Page 82 of One Last Chance

Peyton’s smile dimmed, her eyes narrowing. “Are you sure? Because that’s a national forest area. Could it have been a shot that carried? The Bowie land is nearby—maybe some fishermen, firing at bears?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It pinged off rock at my feet.” She sank into a chair. “I can admit to some panic.”

Peyton folded her arms. “I’d be panicked. I’m glad Axel showed up.” She gave her a smile, something of tease in it. “So . . . there are rumors . . . I saw London today at the Last Frontier.”

“Wow, can this town get any smaller?”

“Probably not. The ham-radio date worked out, then?”

“I don’t know.” Flynn looked out the window to the river in the distance. Back to Peyton. “I have a life in Minneapolis.”

“Yeah, you do.” Peyton smiled. “That’s what my dad said. But he and my mom are back here every summer because this is her hometown. They make it work. You want something enough, you make it work.” She reached down beside her desk and hauled up Flynn’s backpack. “The journal is in there, and I put your phone in the side pocket.”

“Wow, thanks.” Flynn stood up. “Hey, do you think I could get a list of recurring hikers in the area who’ve gotten permits for the national forest where we were?”

Peyton frowned at her. “Why?”

“I can’t help but think that the Midnight Sun Killer might be a tourist.”

Her friend went quiet.

“What?”

“I don’t know. Most of the hikers I meet are crunchy granola types. And I don’t know much about the case except for the rumors, but the Midnight Sun Killer seems more ex-military. Like a tracker or a sniper or . . . a big-game hunter. I think you’d have more luck asking some of the guides around here for their client lists. You could start with Sully. He brings a lot of groups in all year round.”

“We’ve met.”

Peyton smiled. “Okay, I’ll ask Hank. You going to be in town for the festival?”

“Not sure. Thanks, Peyton.” Flynn grabbed her pack.

“Glad you’re okay.” Peyton gave Flynn a hug on the way out.

Flynn stopped in at Bowie Mountain Gear and searched for Axel but didn’t spot him, so she headed over to the pizza place and took a seat at one of the yellow tables.

Opened up her backpack. The journal sat at the top and she pulled it out, along with the map.

Spread it out.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

The question came from a teenager, clearly a waitress, her long blonde hair pulled back. Pretty. She wore a nametag—Parker. “Water is good.”

“Menu is on the board in the middle of the table.” She pointed to a blackboard, chalked and shellacked. “But we have a lunch appetizer special on breadsticks.”

“Sure.” Why not eat all the bread in town?

She dug the phone out of her backpack’s side pocket. Dead, but she’d powered it down when they left civilization, so she pressed the power button.

It came to life, vibrating, and suddenly a slew of messages came in. She thumbed open her app.

All from Eve. She opened the text loop.

Eve

How’s Alaska?

Have you found anything?

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