Page 112 of One Last Chance

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

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

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

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

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

“Rose tattoo on her neck, right?”

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

“No bodies.”

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

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

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

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

“That’s okay. Keep an eye out, okay?”

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

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

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

Moose blew out a breath. Wanted to hit something.

Where are you, Tillie?

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

Maybe.

Probably.

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

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

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

“Where are you?”

“Anchorage.” Something about his tone . . .

“How soon can you get here?”

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

“Bring the new drone. And hurry.”

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

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