Sundown on Top of the World: A Hunter Rayne Highway Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page B

thought she could be such a bitch.”
    “Don’t get mad at her, chief,” said Hunter.
    “Who the fuck else then? Me?”
    Hunter paused before he answered, watching Sorry go back to sliding the salt shaker up and down the table. “Give your wife a break. Give yourself a break. Your trip to Alaska might be just the right thing for you two right now.”
    Sorry’s mouth relaxed and his eyes brightened as he sat forward, elbows on the table, salt shaker forgotten. “It’s not about the money, you know. Maybe with you and me both driving, we can take a few days up there, be tourists, like. It’s a win for you, too.”
    “And your bike?”
    “Got room for it behind your load? Surely you can spare a few feet in the back of the trailer, strap it down safe-like. What do you say?”
    Hunter was of two minds. A few days’ break in Alaska and the Yukon might be worth having to put up with the chatty biker, although he was sure Sorry didn’t have much cash on him and dreaded having to stop and feed the big man four or five times a day. If he could help Sorry find a resolution to his family problem, however, it would certainly be worth the investment. Mo was a wonderful woman with a gentle and generous spirit. Sorry couldn’t do better, and without Mo or someone like her – and it was highly unlikely Sorry would ever find another woman like Mo – his life was destined to go off the rails.
    “You’re on,” he said, just as the waitress arrived at their table.
    “Steak and fries,” said Sorry, grinning through his moustache, “with a chocolate shake and a big piece of pecan pie.”
     
     
    Hunter drove as far as Prince George. Sleepy after a big dinner, Sorry crawled into the bunk half an hour after they left Kamloops and Hunter had to shake him awake to take over at about one thirty Friday morning. They both got out to stretch their legs and take a leak at the Husky truck stop off the Cariboo Highway. “Wake me in Dawson Creek,” Hunter told Sorry, handing him a take-out coffee from the truck stop restaurant before climbing into the sleeper. “We can fuel up at the Petro Canada cardlock, then grab some breakfast before hitting the Alaska Highway.”
    Two hundred and fifty miles later they arrived in Dawson Creek at the southern terminus of the Alaska Highway. By nine o’clock, even Dawson Creek, north of the 55th parallel – farther north than Ketchikan, Alaska – was warm for the time of year, and Hunter felt the morning sun’s heat penetrate the fabric of his denim shirt as he climbed down from the passenger side of the cab and walked around the trailer to stretch his legs. The cardlock was smaller than any of those he’d normally pull into along his usual route up and down the I-5; it was an asphalt lot with a row of diesel pumps under a high canopy, smaller and without the usual lineup of big rigs waiting to fuel up. The only other customer was a dirty red Kenworth pulling a load of logs.
    Before heading to the fuel pumps, Hunter did a quick visual check of his Freightliner tractor. It had been running well for over a year without requiring much input of cash, other than regular maintenance. He knew his luck wouldn’t last, because it was six years old and had eaten up over three quarters of a million miles of North American highways, more than half of them since he’d bought it used from a trucker who was fed up with eking out a living in a cutthroat business.
    Hunter heard a hawk and spit from the other side of the truck, and seconds later Sorry joined him, stretched his back with a grunt and scratched his belly. “Are we there yet?” His eyes were squinted to slits against the sun. He pulled a cigarette out from behind his ear.
    Hunter frowned and motioned at the fuel hose with his head. He was filling up the tank on the right side of the truck with 120 gallons of diesel fuel using Watson Transportation’s card. El wouldn’t pay for the fuel, though. She’d deduct it from his percentage for the job