Page 93 of Backtrack

CHAPTER 42

Cutter and Lola found an out-of-the-way spot on the walkway behind Sockeye Sam’s curio shop to watch passengers disembark the ship and stand in the sun. Sunshine was always at a premium in Southeast Alaska, and neither of them wanted to waste a minute of it. `

In addition to being the first stop for many visitors coming up from Seattle, Ketchikan was also first in rainfall for the state, getting over a hundred and fifty inches a year. Locals called it liquid sunshine. Overcast and rainy more often than not, when the sun did come out it was dazzlingly clear, with cleaner air than Cutter had ever breathed. Today was one of those days.

Cutter preferred not to exchange words with Joellen, and the best way to make that happen was to stay hidden while he watched her get off the ship.

The Polar Starloomed large in front of them, like one of the towering white apartment buildings that lined Miami Beach, except bigger and on its side. Passengers crowded along the rails, huddling in fleece jackets despite the relatively warm day.

Cutter picked out his ex-wife almost immediately as she made her way down the ramp surrounded by a mob of fellow cruisers. Wide-eyed and slightly wobbly on land, the group looked like aliens disembarking on a foreign planet. Oohs and ahhs rose above their excited chatter. Always a clotheshorse, Joellen wore white capris and a tailored oxford blouse, pink to match her terry-cloth ballcap. Cutter hadn’t thought about it in years, but he remembered now that the only time she ever wore a hat was when she wasn’tpleased with her haircut. Big Hollywood starlet sunglasses rounded out her outfit.

“You’re right,” Lola whispered, more than a little awestruck. “She could be Mim’s very tan sister. I hate her.”

“Just watch the crowd behind her. Keep an eye out for—”

“That no-neck dude in the black polo shirt?” Lola said. “Thirty feet to the rear. I can tell from here that guy’s all steroids and mirror-muscles. He’s locked in on something ahead of him. My money’s on your ex.”

“Got him,” Cutter said.

The ramp brought Joellen and the rest of the passengers within twenty feet of Cutter and Lola. No-Neck juked back and forth in the press of bodies, working his way forward like a salmon swimming upstream. Now and again, he’d come up on tiptoe and crane his neck to keep his quarry in sight.

Joellen continued toward the wharf, disappearing for a short moment as she passed behind the curio shop. Cutter matched her pace, using the building as a shield. He reached the far corner just in time to watch her pop out on the other end.

Lola nodded south along the waterfront to where the other ships were berthed. “She’s heading toward the main docks,” Lola said. “An excursion maybe.”

“Maybe,” Cutter said. Rainforest tours, Misty Fjords, and most of the other shore excursions departed directly from the wharf.

“I hope she’s going zip-lining,” Lola said. “That’s on my bucket list.”

“We’re not going zip-lining,” Cutter said.

Joellen made her way up the sidewalk above the Tongass Trading Post parking lot, passing the pickup-truck-size wooden carving of an eagle called Thundering Wings. Tlingit peoples had called the area around KetchikanKitchsk-hin. It meant Kitch’s Stream but sounded much like the Tlingit phrase forThundering Wings of an Eagle. Joellen paused to study it for a few seconds, then walked on, bypassing the buses and signs advertising excursions. She crossed Front Street and headed up Mission toward downtown.

Cutter’s money was on the falls. She’d always liked waterfalls and would have done her research before getting off the ship. There was a good one within walking distance on Creek Street. Plus, thesalmon were running, jumping the rocks and putting on a show like something straight out ofNational Geographic.

Lola glanced up, impatient, a racehorse in the gates. “Shouldn’t we follow, Boss?”

“Hold up a sec.”

The crowds thinned some on Mission Street as small groups broke away for the Great Alaskan Lumberjack Show and various other tours.

No-Neck had crossed on the far side of the street, slightly behind but paralleling Joellen. Cutter waited a beat, scanning the crowd. The big guy appeared to be alone. If he had backup, they were better at blending in.

Who was this guy? Someone out for revenge? That didn’t track. If anybody wanted to get back at Joellen, they would have done it in Miami. A jealous boyfriend? That was more likely. Maybe this was her most recent shipboard fling. She did have a way of getting under a man’s skin. Cutter was certain of that. Still, he had to admit he’d not been a joy to live with either.

Lola looked up, eyes blazing, ready to step off the curb.

“Now?”

No-Neck picked up his pace.

“Now,” Cutter said.

Joellen felt the itch of eyes on the back of her neck as soon as she crossed the street. She stopped in front of one of the countless shops selling Tanzanite jewelry and scoured the street behind her in the reflection of the store window. Nothing. People passed in groups, gawking at the scenery or studying their phones so as not to get lost—a real feat because the city was squeezed between the mountains and the ocean. Beyond that, at least some part of a cruise ship was visible from nearly every street. A potbellied man with boat shoes and a flowered island shirt explained Ketchikan history to his wife and two other couples, loud, like he wanted to make sure everyone around got the gift of his intellect.

No one gave Joellen a second look. She chided herself for being such a moron and took a minute to study her own reflection. The weather was far warmer than she’d expected, and the stupid terrycloth ballcap was fast giving her sweaty hat hair. It was no wonderMinnesota Steve had run off. A smiling salesman from the Tanzanite store stepped out to ask in an Indian accent if she saw anything in the window she liked. She looked at her ratty hair again and shook her head, laughing.

“Afraid not.”