. With the Flynn I find when you’re around.” She pressed her hands against his chest. “Truth is, I need someone who can rescue me . . .”

“Yeah, you do,” he said.

Footsteps pounded along the boardwalk and he looked up.

Sheriff Deke, along with a couple deputies, ran up.

“He went that way,” Axel said, and Deke nodded.

“You good?” Deke asked as the deputies took off.

“I am now,” Axel said, tightening his hold on Flynn.

Deke nodded and followed his men.

“You’re not going anywhere, Sparrow.”

She put her arms around his neck, her eyes shining. “Nope.”

Then she lifted herself up on her toes and kissed him. Slow and perfect and lingering, something meant for heroes and happy endings, stilling all the what-ifs in his heart.

And behind them, the Copper River sang a song of applause as the stars came out and smiled.