She looked at Dodge. “Take me home.”

Two weeks later Echo sat in the belly of Dodge’s chopper, the magnificent Denali range beneath them streaked in white, the floor of the park turning green and lush with a massive, untouched spread of blue alpine forget-me-nots, purple lousewort, deep-pink fireweed, and yellow poppies. From her vantage point, the horizon stretched to forever.

The park was coming alive, and seeing it at two thousand feet lit a fresh awe in her. She loved Alaska, but never more than when she let the vastness of it sweep over her—the rugged, almost harsh beauty of a land that fought through the darkness to survive.

“If that thing wakes up, we’re all dead.”

Dodge’s voice came through the headset, and she glanced up at him in the pilot’s seat. He wore a denim Sky King Ranch jacket, a pair of gloves, his aviator sunglasses, and was handling the chopper as if he were born in the cockpit.

“He’s sleeping like a baby.” She put her hand on George’s sedated body, just to confirm his breathing.

Oh, the animal smelled rank. Not just from the earthy scent of him but also the odor of decaying flesh from the bullet wound Anuk had found on his shoulder.

Dodge and Hank and Deke had spent the better part of a week tracking down George. They’d found the animal not far from Erv and Joann Nickle’s place, scavenging a caribou that a pack of wolves had brought down.

They’d darted him then and brought him into Anuk’s clinic, where she cut away the infection, dressed the wound, and administered an antibiotic. He’d been penned for another week while Anuk watched his healing.

A tense week where George prowled his enclosure. But he’d taken to the feed Anuk gave him, and when she declared him fit, Echo had volunteered to accompany Dodge as he transported him to a location deep in Denali Park.

Hank had recollared him and now checked the transmitter from where he sat buckled into one of the seats.

“Where are we going?” Echo asked.

“Northeast corner of the park,” Hank said. “We found an area that we think is fairly free of other bears—at least those on our radar. He’ll be able to establish his territory.”

She could hardly believe this was the same bear she’d helped raise, the one who’d stared her down just two weeks ago. He looked . . . fallen. His shoulder shaved, the stitches—which would dissolve—evidence of the pain he’d suffered. Like this, asleep, he looked almost docile.

Awake, he was terrifying.

“How long until we get there?” she asked Dodge through her headset.

“Twenty minutes.”

She checked her watch—they still had plenty of time on the sedative.

Hopefully.

Hank had another dose in his pack, but an angry grizzly in a chopper was sort of like snakes on a plane.