Page 72 of One Last Chance

London had bandaged up a cut on Laramie’s hand and packed up the medical kit. “Laramie and his dad are going to finish the trip with Sully,” she said. “So I think we’re done here.” She stowed her med kit and climbed into the copilot seat.

Flynn climbed into the chopper, strapped in, and pulled on her helmet.

Axel closed the door and settled beside her, also buckling in. “You sorted?”

She nodded but folded her arms around herself as Moose started up the rotors and finally took off.

She couldn’t speak over the sound of the rotor wash as they headed toward Copper Mountain, so she let herself sink into her thoughts.

If Kennedy was in love with Sully—and if she knew her sister like she knew herself, Kennedy had fallen hard and fast for the handsome fishing guide—nothing would keep her from returning to him.

Except if she thought she—or he—wasn’t safe. If she thought by staying away she’d keep them out of trouble.

And then there was the trouble, the stalker.

Kennedy couldn’t know that Slade was dead. But surely she didn’t think he’d followed her out into the wilds of Alaska?

No, she was afraid of someone else.

They touched down on the tarmac at the Copper Mountain airport, and Axel helped her out, then London and he unloaded the gear into a storage unit in the offices while Moose tied down the chopper.

Moose and London headed inside the office, maybe to make transportation arrangements.

Axel held out his hand. “C’mon. I’ll introduce you to the pasty maker.”

“What I really need is clean clothes. I can’t keep wearing what you brought me to the hospital in. And you dumped all my clothes out at the cabin, thank you.” Her eyes widened. “And the journal.”

“What journal?” He held open the gate to the parking lot.

“It’s a journal Kennedy kept at the cabin. It was in my pack. I completely forgot about it—can we go back?”

He stopped, looked at her. “To the cache cabin? Seriously?”

“I . . .” She sighed. “Okay. I just . . . I just thought there might be something in the journal about who she might have been afraid of.”

He turned to her, put his hands on her forearms. “I’ll call Hank and see if he can get ahold of Peyton and . . . I’ll do my best.”

And suddenly her eyes started to fill. Maybe the rush of adrenaline from the rescue or the surprise of being kissed or even the fact that her sister had been found and loved . . . but, aw, she started to cry.

“What . . . Hey?—”

He pulled her against himself, his strong arms around her, and simply stayed right there in the parking lot, holding her while she quietly fell apart.

“It’s okay. I’ll get the journal?—”

“No, it’s not the journal. It’s . . .” She leaned back. “I don’t know. It’s being here, so close and yet so far, and then . . . you. You just keep . . .”

“What?”

“Being nice! And getting me out of trouble and . . . and . . .” She stared at him, not even sure?—

He cupped his hands under her face, met her eyes. And then he slowly bent down and kissed her.

Oh, it was sweet, his touch, like he didn’t want to break her or hurt her, his lips soft, perfect?—

But she wanted—something else. More of him. All of him, maybe, and she reached up with her good hand and grabbed his shirt.

Lifted herself on her toes and kissed him back. Hard. All in. Practically inhaling the man because this, right here, was air. Breath.

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