He pulled the cutting board across the island.
“Help yourself,” Flynn said.
Jericho had already grabbed a piece, dropping Orlando’s lead. The dog came over and sat. “None for you. Not before deployment.” But he did reach into a small pouch on his belt and hand him a piece of kibble.
“You guys going somewhere?” Axel came back to the counter.
“Yeah. I’m meeting up with someone from the US Marshals office. I think it’s a contractor. There’s been an escape, and they want Orlando to track him down.”
“Who escaped?”
He picked up Orlando’s lead. “Some con escaped custody yesterday when they were transporting him to Anchorage. Apparently had help—the sheriff’s car was run off the road. The guy has a murder charge on his sheet. Dangerous.”
Dawson froze. “What guy?” He glanced at Flynn.
“Uh.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “It’s not a priority one manhunt, but ... here it is. Oh wow.” He took a breath. “It’s Conan Sorros.” He pocketed the phone. “Sheesh, out of everyone ...” The past flickered briefly on his face and Dawson nodded.” He dropped a hand to Orlando’s head. “We’ll find him. He was spotted at an ATM camera here in Anchorage.”
Everything inside Dawson shut down. And maybe the dark funk wasn’t back, but...
Yeah, a cloud had entered his soul. “Why didn’t they tell us?” He looked at Flynn. “Did you know?”
“No. But I did get a missed call from Deke.”
“We need to find out where Keely is staying.”
“Finally.” Flynn put down her pizza.
“Listen, Yenta, it’s not like that. I made a promise.” And this time he planned to keep it.
18
THE SONG FOR THE SOUNDcheck rumbled out of Keely, low and husky and reverberating through the speaker like a storm, powerful yet mysterious.
Perfect. Or she hoped so.
Please let this not be a flop.
The venue felt right. Formerly a community playhouse, with a balcony, the music lounge, despite the name, possessed the exact vibe she’d hoped for—the place seated over a thousand, good acoustics, and a low stage, close enough to the audience to make it feel intimate. Industrial lighting cast an inviting glow upon the curved reclaimed wood bar that held forty or more stools. Another bar ran along the opposite wall. The worn dance floor in the middle suggested a place where people knew how to unwind and have fun.
She’d mingle. And then she’d sing. Hopefully.Please.They’d had to adjust the mic for her breathy tones, but the songs—all three of them—were brand new. Starting with “Hear My Name.” The second, called “The Whisper,” she’d written on her flight to Alaska. She’d remixed “Forever Found” for the last, turning it into a slow, sultry ballad, just her and her guitar.
In fact, the entire three-song set would simply be Bliss—orrather, Keely, as she’d introduce herself—dressed in a pair of Farrah skinny jeans, a plain white Gucci blouse, and a pair of Dolce & Gabbana boots.
Goldie had picked out the ensemble, along with a few other choices, and had them sent to her suites at Hotel Captain Cook ahead of her arrival. Her agent had also sent clothes for Zoey, along with a new panda and some toys, but Zoey seemed...
“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” she’d said to General Goldie after she’d arrived this morning.
“She’ll be fine,” Goldie had said. Early fifties, the Nashville agent wore her dyed-blond hair in a bob, all one length behind her ears, a deep blue velvet blazer over her white blouse, a pair of dark denim jeans, black boots, and a chunky turquoise necklace. Keely hadn’t realized how tightly wound she’d been until General Goldie arrived and took over the arrangements. She’d spent most of the day wielding her phone like a weapon as she barked at stage techs trying to get the sound right.
Now, she sat in a leather high-top next to one of the long bars in the Frostbite Music Lounge, listening to the sound check.
Keely wasn’t under any illusions that Goldie had flown up to support her. No—pure babysitting, to make sure she only did the three songs, signed the autographs, and didn’t run off again into them thar mountains.
Not a chance.
Well, maybe not.
Aw, who was Keely kidding. In her wildest, angsty-song dreams, Dawson showed up, forgave her for her words, and...
