Page 146 of One Last Chance

Rose and Jack would never have made it in the real world.

Another knock. Seriously, he’d never been so popular. And again, his heart rebelliously fell whennotFlynn walked in the door.

Shasta. “Hey, Axel. I saw Moose—he said I could talk to you.”

“I didn’t realize Moose was in charge of my calendar.”

She stilled.

“Sorry, Shas. It’s fine. Come in.”

She nodded. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. “‘Sup?”

He moved the oxygen mask away and reached for the cinnamon roll.Yay, Mom.

“I was hoping . . . I mean, I know that you don’t see yourself as a hero, but . . . I was hoping that—” She swallowed. “Maybe you’d be willing to give me that exclusive?”

Shoot.But Alicia’s words still hung in his head.“Don’t apologize for doing what God created you to do.”

Fine.He smiled at her. “Okay, yes. Sit down, Shasta, and fire away. I’ve got all day.”

CHAPTER15

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.

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