Page 17 of One Last Chance

“What? Eggs are good for you.” He put all six into the pot.

On the screen, he pulled Ashley out of the dark, roiling waters of the Eagle River, helping her and a drenched Oaken Fox, their celebrity trainee, to shore.

The camera caught her being attended to by Boo Kingston, their EMT, and Shep Watson, another rescue tech. Axel noticed how their other rescue tech and copilot, London Brooks, made herself a little scarce—he hadn’t exactly spotted that before. In fact, he’d seen only a few of the shows, but he didn’t remember her appearing in any of them.

Oaken came on in a cameo to talk about the rescue, and Moose popped the volume down. He got up and walked into the kitchen as Axel watched the water boil. “What’s with you and this show? I would have thought you’d be more excited to see yourself on TV.”

“I’ve seen myself on TV before, Moose. I’m not a fan.”

Silence.

He looked at his brother, who folded his arms over his heavily muscled chest, all flannel, all north woods—the nickname Moose exactly right. The man always barreled into a person’s space without permission.

“What?”

“You’re being a little hard on yourself.”

“Really? You ever had to make a choice that cost a life? Watch a family be shattered because of you?”

His mouth tightened, andaw,maybe Axel was wound a little tight. He blamed his mood on the sleepless night and the nightmares the river always dredged up. On Aven and her haunting laughter, the smile she’d given him a moment before he missed her grip.

Her scream, lifting into the air, shaking him down to his soul.

“I’ve seen my share of rescues gone south,” Moose said quietly.

Yeah, probably. Axel glanced at the screen. The footage caught him diving back into the river, tethered to Shep on shore, swimming out to the submerged caravan that had careened off the road into the river, then tumbled into the rapids. It showed him catching up to it, searching it, then canvassing the rocks and shoreline.

A voice came over the screen as the shot faded out. “The driver, still unknown, was never recovered.”

Nice. Perfect.

His eggs had started to float to the top, so he pulled them out with a ladle and set them in a pan of ice water in the sink.

Outside, the day had turned grim, with the clouds low, a slight drizzle in the air. He poured himself a glass of milk.

Moose picked up the remote to turn the TV off when scenes of the next show began to play.

The snowstorm up at the Copper Mountain Lodge. The missing women from the bachelorette party, and then Oaken’s small tirade. They’d even caught footage of the guys eating out at the Skyport Diner, that pretty waitress Moose liked serving them midnight chicken.

Funny, but it occurred to him that Moose hadn’t been back to the Skyport in weeks.

Still, the footage stirred up the memories, especially of the woman, one of the lost, who’d been found, murdered.

Shot.

With a .270 Winchester.

Just like Aven.

Now, as he transferred his hard-boiled eggs to a plate to peel them, he looked up at Moose. “What if the guy didn’t die? What if he got away . . .”

Moose turned off the television. Turned to Axel, his expression grim. “What do you mean?”

“What if the guy in the caravan was the Midnight Sun Killer and I let him get away?” He couldn’t believe he’d voiced it, but that fear had been circling his brain for the better portion of a month. Maybe letting it out would ease the burn inside.

Moose gave a huff that sounded a little like disbelief.

“What was that for?”

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