Chapter 1 #2
“That’s mostly Hudson. He and Malachi took over the resort in town and they’ve grown it. Malachi opened up the outfitter’s store a few years ago.”
Harley ran a finger around the rim of her mug.
Echo picked up Chase’s sippy cup. “Okay, yes, I saw Jericho in town last summer. He’s out of the military. Runs some K9 SAR training school in Montana.”
Harley took another sip of coffee.
“Not that you’re interested or anything.”
Harley’s throat tightened. Jericho. Of course the name thumped, a heartbeat, soft, ever present despite her efforts to shut it down.
“I haven’t seen him since the funeral.” She lifted a shoulder. “I was a mess.”
“We all were.”
“Yeah, well, we didn’t talk, even then, and then he practically sprinted out of town—”
“He was deployed, Harley. Just like Dodge—”
“I know. It was a long time ago. And it took everyone a hot minute to figure out how to put things back together after the accident.”
Silence, and yep, probably Echo was thinking about Gabe too.
“Although some of us didn’t quite get there,” Harley said quietly, voicing her thoughts.
Echo touched her hand. “You’re not alone, Harley. I know it feels like it, but Copper Mountain is family.”
Harley withdrew her hand. “I’m good.” She smiled. “Tell me about Starlight Pizza.”
Echo met her eyes. “Fine. That’s Levi Starr’s place.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, it’s good pizza. You should try it.”
“We’ll see. I’m here for work. No need to make a big reunion out of it.”
Echo raised an eyebrow, skeptical but soft. “Work, huh?”
“Mars Sorros is still in the wind.”
Echo’s mouth opened. “Oh, Harley. You should stay away from that one . . .”
“It’s time for justice.”
Echo dug into her diaper bag, pulled out wipes. “Just be careful. They’ve terrorized this town for a long time, for good reason.”
Because her dad wasn’t around to stop them.
Echo had picked up Chase, now cleaned his face while he tried to escape. And that’s when Harley’s gaze had flicked past her, toward the counter.
She stilled.
No—seriously? A guy in a faded Carhartt jacket stood by the pastry case, his back to them, but the slope of his shoulders, the way he shifted .
. . She yanked her phone from her jacket, swiped to her open cases.
Aw. Travis “T-Bone” Malone, fifty-thousand bond, skipped out of Juneau.
Domestic assault charges, then a bar brawl turned ugly. Same buzzed hair, same skinny build.
And on her radar for the better part of a year. “What’s he doing here?” She pointed to T-Bone.
Echo glanced at him. “He looks familiar. I think he works for Summit Construction. They’re working on the Eagle’s Nest.”
Whatever that was.
He was far enough from Juneau that he must have thought he was safe.
T-Bone paid for a coffee and turned.
He wore a scraggly beard, a soiled wool hat, and—ding, ding, ding—dollar signs.
“Who is he?” Echo asked as Harley stood.
Not here.
Harley glanced at Echo. “Stay put.”
T-Bone headed for the door.
But not before snagging a woman’s fanny pack slung over a chair on his way out. The woman—tourist, distracted by her phone—didn’t notice as he tucked it under his arm like it belonged there.
C’mon. But what did she expect?
“Harls—” Echo started, but Harley was moving, throwing her sling bag over one shoulder as T-Bone shoved through the door, the bell jangling.
She followed, the cold slapping her face as she hit the street.
“Hey!” she barked, her voice punching the morning air.
T-Bone glanced back, eyes wide, then bolted.
And that’s how she found herself working up a sweat along the boardwalk.
Now, Harley sprinted, her legs pumping.
He skidded, slipping on ice, and she saw her shot.
She aimed and pulled the trigger. The little projectile gun made a pop, and powder dusted her target, hitting him in the back. T-Bone made a sound of pain—no real damage, just a bruise—then he stumbled.
It was just enough for her to catch up. She launched herself, tripping him, putting her knee in his back.
T-Bone swung an elbow and bam! The hit landed on her cheek, sent stars.
But she’d been hit before, and she shook it off.
Galvanized, she drove her knee into his back harder, grabbed his wrist and bent his hand back.
He stopped twisting, and she put her other hand on his neck. His stolen fanny pack slid away.
He snarled. “Get off me, you—”
“I’m authorized by the state of Alaska to take you into custody for skipping bail.”
Right then, a truck rumbled up—a rusty Ford. The window rolled down, and she braced herself, not sure why.
Because he wasn’t here—wasn’t coming back, and just because she’d showed up in town to hunt down a piece of the past didn’t mean—
Topher Dahlquist stuck his head out of the window, his sandy hair tousled, his grin crooked. “I can’t believe it, Trouble is back in town!”
Oh brother.
Topher opened the door and hopped out, his work boots hitting the gravel. “Harley Tatum, is that really you?” He glanced at T-Bone. “What is going on?”
“Fugitive recovery.”
Topher gave her a look. “Seriously. Of course.” But he grinned at her. “Need a hand?”
“Knock yourself out.”
Topher grabbed the wiry fugitive, who appeared a waif in his beefy grip. He barely struggled under Topher’s grasp.
Harley swung her pack around and yanked out the flexicuffs from her back pocket. Snapped them onto one wrist, then the other.
Shouting erupted behind her. She looked over, spotted the woman from the coffee shop, who ran up, out of breath. Harley grabbed the fanny pack, brushed off the dirt, handed it to her.
“Thank you—oh, thank you!” the woman said, opening the bag to check the contents.
“Still a cop, huh?” Topher asked Harley.
“Nope. PI.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Too many rules.”
He laughed. “Of course. You want me to call Deke to pick this guy up?” He kept a one-handed grip on the man as he pulled out his phone.
“Deke?” she said, an eye on T-Bone. He glanced at her, his mouth tight.
“Yeah, the D-Starr is now sheriff.” Topher put the phone to his ear. “Hey, Shasta, this is Topher. Send a car down to the river, just north of the Bowie place, where the river does that little dog leg—yeah, that’s right. We have a”—he looked at Harley, a question in his eyes.
“Citizen’s arrest.”
He made a sound but repeated her words into the phone. “Good. Thanks.” Hung up.
“Shasta?” she asked. “Winter’s kid sister?”
“Works dispatch. And other jobs. Hey, does Winter know you’re back?”
She smiled. “Not yet.”
“I can take care of that.” He winked.
“I’ll bet you can. You two ever—”
“Gonna stop you there.”
Right.
“Otherwise, I get to start asking questions too,” he said.
She put her hands up in front of her. “I’m done.”
Topher grinned. Then his face turned serious. “You heard about the Sorros brothers?”
“Showing up and taking some pop singer hostage? Maybe crashing a plane? Mars on the lam? Yeah, I’m read up on it.”
“That’s the local gist. Wait. Is that why you’re here?”
“We have unfinished business.” She met Topher’s eyes. “Me and Mars, just for clarification.”
Topher nodded. “Right. You staying?”
“Not really.”
His mouth made a tight line, a nod. “Too bad. Town got boring without you.”
She gave him a warm shove and he grinned. Winked.
“You look good, Harley.”
Sweet. “You too.”
Behind them a siren blared.
“That’s totally unnecessary,” she said.
Topher shrugged. “They don’t get to use it very often.” But then he turned to her. “Although my guess is that is about to change.”
“Hardy har, Toph.”
He grinned again.
And maybe it wasn’t quite so terrible to be back. At least, for a half second. As long as she didn’t run into any more thieves, especially the kind that could steal her heart.
The cruiser pulled up, and Topher walked over to the man getting out of the driver’s seat. Not Deke. Well, probably for the best.
She turned and stared off at the mountains, the oncoming storm. Yes, time to finish this.
And then she’d finally be able to say goodbye.