Page 17 of One Last Shot

It felt wrong, but whatever—it didn’t matter because in the distance, the sound of a chopper thundered, shivering the nearby trees.

He got out of the car and stood, watching as the familiar red bird was set down on the highway. A second before he made to run for it, a hand grabbed him back.

Boo. “Head down.”

She ducked and he followed her as they ran to the now-opening chopper door.

He followed her inside the deck, and the other rescue tech closed the door. “Strap in.” The tech handed him headphones. Boo donned a pair also.

“Hey, Axel,” she said and slapped his hand. Then she turned and showed the pilot—Moose, if Oaken remembered correctly—her phone. “He says Mike is about ten clicks east, on a cliff on the north side of the river.”

Moose nodded. “It’s getting dark out—let’s get this done.”

The bird lifted, and in a second, they flew up the river. Oaken leaned against the window, scanning the darkening shoreline, remembering his trek. His head throbbed with the beat of the rotors.

He spotted the cliff, wincing at the memory of the twenty-foot fall. Lucky he wasn’t more injured. Then, “There. I left him over there.”

Not much more than an overhang in the granite, but enough for him to shove Mike in, and as the chopper landed on the massive ledge, the lights illuminated the pocket.

Mike.

“Stay here!” said Boo, but hello, not on her life. He followed her out, ducking, and then ran over to Mike as they retrieved the litter from the chopper.

Mike lay still as ice, and Oaken whipped off his glove, pressed his fingers against Mike’s carotid artery.

A faint heartbeat whispered against his fingers. He wanted to weep.

He leaned close even as Boo and Axel ran over to him.

“Don’t worry, Mike. You’re in safe hands.”

Then he got up and backed away as they pulled Mike out and strapped him into the litter.

They secured him into the chopper, and Oaken followed him in, leaning back against the seat. Breathing. He closed his eyes.

And for the first time in thirty-six hours, he slept.

CHAPTER 3

Too close.Waytoo close.

Mike Grizz had died, twice, in the chopper during the trip to Alaska Regional Hospital.

Boo paced in the hallway in the ER wing, arms folded, jaw tight, gaze flickering back now and again to the ER area where the docs worked on the television star.

“Good work, Boo.”

She looked up to see the ER doors closing behind Moose, now coming toward her. He wore a baseball cap over his dark hair, a flannel shirt, a down jacket unzipped, a pair of jeans and boots, and carried a can of Coke.

“You got him here alive.”

She nodded and glanced over at the chairs where Oaken Fox sat, his head bowed, hands folded, as if he might be praying. Or just hoping.

Poor guy had fallen asleep when they took off from the cliff.

Oaken had woken up when Mike flatlined the first time. And after Boo had brought Mike back, Oaken had appeared stripped, hollowed out, and horrified. Never mindthe second time.

But she hadn’t had time to consider Oaken and the tragedy playing in his mind, because she’d yanked Mike back from the white light just as they touched down on the helipad of the hospital. The ER crew had rushed out, loaded Mike onto a gurney, and taken over from there.