Page 153 of One Last Chance

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 wordsSummit Scrambleon 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.

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