Page 60 of One Last Chance

Axel held out a hand to the dog, shushing it.

The boxer ran to the end of the yard, leaped up, still snarling.

“He’s clearly immune to your charm.”

“I should have saved him a pasty.”

“I’d fight him for it.”

He laughed.

It threaded inside her. Oh, how she liked that laugh.

“Ashley knows me, so”——” he headed up the stairs—“maybe she’ll be willing to talk.”

Flynn could have called the Anchorage Police Department and asked for a favor, but this felt simpler. Besides, it was a personal investigation. For now.

He knocked, and in a moment, the inner door opened.

A woman, young twenties, gaunt, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, stood holding a cat. She didn’t open the screen door. “Yeah?”

“Hey,” Axel said. “Ashley? Remember me, from the river?—”

“I remember you.” She gave him a wan smile, swallowed. Then glanced at Flynn.

Maybe it helped that Flynn still looked pretty banged up, with a leg brace and head bandage. A fellow victim.

“Can we talk to you about that night—the guy that picked you up?”

Ashley looked again at Axel, drew in a breath. Swallowed. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She stepped back, reached for the door?—

“I’m looking for my sister. I think that might be the guy who took her,” Flynn said. Sometimes putting the victim in a place of power helped. “You could help us find him . . .”

Ashley’s mouth tightened around the edges, and only then did Flynn see the tiniest bruise on her face. Maybe Axel saw it too because?—

“Are you . . . safe?”

She glanced down the hall, back to Axel. “Yeah.”

But then she stepped out onto the deck. She wore threadbare slippers, and her hair hung in greasy tangles. The sweet odor of something other than cigarette smoke emanated from her clothing.

Oh boy. Flynn tried to assess whether she was high but couldn’t tell.

Ashley let the cat go, and it ran to the fence and hissed at the still-growling boxer. She pulled out a vape pen and inhaled. Blew out smoke. “What do you want to know? I already talked to the police.”

“I know,” Axel said.

She looked at him. “Did you get any money for the show?”

He glanced at Flynn, back. “Um, I think Air One got a production fee, but not me?—”

“They made me sign a waiver that night. Didn’t pay me anything.”

“Sorry.”

“They made me look . . .” She shook her head. “He followed me out of the bar, pulled me into the car. I didn’t ask for it . . .” Her gaze met Flynn’s. “Did you ask for it?”

Flynn drew in a breath. “No. He shot at me.”

---