Page 79 of One Last Chance

Yeah, any more and she might lose her brains altogether.

Except, she got that. He madeherfeel as if . . . well, as if she might be discovering a part of herself that she’d forgotten.

The Kennedy part of her, maybe.

But not today. Today she was Flynn with a purpose. And on this morning’s agenda was a stopover at the ranger’s station because Axel had gotten a text this morning from Peyton saying that she’d brought in the journal. But first, a chat with the sheriff and maybe the regional forester, Hank Billings, with the hope of getting a list of recurring seasonal tourists.

She had the victims list plastered in her brain but also on her phone, which Peyton had grabbed also.

“We’re getting somewhere; I just feel it,” Flynn said, setting the cinnamon roll on a napkin, wiping her hands on a wet wipe from the bag, and reaching for her coffee.

“I’ll say,” Axel said and winked.

“Stop.”

“Just saying that we were getting somewhere last night pretty well.”

“Seriously?” But she grinned. Frankly, the fact that he’d called a halt to their campout by the river had her trusting him more than he could know.

Jack was the real deal. And his words to her kept whispering around her brain, even in her dreams.“I’m helping you see that maybe there is something else—for both of us—if you have a little faith.”

Last night, she’d stood on a cliff facing the valley below, spread her wings, and taken off.

Wait.She put down her coffee. “Right before I was shot at, I was standing on a mountaintop, and I saw some smoke in the distance. Like from a campfire or a cabin . . .”

“Could be.” He took a sip of coffee, then reached into the bag.

“But didn’t you say that was all national forest? Can people camp in a national forest?”

“If they have a permit, sure. And there are a few off-grid cabins that are grandfathered in, so yeah, smoke from a campfire or a chimney isn’t unusual.”

Oh.

“You thought it was a clue?”

“Hoped so.”

Around them, tourists wandered the streets, some of them entering the Last Frontier, others walking along the wooden boardwalk between stores—gift shops, Bowie Mountain Gear, a bookstore with a sandwich board advertising a BOGO sale. The outfitters had set a teepee of kayaks out with a rental sign.

And down the street, workers strung lights across the road with American flag banners hanging down.

“Is there a festival this weekend?”

Axel set down his donut, leaned in, his voice low. “Fourth of July? It’s sort of a once-a-year thing. Involves hot dogs and fireworks. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious.” She finished off her roll. “No wonder the town is so full.”

“Actually, Copper Mountain does it up right—street vendors, the Midnight Sun Saloon sells barbecue sliders that are so good they will melt your face off. And the VFW pays for the fireworks. We even have a street dance.”

“I love street dances. They have one in a small town on the north shore of Minnesota every year. My family usually goes up to visit my cousins there. It’s a blast.”

“Clearly you’ll have to show off your street-dance moves,” he said, finishing his donut.

“Really.”

“Probably with me.”

She smiled. “We’ll see. I might go with Sully.”

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