Page 53 of Finding His Redemption

“I need a phone,” Jax said abruptly, the words surprising even him. “Where can I get one in town?”

Ghost’s eyebrows lifted slightly, the only indication of surprise on his otherwise impassive face. Then he nodded toward a small storefront a few blocks down. “Cell phoneshop at the end of Main. Nothing fancy, but they’ll set you up with something basic.” He paused, studying Jax with those penetrating gray eyes. “Burn phones at the gas station if you want to stay off the grid.”

“No, I got nothing to hide. Just need to be reachable.”

“Uh-huh,” Ghost said and started the engine. “Guess we got time for one more stop.”

chapter

fifteen

The feelingalways started at twilight, creeping in like smoke through the cracks in her carefully constructed calm.

Nessie stood at the kitchen window of her apartment, watching the sun bleed out behind the mountains. Oliver was asleep on the couch, his T-Rex tucked under one arm, his breathing soft and even. The bakery below was locked up tight, register counted, floors swept, tomorrow’s prep list written in her careful handwriting.

Everything was as it should be. Safe. Predictable. Normal.

So why did her skin feel like it was crawling?

She pulled the curtains closed and double-checked the locks—front door, back door, the deadbolt she’d installed herself three months after moving to Solace. All secure. But the feeling persisted, that familiar prickle between her shoulder blades that said someone was watching. Waiting.

It had been three weeks since Sheriff Goodwin had cornered her about Jax, three weeks since Bailee Cooper’s murder had turned the whole town into a nest of whispers and sideways glances. And two weeks since she’d given Jax her number.

To her surprise, he’d called that first night.

And every night since.

The phone calls had started innocently enough. Quick check-ins. Just to make sure she was okay, he’d said. She’d told herself giving him her number was nothing, just a nice gesture for a man who needed a friendly ear. But then the calls became a nightly ritual, something she found herself looking forward to after Oliver was asleep and the quiet of the apartment became too loud with her own thoughts.

Tonight, the phone sat silent on the counter. No call yet. She checked the time. 9:43. Later than usual.

Nessie moved to the sofa, muted the TV, and carefully lifted Oliver into her arms. He mumbled something about dinosaurs before settling against her shoulder, all warm weight and little-boy smell. She stood there for a moment, just holding him and breathing him in. Before long, he would be too big for this, so she was going to hoard these precious moments like gold.

Carrying him to his room, she laid him gently on his bed, tucking the dinosaur closer to his side and pulling his fire truck-themed comforter up to his chin. She smoothed his hair back from his forehead and pressed her lips to his temple.

It was true what they said—when you have a child, your heart no longer lives in your chest. It runs beside you on small legs, wide-eyed and trusting, fragile and fierce all at once. Oliver was her vulnerability and her strength. He was the reason she’d found the courage to run, and the reason she’d never stop looking over her shoulder. Everything she did, every choice she made, every moment of fear or hope or desperate prayer was for him.

“Sweet dreams, baby,” she whispered.

Back in the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of wine—a small luxury she rarely indulged in—and tried to shake off the feeling of being watched. It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real. The apartment windows faced nothing but the mountains and sky. No buildings tall enough for someone to see in, no convenientperches for watchers in the night. It was just old habits from her early days in witness protection, as she’d transitioned from Genessa-Rae Sarkisian to Vanessa Harmon.

But the prickle remained.

Her phone vibrated against the counter, and she nearly dropped her glass reaching for it. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Jax said, and relief flooded through her at the sound of his voice. It was low and rough, like he’d been sleeping. Or trying to. “You okay?”

She almost laughed at how he always started their conversations this way. As if she were the one who needed checking on. “I’m fine. Oliver fell asleep on the couch watching Jurassic Park for the millionth time, and I just put him in bed.”

“That movie doesn’t scare him? Scared the hell out of me when I was his age.”

“No way.” She took her wine to the couch and sank into the cushions, watching the movie play on mute. “He critiques it.”

“Critiques it?” Jax’s voice held a hint of amusement. “Like what?”

“Oh, he’ll tell anyone who’ll listen that the velociraptors should have feathers, and that the T-Rex couldn’t actually move that fast. Only for short distances.” She took a sip of wine, letting the warmth spread through her chest. “Last week, he informed Mrs. Pendry that the Dilophosaurus never actually spat venom or had frills. She had no idea what he was talking about.”

Jax’s low chuckle sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.