Page 12 of One Last Shot

“I have. It’s over. But I’m not... Listen, my place here has a guest room. Feel free to fly up anytime.”

“I just might do that. Swim with the whales or something.”

Her voice untangled the knot that had formed in Boo’s chest. “Sounds good.”

“I’m going to keep harassing you.”

“Get used to my voicemail.”

More laughter. “So, how’s Alaska—land of many men? Found anyone yet?”

“Wow, you’re brave tonight.”

“C’mon. It’s a fresh start. Let yourself off the hook. I’m sure you can find a guy who can make you forget?—”

“And we’re done. Love you, Austen.”

“Boo—seriously. Alaska is the one place where people don’t live and die by social media. You’re safe.”

“Hardly.”

“I just don’t like tosee you alone.”

“Alone is better than betrayed. Or brokenhearted.”Aw.“And this is why I don’t like to talk about it. Listen, sis, I’m fine. And I’m not going to run into the perfect Alaskan man.”

“If you do, please don’t chase him away. Or, I don’t know—shoot him.”

“No one is dying on my watch. That’s at least one thing I can promise.”

A soft chuckle at the other end. “Okay. Love you, Boo. Be safe.”

“Back atcha.” She hung up, then glanced at her radio to readjust the volume.

Turned her gaze back to the road.

What the?—

A man stood nearly in the middle, waving his arms.

She slammed her brakes, cranked her wheel. The Rogue spun, the snow turning the pavement a little slick. But she managed to right the car before it slid into the ditch. It jerked to a stop, and she grabbed the wheel, breathing hard.

The windshield wipers scraped the window, her heart in her throat.

A knocking on her side window made her nearly come out of her skin.

She turned, and the man stood there. Dressed in an orange parka, a wool hat, his face chapped, a scruff of whiskers on his chin, and his blue eyes just a little wide-eyed and desperate.

“What do you want?” Was that blood he’d streaked across the glass?

“Help!” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Roll down the window.”

Right. Um, never. She reached over to her glove box and opened it.

Pulled out her 9mm Glock 19.

The man put up his hands. Stepped back. “Hey . . . hey . . . calm down.”

That’s when she spotted the wound on his chin, the blood now crusty and dark. She rolled her window halfway down. Set the gun in her lap. “I’m calm. This is just in case you’re a crazy person. What are you doing out here?” She didn’t see a car in the ditch. “Where’d you come from?”