Page 80 of Finding His Redemption

“It’s not like that. He’s innocent. And he’s sitting in jail because he tried to help me.”

“That’s not your problem anymore.”

“Like hell it isn’t.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze directly. “I won’t let that man rot in prison for something he didn’t do. Not when I can help him.”

“You can’t help anyone if you’re dead.” His words carried the weight of experience, of too many cases gone wrong, and his expression softened. “And you sure as hell can’t help your son. Please, think of Oliver. Think of the life he’d have if Alek got to you and took him away.”

She flinched at the thought of her sweet boy being raised in a life of crime and violence. In many ways, Alek couldn’t help what he’d become. His father had shaped him into the monster he was—a monster who’d use their son as a tool, a pawn, an heir to a criminal empire built on human suffering.

Alek would break Oliver, just as Levon had broken Alek.

Oliver deserved better. Deserved a chance to grow up normal, to never know the ugliness that lurked in his blood.

“I need more time,” she said, hating the pleading note in her voice. “Just to get things in order. To make it easier on Oliver.”

“Time is exactly what we don’t have.” Brandt’s phone buzzed again, and this time when he checked it, his expressiontightened. But then he sighed. “Twenty-four hours. Not a minute more.”

He moved past her toward the door, but paused with his hand on the knob. “And Nessie? Don’t tell anyone you’re leaving.”

After he was gone, she stood frozen in the middle of her empty bakery, the weight of impossible choices crushing down on her. Run again, tear Oliver away from everything familiar, watch the light dim in his eyes when she told him they had to leave his friends behind. Or stay and risk everything—their safety, their lives, the fragile peace they’d built.

She moved mechanically toward the back room, her mind racing through options that all led to dead ends. The cleaning could wait. She needed to start packing, to figure out what essentials they could take, what treasures would have to be left behind.

As she wiped down the last table, she found a folded napkin tucked under the sugar dispenser. She almost tossed it with the rest of the trash, but something made her unfold it.

Scrawled in bold, blocky letters was a message:

watching you bitch

keep your mouth shut

Her blood ran cold. The napkin trembled in her fingers as she reread it. Not Alek’s handwriting. He wrote in elegant, flowing script that matched his carefully cultivated image. This was something else. Something local.

The light-colored truck. The sheriff’s evasion. The way Trevor Pace had watched her from his table.

This wasn’t about Alek at all. This was about Bailee Cooper’s murder, and someone in Solace thought Nessie knew more than she was saying.

She crumpled the napkin in her fist.

Maybe Brandt was right.

Maybe it was time to run again.

“Mom?” Oliver said, startling her. He stood in the doorway to the back room, clutching his dinosaur book to his chest. “Why was that man here again?”

Her heart clenched. How much had he heard? “Just business stuff, baby.”

“Is it about the bad men?” His voice was small, but his eyes were too knowing for a seven-year-old. “Are we leaving again?”

Nessie crossed the room and knelt before him, smoothing his wild hair back from his forehead. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you have your scared face on.” He touched her cheek with small, warm fingers. “And that man only comes when we have to go away.”

God, he was too perceptive. Too used to reading the subtle signs of danger. No child should have to live like this, constantly alert for threats, always ready to run.

“Come here,” she said, pulling him into her arms. He smelled of crayons and the peanut butter sandwich he’d had for lunch. She breathed him in, trying to memorize every detail. “I love you more than anything in the whole world. You know that, right?”

He nodded against her shoulder. “I love you more than dinosaurs.”