Page 5 of One Last Chance

Axel got up. Shot him a look.

“What?”

“That’s enough, Jude,” Sully said, looking back at Axel.

Behind him, the falls fell, the fog rising into the golden shadows.

Above them, from the chopper, Shep was coming down on a line. Axel got up to reel his teammate in. “Let’s get out of here before the river changes its mind.”

Today, they’d been lucky. Real lucky.

But the river kept score.

And Axel was no longer down by one.

* * *

He was out there; Flynn knew it in her bones.

You can run, but you can’t hide.

“Wait until we get there, Flynn.” The voice came through her earwig, attached by Bluetooth to her cell phone. Yes, she should probably listen to Chief Burke if she wanted to hold on to her job.

But she also wanted to catch the 1039 Killer, and time gave them no favors. Which was why she stood under the Broadway Avenue Bridge in Minneapolis, down by the water, in the shadows, in the rain, waiting, her breath tight, her eyes peeled at the banks of the river.

He dumped them here. Or around here. Every time.

Girls he’d picked up at the nearby 1039 Bar. It had taken them only six months to figure that out, one strangled, sexually-assaulted victim at a time.

But lately, he’d gotten reckless, maybe frustrated, even thirsty.

“I’m pulling up to Broadway Pizza,” Burke said into her ear.

“Don’t scare him away,” she whispered. Her eyes had adjusted to the wan light of the overhead lights across the bridge. Rain, however, pinged down around her, and mud covered her pants, her boots, her jacket soaked through. She wore a baseball cap, but that didn’t help much, not with the downpour earlier.

Felt like heaven might be weeping.

Not tonight. Tonight the carnageends.

“I’m coming to you.”

“No. I need you above me, on the bridge, watching in case he drops her on the other side.”

“And what if he sees you? He could snatch you too.”

“You just keep your eyes peeled for him. This is his night; I can feel it.”

Burke made a sound, something deep inside his chest. Probably frustration. She hadn’t exactly extended him an invite to this. He’d heard about her stakeout through his ex-cop partner, Rembrandt, who’d probably heard it from his wife, Chief Crime Scene Forensic Examiner, Eve Stone, Flynn’s self-appointed mentor after Flynn had interned with her.

Yes, Eve might be a bit of a mother hen, her worry igniting the scrutiny of Flynn’s boss, Chief Inspector Andrew Burke. But Flynn wasn’t going to go crazy, try to apprehend the guy right here without backup. She just wanted to spot him, confirm, follow, and then, in the light of day, she’d track him down and bring him in. With the appropriate backup.

Maybe.

Aw, probably not. Because she wasn’t going to let him go to kill another day.

Still, she was armed with her camera. And yes, a weapon, albeit holstered. Because she wasn’t stupid, thank you. She hadn’t become one of the youngest detectives in the Minneapolis Police Department by rushing in without thinking.

No, she’d planned this rainy, midnight stakeout for two weeks, right after the 1039 Killer dropped his last victim into the muddy waters of the Mississippi, under the Broadway Avenue Bridge, and she’d figured out another piece of the puzzle.

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