Chapter 7

Flynn could admit to liking having a partner. At least for a few days.

She wasn’t bringing him back to Minneapolis or anything, but right now, she didn’t hate having him around to the address of the survivor of the recent river rescue, Axel at the helm of his Yukon.

Especially since he fed her. She took another bite of the crispy pastry, still warm from the tinfoil he’d wrapped it in. Talked with her mouth full. “What are these called again?”

“Pasties. They’re a Minnesota dish—although I think they’re originally from England. My mom has relatives in Cornwall.”

“It’s delicious. What’s this—steak and carrots?—”

“And potatoes and even rutabagas. Garlic and onions. But you can put almost anything in it. My mom makes them for the Midnight Sun Saloon sometimes. It’s her secret recipe.”

He’d warmed the pasty in the microwave after they’d arrived at the Air One headquarters in Anchorage late this morning.

She’d needed something to combat all the coffee swimming around in her gut after her two-hour interview with Deke earlier this morning, right before her discharge. She’d given him everything she remembered . . . Probably lost a few things. Frankly, she didn’t see her statement as much help—she hadn’t gotten even a glimpse of who might have shot her.

Axel had picked her up and driven her right to the airport, where Moose’s Cessna waited. She’d never been up in a small plane before and clutched her third cup of coffee while staring out the window at the lush, breathtaking beauty of Alaska.

The sun turned the peaks of the Denali massif white and glistening, a ridgeback that stretched as far as she could see. It shadowed the valley below a deep emerald green, and running through it all was the deep indigo of the Copper River and the Knik Arm.

The majestic view scattered the lingering fatigue of her sleepless night and even distracted her from her throbbing knee, now in a brace. At least the swelling had subsided. And, she had hobbled out of the hospital this morning on her own power.

Although, honestly, as she limped beside Axel, dressed in jeans and a dark blue button-down shirt, smelling freshly showered, his hair burnished under the sunlight, looking every inch the hero who’d practically carried her out of the woods, she wouldn’t have minded leaning on?—

Stop.

The light of day had scattered the shadows of yesterday, given her a clear view of reality.

Sheesh,she’d practically swooned into the man’s arms.

Yeah, it would help to keep the reason she was here—finding Kennedy—in the forefront of her brain.

She had a life in Minnesota, hello, and Axel had a full and necessary life here and . . .

And until she returned home, she wouldn’t push him out of her life, because, well, again . . . maybe having a temporary partner wouldn’t be terrible.

As long as he didn’t get in her way.

“Your mom is amazing. My mom makes some killer cookies. Sadly, I can barely boil eggs.”

He looked over at her. “I love boiled eggs. I can teach you my trick.”

She looked away from his impossibly blue eyes with the feeling his tricks could get her in trouble.

He turned off the highway onto a rough paved road. They passed a sign for the Glacier View mobile home park, then turned onto a dirt road where twenty or so single-wide homes sat maybe ten feet apart along each side of the road. Most had two or even three cars parked in the front grass, some of them newer model SUVs and trucks. Decks jutted out from a few, covered with flowers, manicured front patches of grass. Others overflowed with debris—old furniture, rusty appliances, and weeds growing up around propane tanks.

She supposed it looked like any other neighborhood in any other city. Axel read the numbers on the homes and finally slowed, a boxer running out, barking and growling, pawing at the chain-link fence in front of a green single-wide.

“You can stay in the truck if you’d like.” He put the SUV into park.

“No, I’m good.” She had finished the pasty and now folded the tinfoil into a square, tucked it inside a napkin, which she used to clean her fingers. “Let’s do this.”

Okay, she might have more desire than actual ability as she eased herself out of the car. He came around and offered her a hand. She took it, let herself cling to his grip for a moment.

Then she turned and closed the door, sizing up the place.

Curtains hung closed at the window. A blue tarp slung over the top of the home suggested a roof leak.

Axel held out a hand to the dog, shushing it.

The boxer ran to the end of the yard, leaped up, still snarling.

“He’s clearly immune to your charm.”

“I should have saved him a pasty.”

“I’d fight him for it.”

He laughed.

It threaded inside her. Oh, how she liked that laugh.

“Ashley knows me, so”——” he headed up the stairs—“maybe she’ll be willing to talk.”

Flynn could have called the Anchorage Police Department and asked for a favor, but this felt simpler. Besides, it was a personal investigation. For now.

He knocked, and in a moment, the inner door opened.

A woman, young twenties, gaunt, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, stood holding a cat. She didn’t open the screen door. “Yeah?”

“Hey,” Axel said. “Ashley? Remember me, from the river?—”

“I remember you.” She gave him a wan smile, swallowed. Then glanced at Flynn.

Maybe it helped that Flynn still looked pretty banged up, with a leg brace and head bandage. A fellow victim.

“Can we talk to you about that night—the guy that picked you up?”

Ashley looked again at Axel, drew in a breath. Swallowed. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She stepped back, reached for the door?—

“I’m looking for my sister. I think that might be the guy who took her,” Flynn said. Sometimes putting the victim in a place of power helped. “You could help us find him . . .”

Ashley’s mouth tightened around the edges, and only then did Flynn see the tiniest bruise on her face. Maybe Axel saw it too because?—

“Are you . . . safe?”

She glanced down the hall, back to Axel. “Yeah.”

But then she stepped out onto the deck. She wore threadbare slippers, and her hair hung in greasy tangles. The sweet odor of something other than cigarette smoke emanated from her clothing.

Oh boy. Flynn tried to assess whether she was high but couldn’t tell.

Ashley let the cat go, and it ran to the fence and hissed at the still-growling boxer. She pulled out a vape pen and inhaled. Blew out smoke. “What do you want to know? I already talked to the police.”

“I know,” Axel said.

She looked at him. “Did you get any money for the show?”

He glanced at Flynn, back. “Um, I think Air One got a production fee, but not me?—”

“They made me sign a waiver that night. Didn’t pay me anything.”

“Sorry.”

“They made me look . . .” She shook her head. “He followed me out of the bar, pulled me into the car. I didn’t ask for it . . .” Her gaze met Flynn’s. “Did you ask for it?”

Flynn drew in a breath. “No. He shot at me.”

Ashley’s eyebrows rose. “Oh.” She took another hit off her vape. “He had a gun too. Shoved me into the back of the van and tied me up. But I got free.” She raised her chin. “I caused the accident.”

“You saved your life,” Flynn said. “That was brave. And smart.”

That earned her a half smile.

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

“It was dark. He wasn’t big—maybe”——” she glanced at Axel—“shorter than you. But he took me by surprise. And he smelled bad, like he’d been living out of his car. Or an old motel. Anyway, I didn’t get a good look at him. Dark hair, maybe. Or not. Sorry.”

“You said he followed you out of a bar? What bar?”

“The Tenderfoot. Off Highway 3. But now that I think about it, maybe he wasn’t in the bar,, because he got out of his van as I walked by. Maybe he was just waiting for someone to come out . . .” Her hand shook a little, and she inhaled again on the vape.

Flynn took a step toward her, paused, then touched her arm. “You’re safe now. He’s not here. You lived.”

Ashley looked up at her, nodded.

“You want to talk to us about that bruise?”

Ashley’s mouth pinched and she shook her head. “I need to get back inside.”

Flynn glanced at Axel. He had taken a deep breath, glanced into the house, what looked like worry on his face.

She slid her hand into his, tightened her grip, but spoke to Ashley. “Listen. You ever need help of any kind, you call Air One Rescue, okay?”

Ashley wrapped an arm around herself, swallowed. Nodded.

Then she turned and went into the house. Shut the door.

Axel just stood there. “I really want to go in there.”

“I know. You can’t. C’mon.”

He stayed a moment longer, however, then surrendered to the tug on his hand and followed her down the stairs.

The cat jumped onto a nearby lawn chair and hissed at him.

He held the car door open for Flynn as she climbed in. “That was unhelpful.”

“Actually, it was super helpful.”

He gave her a look, then closed the door and came around to the driver’s side. Got in. “How so?”

She glanced over to the mobile home and saw the curtain fall as they pulled away.

A lump formed in her chest.

“You all right?”

She sighed. “Yeah. She just reminded me a little of . . . well, Kennedy.”

“Your sister? How? I thought she was your twin?—”

“She is. But . . .” She looked at him. “I mentioned that I found a dead body near my alleyway as a kid, right?”

“Yeah. It led you into being a cop.”

“It led my sister into darkness. She kept having nightmares. She started drinking and then got into drugs and . . . I spent a lot of time in high school and even college tracking her down in the middle of the night, holding back her hair as she detoxed in my dorm room. We finally got her into a drug rehab place, and she turned it around. Mostly.”

They’d pulled out onto the road. “Mostly?”

“She came out to Alaska because she was running from an old drug dealer named Slade. She’d been clean for a few years, and we thought he was out of her life. But he tracked her down at this convenience store where she was working and . . . anyway, she owed him money. He followed her a couple times, and it was my bright idea to leave town. We actually came out here in March, went skiing at the Copper Mountain resort, and she fell in love with Alaska and stayed. I thought . . . well, I thought it was the start of a new life for her.” She looked out the window at the deep blue of the Knik Arm as they drove back toward Anchorage. “She got the job working for Peyton a month later, and by June she went missing. I never dreamed . . .”

And just like that, his hand covered hers. Squeezed. “It’s not your fault. Stop jumping.”

She glanced at him. “Jumping?”

“It’s a thing my brother said. Jumping to blame yourself.”

“It’s not a big jump.”

“Pretty big there, Sparrow. You couldn’t know that she’d go missing.”

She didn’t hate that he called her Sparrow.

“Did you ever consider, however, that this drug dealer followed her to Anchorage?”

She shook her head. Almost didn’t tell him why but, “Slade showed up on a slab in the morgue a couple weeks after I got back from Alaska. Months before she went missing.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t kill him, in case you’re wondering.”

He looked at her, eyes wide. “I wasn’t. Wow.”

“It’s just that, you know . . . I shot you.”

“At me. I hope.”

“Yes. I wouldn’t have missed if I’d wanted to hit you.”

“That’s ever so comforting.” He let go of her hand but gave her a grin. Then he signaled and turned at a light and pulled up at a diner.

“You’re hungry?”

“I’m always hungry. But my brother Moose hangs out here—or did—and the shakes are amazing.”

She opened the door, and he was right there with a hand out to help.

They walked into the Skyport Diner. Something out of the fifties, maybe, with a long counter bar with round stationary stools. A few patrons sat at red vinyl booths along the window wall. An order wheel held paper orders, and a bell dinged with an “order up!” from the cook in the back kitchen.

The place smelled deliciously of fried food, and pies spun slowly in a refrigerated case behind the counter.

Axel slid into a booth, and a woman came over. Long dark hair, a sort of exotic beauty, she wore a blue uniform and plunked down a couple waters.

“Hey, Tillie,” Axel said. “How about some fries, chicken, and a shake.”

“Not until you tell me where Moose has been for the past month.” She smiled at Flynn. “He’s a regular who vanished on me.”

Axel lifted a shoulder. “He hasn’t been around?”

Tillie sighed. “He might have asked me out.”

Clearly Axel hadn’t known, because his eyes widened. “And?—”

“I can’t date a customer . . .”

“Please—”

“Okay . . . I have my reasons. But they have nothing to do with Moose. Please tell him to come back. We’re overflowing with pie and . . . I miss him.”

Sweet. “If Axel doesn’t, I will,” said Flynn.

“Fries are on me,” said Tillie, and winked. “What flavor shakes?”

“Surprise us,” Axel said.

“Living on the wild side?” Tillie said.

“I need some adventure in my life.”

“Oh yeah. You lack adventure.” Tillie laughed and headed toward another table.

He laughed too, and for a moment, Flynn simply . . . couldn’t. How did this happen that she was sitting across from this painfully handsome, sweet man who’d not only saved her life, maybe, but had shouldered her desperate investigation?

More, she liked it, this temporary partnership.

Yeah, Burke might not recognize her. She barely recognized herself.

And oddly, something Axel had said days ago over the radio filtered into her head. “Maybe he was just the holiday-romance guy and not the real guy . . .”

Jack, the handsome rogue who made Rose feel alive. Yeah, she could embrace that.

Axel put down his water. “Okay, so how was our conversation with Ashley helpful, except to make me want to go back there and figure out that haunted look in her eyes?”

“And on her face.”

“That too.” He folded his arms. “I can’t figure it out—why people let themselves be treated that way.”

“Because they don’t believe they deserve better. A happy ending. A life of joy.”

He looked at her then, something enigmatic in his eyes. “Yeah. So . . . what did you learn?”

“The Midnight Sun Killer isn’t the kind of guy who has to kidnap women to get them into his car. From all accounts, he lures them to him. I recently worked on a case where the guy picked up women from a bar, luring them home to?—”

“I don’t need to know.”

“Right. Well, there’s a type. Not all killers are creepers who live in the basement and come out at night. There are plenty who live among society, have families, work in normal jobs, and might even be religious. We call them charmers. Like Gacy, the Killer Clown.”

“Okay, that’s the definition of creepy.”

“For sure. And then there’s Ted Bundy? He killed over thirty women by pretending to have a broken arm and need help. Or the Casanova Killer . . .”

He shook his head. “So you think this guy isn’t the same as the Midnight Sun Killer.”

“I don’t know. It also doesn’t fit the timing of the deaths. Most of the victims were killed in late June, early July. The more I look at it, I think the MSK could be a tourist. That’s why he’s never been caught. He’s only here for hunting season.”

“Except hunting season in Alaska starts in the fall.”

“Right. But . . . people still carry guns.”

“In the bush, yeah. For protection.”

“Could be a hiker. I think we need to be looking at people who are seasonal, every year, in the area around Copper Mountain.”

“That’s a lot of people. There’s an entire RV park of seasonal regulars.”

“He’s probably single. Or at least here, he’s single. Maybe he leaves family behind to get it out of his system in Alaska. Something about the frontier stirs a feral need in him.”

Axel’s mouth tightened.

“I don’t see him committing the same murders where he’s from. Unless he gets sloppy, and desperate.”

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head.

“What?”

“You are a river-monster hunter.”

Her mouth opened.

“Reaching into the darkness, pulling out the scary fish.”

She gave a small laugh. “I guess.”

Tillie returned with a plate of fries and another of fried chicken. “Shakes on the way.”

“I might have lost my appetite,” Axel said after she left. He took a fry. “Or not.” He reached for the ketchup. “Ever thought about doing something different?”

She took a fry. Salty. Crispy. Yum. “Like what—move to Alaska, live in the bush, and track wolves? Been there, done that.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Or just not get shot at?” He blobbed ketchup onto his plate.

Sweet. “Sorry to drag you into this. I know it’s gruesome.”

He looked up at her then. Put down the ketchup. Then he sat back and sighed. “What I haven’t told you, Flynn, is that . . . I really don’t have a choice.”

She stilled. “What?”

“I know more about the Midnight Sun Killer than I’ve told you.”

* * *

He hadn’t meant to trek into the past, to the worst day of his life, but it’d just sort of spilled out, and now Axel’s words lay on the table between them.

“What do you mean you know more about the Midnight Sun Killer?” She’d put down the piece of chicken she’d reached for.

Stared at him, her expression unreadable. Angry? Curious? Worried?

“My fifteen-year-old cousin, Aven, was one of the early victims of the Midnight Sun Killer.”

He blew out a breath, watching how the words landed. She blinked, then nodded and leaned back. “I see.”

“And it was my fault.”

She gave him a dubious look.

“Okay, before you say anything, just . . . listen.” He pushed his plate away. Sighed. Looked out the window. The sun hung over the backside of the day, still high but casting rays across the mountains, the shadows almost blue.

A gorgeous Alaskan day. The kind of day where people died.

“We were out camping, just the kids—Moose and me and Aven and some of my cousins from Minnesota who were visiting, along with the Bowie brothers and Nash Remington and the Kingston triplets—a whole bunch of us. My parents knew where we were—we’d camped on the river for years. And actually, they were camping with their friends—the Bowies and my aunt and uncle and a few others—just down the road so . . . Anyway, we were below the lower falls, toward Jubilee Lake. Usually a really safe area.”

She hadn’t moved, just listening. The sun swept into the window, turning her hair that copper red, and he suddenly wanted to ditch the story, grab her, and drive.

“Go on.”

“Right. So we were all pretty accomplished kayakers and swimmers, and we’d taken the run down the river, over the falls—the river wasn’t high or anything. Moose and a few of the others decided to haul in, set up camp, make dinner. But not me. And not Aven. She was . . . well, maybe a little crazier than I was. She had this wild side—not rebellious, just . . . she liked to do all the things—cliff jump and kayak and ride dirt bikes and . . . we were close.” He lifted a shoulder. “She was like a sister, maybe. Anyway, we decided to take another run, and I went first over the falls, then waited for her at the edge of the churn pool.” He ran a hand over his mouth. “She hit it all wrong. I don’t know why or how, but she came over backwards, hit the pool already coming out of her kayak, and by the time the boat surfaced, she was out of the seat.”

He swallowed, his voice turning hoarse. “I spotted her in the churn and dove out of the boat for her—our fingertips met, but then she went under.”

He looked away, blowing out a breath. “She never surfaced.” He met her eyes again. She wore a haunted look in her expression. He did too, probably.

“I was screaming for help, and Dodge and Moose showed up, and by that time I was in real trouble. I’d hit my shoulder on one of the rocks searching for her and then went down again and managed to get a foot jammed. I would have drowned if Moose hadn’t dragged me out. As it was, they had to carry me out. I broke my tibia in two places, dislocated my shoulder, and sort of lost it in the hospital when I found out the sheriff’s office couldn’t recover her.”

She nodded. Didn’t speak. But her eyes glistened.

He looked away. “But that wasn’t the worst of it.” He met her eyes. “A month later, a hunter found her body. It was washed up onshore, down the river. But the thing was, she had been shot.”

“With a .270 Winchester.”

“Yeah. Of course, I didn’t know that detail until years later—I just knew that she’d survived going over the falls, and if I’d kept looking . . .”

“Axel.”

He held up a hand. “No. See, that’s not a huge blame jump, is it?”

Her mouth made a thin line. “My mentor, Eve, says that you can’t blame yourself for the actions of others. You tried. And yeah, you couldn’t find her. But her getting murdered is not your fault. That is the fault of the killer. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

He shrugged.

“But you still feel like you have a chain around your neck, pulling you down.”

“Like I’m drowning and can never get enough air.” And he’d never told anyone that before. “How did you?—”

“Me too. Regret. The sense of frustration. The helplessness. Right?”

He nodded. “Every time I rescue someone, it feels like I can breathe. Only for a moment. It doesn’t last, but . . . it helps.”

“Yeah. I get that too. My chief thinks I’m obsessed. I’m not. I’m just trying to . . . well, as you put it, stay above water.”

She leaned forward. Reached out and touched his hand. “So maybe we just need to figure out how to both get on the door.”

It took a moment. Oh, right. Rose and Jack. He turned, wove her fingers between his. Met her eyes.

What was happening here? He’d known her for all of twenty-four hours, —maybe forty-eight if he included the radio chat. And yet . . .

And yet she’d found her way past all his barriers as if they weren’t even there. As if she’d always belonged inside his heart.

“I hope you like salted caramel. This is one of my favorites.”

He let go of Flynn’s hand. Tillie set a creamy milkshake in front of him, another in front of Flynn.

“I put toffee pieces on the top. It’s amazing.”

Flynn reached for the cherry on top of the whipped cream. “It looks amazing.”

He unsheathed his straw. “Thanks, Tillie.”

“Okay, then. Eat your fries; they’re getting cold.” She tucked the tray under her arm and headed away.

“She’s a little bossy,” Flynn said.

“I think that’s why Moose likes her. He doesn’t have to be in charge for once.”

She stuck her straw in, took a sip. He did the same.

“Delicious,” she said.

He reached for a fry, suddenly ravenous. Maybe they’d get a box for the chicken.

“Thanks for telling me the story, Axel.”

He dipped a fry into the whipped cream.

“What you don’t know is that I have an entire wall of information on the Midnight Sun Killer and his history in my extra bedroom.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“Yeah. And I know all about your cousin Aven’s case.”

“What?”

“I mean, I didn’t know about the first part, but I know that she was found near the Bowie camp road. What you don’t know is that she’d been killed a month earlier, even before the first victim, although the first one—Jennifer Greene—was found first. Which makes Aven our first victim, although she’s listed as the second.”

She stirred her shake. “The Bowie camp road follows the river for quite a ways before the river turns south into Remington land, where she was found.”

“It’s a huge swath of land,” he said. “Lots of unknown hunting happening around there. Especially after the Bowie parents were killed.”

“Killed? How?”

“Mac Bowie was a state senator as well as a private pilot, and he was coming back from Juneau when his small plane crashed. He and his wife were killed, along with another couple. Donors, I think. Anyway, the oldest son, Jericho, was already in his twenties, as was Sully, and Hudson was already over eighteen, so they inherited the estate, and Hudson took over the resort as well as custody of his little brother, Malachi. They grew the family’s ventures—Sully works as a trail guide.”

“And Jericho?”

“He hasn’t been around for a while. He was in the military when his folks died, but that’s all I know.”

“Was he around when your cousin went missing?”

“No. He was gone by then.”

She helped him with the fries.

“What about the Remingtons?”

“Ox? He and his wife are separated, although not at the time. I remember them camping with my parents that weekend—they’re still pretty close with Ox. I think his wife lives in Montana along with his daughter and oldest son. It’s just Nash and Jude running the gold mine. I don’t think Ox hunts, but I don’t know.”

“Right. Okay.” She took another sip of shake. “We could really use a fresh lead.”

“Sorry that Ashley didn’t pan out.”

“I’m not.”

He frowned.

“You were worried that you let this guy get away.” She leaned forward. “You didn’t. Like I said—I don’t think it’s him. Our guy finds his victims around the Copper River area for some reason. I’d like to know that reason.”

She leaned back. “The killing at the ski resort was an anomaly. He doesn’t kill in winter—maybe because he’s not usually here. We need a list of guests at the resort . . . See if it lines up with anyone who regularly visits the area in the summer.”

“How would we know that?’

“Copper Mountain is a small town. Maybe Deke or Hank has a list of regulars. Hank has to issue fishing permits, right?”

“And hiking permits.” He signaled Tillie and she came over. “Can we get a box for the chicken?”

She took the plate. “I’ll box it up.”

He turned back to Flynn. “I’ll bet Hank has a database of all the regulars. We can ask him to run it and see if any permits match the dates the women went missing.”

“I like how you think. I might just give you a junior investigator’s badge.”

He laughed as Tillie came back with their chicken. She’d written “To Moose” with a giant red heart and her name scrawled on the top. Axel looked at her.

“I added a few of his favorite pieces in there.” She shrugged. Then she tore off the bill and put it on the table. “Stay safe.”

He picked it up and slid out to pay. When he returned, Flynn had finished her shake, gobbled down the rest of the fries. “I was hungrier than I thought.”

“I like a woman who eats.”

His cell phone buzzed and he pulled it out. “Moose needs us back at the Tooth.”

“The what?”

“Air One HQ. We call it the Tooth. Like, you know, the Moose’s Tooth.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Is that something?”

“It’s a cliff around here. It . . . never mind.” He scooped up the warm container and followed Flynn out to the parking lot. Handed her the box as he got in.

The smell of hot chicken filled the Yukon as they drove the mile over to Merrill Field and the Air One office, located in a building at the edge of the tarmac.

“This is quite the office,” Flynn said as she stepped inside. “That’s a huge map.” She pointed to the topographical map on the wall.

“And it’s only the middle of Alaska, where we operate. Doesn’t even include anything north of Fairbanks or the Juneau area.”

“Seems like a pretty big area for one team.”

“Oh no. We’re the second team. The Coast Guard, the state patrol, and the military have massive operations. But every year, tourists and hikers find themselves in over their heads, and sometimes the wait for help can be hours, or days.” He set the container on the stone island. “We’re privately funded, out of an endowment from a man who helped Moose get started. But we do fundraising every year—hence the TV show. Moose needed to fill the coffers, so he hired us all on as guinea pigs.”

“Celebrity guinea pigs,” Moose said, coming down the hallway. He wore a red jumpsuit, carried a file folder wrapped with a rubber band, and a held a radio. “I think I saw T-shirts with Axel’s face on them.”

“They’ll make a killing,” Flynn said.

Axel glanced at her, a little heat in his face. She winked.

Oh wow. Yeah, he was in way over his head here.

Moose raised an eyebrow but nodded and set the folder down on the table. “We got a call from Hank. They need help. There’s been a run of climbers trying for the summit, trying to outrun an -coming storm. At the same time, Dodge and other local pilots are busy hauling people off the mountain. They’re short on resources. Apparently, Sully called in and needs help with a hiker who fell. Said it’s not urgent, but they can’t get to him, so they need the chopper. I need to head back to Copper Mountain, and I was hoping you’d come with me, Axel. We’ll leave Boo and Shep here to assist locally, if they need it.”

“Yeah, sure. Flynn? Ready to head back to Copper Mountain?”

“Axel, we’re heading right to the rescue site. I don’t think?—”

“She needs a ride back to Copper Mountain.”

Moose considered Flynn for a moment. Glanced at her leg.

“I promise not to get in the way.”

Oh, she was already way in the way. But Axel let out his held breath when Moose nodded.

Two hours later, however, his only thought was on the fourteen-year-old kid who’d gone on a walkabout from the guys’ fishing trip, slipped, and found himself thirty feet down, on the edge of a cliff, unable to climb up, with a hundred-yard drop to the river shore below.

Axel had donned a harness while London, who’d ridden as copilot, clipped on the rescue harness. Flynn wore a helmet, clearly listening to the conversation as London communicated with Moose, positioning the chopper above the kid, who appeared panicked and a little bloodied, but standing as he gripped the rock some thirty feet below.

“Rescue out the door,” said London as Axel maneuvered out of the chopper.

From inside, where she sat against the wall, Flynn gave him a thumbs-up.

“Descending,” London said and lowered him down on the hoist. Not a windy day so he caught the rock easily, waved to London to stop, and braced himself in front of the kid.

“Hey! My name is Axel. I’m with the rescue team. What’s your name?”

“Laramie.”

“Nice to meet you, Laramie. How’s the view?”

The kid smiled a little. “Big.”

“Yep. Okay, let’s get you off this rock.” Axel put the sling over Laramie’s shoulders, then under his arms, and stretched it out so it also encompassed his backside. “I got you, so just sit back and hold on to me.” He patted his harness and the kid grabbed the straps. He motioned to London and pushed away from the rock.

Laramie grunted and Axel put his arm around him, mostly to protect him from the rotor wash, but it never felt great to dangle in midair. At least, not the first time.

Now, Axel drank it in, despite the tremor that scurried through him every time he stepped away from terra firma. He put his hand over Laramie’s head as they came to the chopper bed. London raised them up and pulled them in and onto a stretcher.

Axel climbed right in over the kid, then reached up to hook them into the safety line before London unhooked them from the winch and closed the door.

“You okay?” Axel asked, his voice raised as he climbed away and sat on the deck.

Laramie lay there, looking at the ceiling, breathing out.

Axel patted his chest. Leaned over to talk to him. “You’ll be fine. It’s just the adrenaline drop.”

He took a deep breath. Looked at Flynn. She was grinning.

“Breathing?” she said into the mouthpiece.

Yes. A full breath.

She wore something bright and sweet in her eyes.

Okay, yeah, he didn’t hate that she was here to see that.

They touched down on the riverbed, Moose finding a clear area. Sully, Bowie, and a number of other men stayed back until the rotors stopped spinning.

Then London opened the door.

Laramie’s father, a muscled guy, lean and built, was the first in, grabbing up his son. He looked strangely familiar, but Axel couldn’t place him. Maybe he’d seen him in town.

Axel glanced over at Moose, who was grinning, watching the father and son embrace. He’d endure some crazy celebrity to be able to have this moment.

London got out as Axel worked off his helmet and followed.

Sully came up. “Love watching you guys in action.” He met Axel’s hand. Then he looked past Axel and jerked.

Flynn had gotten out of the chopper, also taken off her helmet, shaking down her copper hair, then looking up at him and grinning.

Until, that is, Sully said, “Kennedy? What the heck? What are you doing here?”

Then he stepped up to her, put his hand around her neck, and kissed her.