Page 33

chapter

twenty-two

Her last customer of the day had barely cleared the door when Brandt materialized from his corner booth.

“We need to talk,” he said, approaching the counter with measured steps.

Nessie’s hands stilled on the espresso machine she’d been wiping down, her pulse spiking as she took in his grim expression.

She glanced toward the back staircase. Oliver was upstairs, supposedly working on his math worksheet, but he was probably drawing.

She looked back at Brandt. “About what happened earlier? Because I can explain?—”

“Aleksandr Sarkisian was released three days ago.” No preamble, no cushioning blow. That was Brandt, efficient to the point of being clinical.

Her knees buckled, and she gripped the counter to keep from falling as the room tilted sideways. Three days. Alek had been free for three days while she’d been worrying about Jax and small-town politics, completely oblivious to the real danger circling closer.

“How?” she breathed. “The case was—you promised me the case was airtight.”

“It should’ve been, but the cops fucked up. A procedural error in the evidence chain. The trafficking charges were dropped.”

“But the other charges?—”

“Still pending. But he made bail with the help of his dear old dad.” He circled the counter, but stopped short of touching her. He was too much of a professional for that, even though she could’ve used a hug just then.

“How could they let him walk? After everything he did?”

“The legal system isn’t perfect.” Brandt remained standing, his hands clasped behind his back. “The case is being reviewed, but for now, he’s free.”

“Free to find us.”

“He doesn’t know where to look.” Brandt’s voice hardened with certainty. “You’re still Vanessa Harmon to anyone who matters. Oliver is still Oliver. Genessa-Rae and Olivander Sarkisian still officially no longer exist.”

Nessie nodded mechanically, trying to force down the panic rising in her throat.

Four years she’d been running. Four years of looking over her shoulder, of jumping at shadows, of rehearsing emergency protocols with Oliver until they became second nature.

Four years of slowly, painfully building a life she thought might actually last.

“Did they even tell him to stay away from me? Restraining order? Anything?”

“All the usual protections are in place,” Brandt said. “If he attempts contact, he goes straight back to prison.”

“If he gets caught,” Nessie corrected bitterly. “If someone believes me. If I live long enough to report it.”

Brandt’s jaw tightened, the only sign that her words had affected him.

She exhaled and straightened, pushing back her shoulders and lifting her chin. “So what does that mean for us?”

“At least for the time being, we’re confident he doesn’t know your new identities or where you are. I was planning on keeping you in place, but…” He hesitated, and his gaze flicked to the Valor Ridge truck parked outside.

Ghost was still right where Boone had left him, standing guard at her door, his elegant black dog faithfully at his side.

Brandt sucked in a breath through his nose and returned his gaze to her. “After what I saw today, I’m not comfortable leaving you here.”

“What do you mean?” But even as she asked, she knew. The way he’d watched Sheriff Goodwin’s performance, the careful attention he’d paid to every word, every threat. “You think he knows.”

“I think you’ve painted a target on your back by defending Jaxon Thorne.” Brandt leaned forward. “And I think this town has more secrets than you realize.”

Nessie’s mind raced. “The sheriff’s hiding something. I saw a vehicle that morning?—”

“I heard.” His expression darkened. “Which is exactly why we need to get you out of here. Tonight.”

“No. We can’t. Oliver has friends here. A life. I have a business?—”

“You’ll have a grave if you stay.” Brandt’s bluntness cut through her protests. “Your ex-husband isn’t the only threat anymore. That sheriff’s got it out for you, and he’s got the whole town watching.”

She thought of Oliver’s face that morning, bright with excitement about his upcoming school science fair. Of the way he’d finally started sleeping through the night without nightmares. Of the tentative friendships he’d built, the first real stability he’d known in his young life.

“There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t.” Brandt’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at it with a frown. “Pack light. We leave in two hours.”

“Corbin—”

“It’s not a request, Nessie.” He pocketed the phone and started for the door. “The sheriff knows more about you than he’s letting on, and that makes you a liability. To yourself, to your son, and to my program.”

The clinical way he spoke about her life—like she was just another case file to be shuffled and relocated—made something cold settle in her stomach. She knew he cared, but sometimes he could be so damned detached.

“Wait.” She moved around the counter, blocking his path to the door. “Just… give me a minute. Please.”

Brandt stopped, his electric blue eyes assessing her with that penetrating gaze that had made her feel safe once. Now it just made her feel trapped.

“I can’t do this to Oliver again,” she whispered. “He’s just starting to feel normal. To trust that we’re not going to disappear in the middle of the night. If we run now?—”

“If you stay, Aleksandr will find you.” There was no emotion in his voice, just cold certainty. “Maybe not today or tomorrow, but eventually. And when he does, you know what happens next.”

Images flashed through her mind—Alek’s hand around her throat, the way he’d smiled as he’d tightened his grip until black spots danced across her vision. The coldness in his eyes when he’d told her she belonged to him. Forever.

But beneath the old fear, anger began to simmer. “I’m not letting him chase us away from our lives.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“But I do,” she whispered. “This time, everything is different.”

“How? Because you’ve got friends this time? If you think the men of Valor Ridge or Jax Thorne will protect you, you’re more naive than I gave you credit for.”

She flinched. “This isn’t about Jax.”

“Isn’t it?” Brandt studied her face, and she felt uncomfortably exposed. “You’ve got feelings for him.”

“I barely know him.”

“Yet you’re willing to risk your life—and Oliver’s—to stay in town for him.”

“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 expression tightened. 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.”

She laughed, the sound catching on a sob. “That’s a lot.”

“I don’t want to leave,” he whispered. “I like it here. I have friends and a teacher who doesn’t think I talk too much. And Jax is here. He needs us.”

Her breath caught. “What makes you say that?”

Oliver pulled back to look at her, his expression serious. “Because he’s sad inside. Like we used to be. Before we came here.”

Tears pricked her eyes. When had her little boy become so wise? “Sometimes we have to do hard things to stay safe.”

“But we’re safe here.” His lower lip poked out and trembled. “You said so. You promised.”

The crumpled napkin in her hand said otherwise.

“Let’s not worry about it right now,” she hedged, unable to lie to him but equally unable to confirm his fears. “Go up and finish your homework. I’ll be up in a little bit and we’ll watch Jurassic Park again.”

He studied her face with those too-old eyes, then nodded and trudged toward the stairs, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of a burden no child should have to carry.

Once he was gone, Nessie unfolded the napkin again, staring at the crude threat. This wasn’t Alek’s style. He preferred grand gestures, public displays that reminded everyone of his power. This was someone local. Someone who’d been in her bakery today.

Her gaze drifted to the window where Ghost still stood sentinel, his lean frame silhouetted against the fading afternoon light. She should tell him about the note. Ask for his help. But Brandt’s warning echoed in her head—don’t tell anyone.

She was halfway to the door when she stopped, the napkin clutched in her fist. What was she doing? These men from Valor Ridge were virtual strangers. Jax had been in her life for all of a month. She’d be a fool to trust them over Brandt, who had kept her and Oliver safe for four years.

And yet...

And yet there was something about the Ridge men that felt different. Jax's quiet strength. Ghost's unwavering vigilance. Boone's fierce protectiveness. They had stood between her and Sheriff Goodwin without hesitation, asking nothing in return.

Nessie smoothed the crumpled napkin against the counter, tracing the threatening words with her fingertip. Two threats in one day. One from her past, one from her present.

And only twenty-four hours to decide which scared her more.