Page 123 of Backtrack

Lola gazed at the line of evergreens across the PD parking lot. “Or we could stay the night in Juneau, away from your witchy ex, and avoid the FBI agent who’s already pissed at us. Then we fly to Skagway tomorrow morning by seaplane. See this thing through. Either way, you still have a time cushion, oh Great Maker of Gravy.”

“That is not a bad idea, Teariki.” Cutter took out his phone and clicked through several pages while he spoke. “Might even get lucky and run across Leo Bouchard.”

“Possible,” Lola said. “Don’t know if you realize this, but we’re damned good man hunters.”

Cutter held up the phone. “They have rooms at the Baranof.”

“Ick!” Lola acted like she might gag. “Too close to the Alaska legislature. Slimy. They get politician gunk all over the furniture.”

“The Sheraton, then,” Cutter said.

“Sweet as.” Lola looked up from her phone. “That’s just across from the Hangar. They got massive burgers!”

Cutter clicked through his Marriott app while Lola worked on their transportation.

“Rooms are booked.” He returned the phone to his pocket.

“First available flight to Skagway on Alaska Seaplanes is at 7:40 a.m., a few minutes after the ship docks. There’s an earlier one, but it’s fully booked. You want to try a different carrier?”

“Nah,” Cutter said. “That morning flight is fine.” The rain picked up, hammering the metal awning and turning the parking lot into a river.

Lola grinned. “I got an idea. How about we go back inside and talk to that patrol officer? Jamie, I think his name was. He’s kinda sweet on me, I think. Bet he’d be keen to help us look for Leo Bouchard.”

CHAPTER 55

The next morning broke with clear skies and mirror-like seas. The trees around Juneau, still wet from rain the day before, dripped prismatic drops in the astonishingly brilliant sunlight.

The Tlingit woman at the Alaska Seaplanes counter weighed not only Cutter and Lola’s luggage but Cutter and Lola as well. They took weight and balance seriously—a big reason Cutter liked to fly with them. Unlike a few months ago, he had a lot to live for. Augering into a mountain because some tourist was embarrassed to admit last night’s king crab feast had put him over three hundred wasn’t in the cards.

The Cessna 208 Caravan that would carry them to Skagway was essentially a tattered version of the much more babied and well-appointed plane operated by the Marshals Service in Alaska. Where this one had ragged cloth seats and transported fish, hunters, and sightseers, the Marshals Caravan moved prisoners and deputies once or twice a week at the most. The district pilot, a former Marine named Micki Lee Frank, would chop off a deputy’s fingers if they even thought about bringing fish on her airplane’s leather seats.

In addition to the pilot and co-pilot seat, the Alaska Seaplanes Caravan had room for eight additional passengers, with four seats running along either side of the aircraft. There was a relatively large cargo area aft, separated by a canvas net that looked like it had seen more than its fair share of use. Lola took a seat across from Cutter.

The six other passengers were retired schoolteachers who’d driventheir motorhomes from Omaha to Skagway and then taken a two-day side trip to Juneau. Now they were heading back. One of the women caught sight of Lola’s Glock under the tail of her jacket, earning her a thumbnail explanation about the Marshals Service in Alaska and a handful of Marshals badge lapel pins for her group.

The baby-faced pilot introduced himself as Vanya and breathlessly described themagnificentround trip to Skagway he’d already taken that morning. He gave a quick safety briefing, grinning from ear to ear as if he could not wait to get back into the air.

Lola sat with her nose to the window. “Boss,” she said. “You ever think about how we get to do every day what some people save up half their lives to do once and then go home?”

“All the damn time,” Cutter said. “This place is growing on me.”

Lola’s phone began to ring while Vanya was about to put on his headset. He turned and gave Lola a smile.

“You can take that if you want. Doesn’t bother my instruments at all. Pretty sure you’ll drop the call a minute or so after takeoff, but you’re good to go for now.”

She held up the phone so Cutter could see.

It was Juneau PD.

“Ah, your friend, Jamie,” Cutter said. It was a constant in Alaska law enforcement; there was always at least one local officer who would bend over backward to please Lola Teariki.

Lola waved him off and put a finger to her ear, listening intently.

The lithe little Cessna virtually leaped off the runway in the dense morning chill. Vanya banked to the north, aiming the airplane between the emerald mountains that lined the Lynn Canal for the eighty-one-mile trip to Skagway.

Lola ended the call thirty seconds later and leaned across the aisle forehead to forehead with Cutter.

“We were right to hang around,” she whispered.