Page 36

chapter

twenty-five

The knock at the back door came five minutes after she saw Boone pick Jax up out front.

Nessie had been expecting it, braced for it, and yet her heart still dipped into her belly as she unlocked the door and let Marshal Brandt inside.

She’d been dodging his calls for days, letting them go to voicemail, deleting the increasingly terse messages without listening all the way through. She should have known he’d show up eventually.

“We need to talk,” he said, not bothering with pleasantries. “Now.”

“Can I get you some coffee?” she asked, stalling.

“Cut the shit, Nessie.” He turned and locked the door behind him. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Too busy to return calls about your safety?” His dark eyes swept the bakery, cataloging exits and sight lines.

Jax did that, too, she realized. The two men were opposite ends of the same spectrum.

“Or too busy playing house with your ex-con boyfriend?”

Heat flared in her cheeks. “Jax isn’t my boyfriend.” She didn’t know exactly what to call him. Friend felt too informal. Boyfriend, too juvenile. This thing growing between them was too new, too raw, too complicated for simple labels.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Brandt’s mouth curved, but it was more of a grimace than a smile as he paced across the bakery’s kitchen and back in several long strides. “Walking down the street, holding his hand? Kissing him like that? The whole town’s gonna be talking about it.”

She winced. At the time, taking Jax’s hand in public had seemed like a prudent point to make, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Did she really want to be the talk of the town?

“He needed support,” she said finally. “Someone to lean on.”

“Yeah, he was leaning all right. Looked like he was going to fuck you right against that door.”

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Are you… jealous?”

He sure sounded like it, which was weird because she’d never gotten any kind of romantic vibes from him in the four years he’d handled her case.

“No, I’m pissed.” Brandt stopped pacing and whipped around to face her. “Do you have any idea what kind of heat you’re bringing down on yourself? The sheriff’s been asking questions about you. Real questions.”

Her mouth went dry. “What kind of questions?”

“Where you came from. How you afforded to buy this place. Why a single mother with no family would choose to settle in the middle of nowhere.” His gaze sharpened. “He’s digging, Nessie. And if he keeps digging, he’s going to find things that will get you and Oliver killed.”

The bakery's familiar warmth suddenly felt stifling. She could smell the lingering scent of this morning’s cinnamon rolls, hear the soft tick of the clock above the register, feel the worn smoothness of the counter beneath her palms. All of it so normal, so safe. So fragile.

“Hank Goodwin’s an asshole, but he’s mostly harmless?—”

“He’s connected,” Brandt interrupted, point-blank. “More connected than you know. The kind of man who can make calls to the right people, ask the right questions. The kind who won’t stop until he gets answers.”

A chill raced down her spine despite the summer heat. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying your cover’s blown. Maybe not completely, not yet, but it’s compromised enough that staying here is suicide.” He straightened, his decision already made. “We should’ve left days ago, like we originally planned.”

“Like you originally planned. You didn’t give me a say in the matter.”

“Because it’s my job to keep you safe, Vanessa. If that makes me the villain here, so be it. Pack up. We’ll grab Oliver from school on the way out of town.”

“No.” The word came out sharp, almost shrill. She drew a breath and lowered her voice. “I’m not running again.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I do.” She moved around the counter, putting distance between them, needing space to think. “Oliver’s happy here. He has friends, stability. I won’t tear him away from that again.”

“What happens to him if Aleksandr finds you?”

Her ex’s name took some of the defiance out of her spine. She’d been so focused on the local threats—Hank Goodwin, Bailee Cooper’s murder, the anonymous note—that she’d almost let herself forget about the bigger monster circling somewhere in the dark.

“He doesn’t know where we are,” she said, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew how naive they sounded. “You said so.”

“As far as we know, he doesn’t. But he’s got resources. Money. People who owe him favors. And if the sheriff keeps digging, it’s only a matter of time until Alek finds out.” Brandt’s expression softened marginally. “I’ve kept you safe for four years. You need to trust me now.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold.

Through the front window, she could see Main Street going about its lazy afternoon business.

Mrs. Henderson walking her ancient poodle.

Two teenagers on bikes, probably heading to the swimming hole on Blacktail River.

All blissfully unaware of the violence that could erupt in their quiet town because of her.

“What about Jax?”

Brandt’s jaw tightened. “What about him?”

“He was arrested because he tried to help me, even though I’m the one who put him on the sheriff’s radar in the first place. If I disappear now?—”

“He’ll figure it out. Men like him always do.”

“Men like him?” Anger flared hot and sudden in her chest. “You don’t know him.”

“I know his file. I know what he did to that woman in California. I know he’s dangerous.”

“He’s not.” She took a step toward him. “He’s broken and sad, but he’s also kind and sweet. He’s trying to heal, and he doesn’t deserve this… this hatred he gets from everybody the moment they find out about his past.”

“And you don’t deserve to die for him.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, her chest tightening as if Brandt had wrapped a fist around her lungs and squeezed.

Yes, she could die for this. For Jax, a man she’d known for mere weeks, whose past was written in violence and whose future was as uncertain as her own.

But she’d spent four years running from the possibility of death, letting it chase her across state lines and through sleepless nights, and she was so fucking tired of running.

Staying here now, taking a stand, was about more than helping Jax. It was even more than giving Oliver the stability he so craved. It was about reclaiming her life, her sanity, and not letting Alek dictate her every move anymore.

And Brandt would never understand that.

“I’m not leaving,” she said quietly. “If that means you have to release me from the program, I understand and take full responsibility for the consequences.”

“If I release you from WITSEC, he’ll find you, kill you, and take Oliver.” His voice turned gentle, which was somehow worse than his anger. “Is that what you want for your son?”

The images flashed through her mind unbidden— Oliver learning to use his fists instead of his words, growing up to be the kind of man who solved problems with violence.

“No,” she whispered. “But if I run now, I will always run. Oliver will always have to run. His life will never be normal. I can’t do it anymore.

Can’t keep looking over my shoulder, jumping at shadows.

If Alek is going to find me—and we both know no matter how many times you move me, he will eventually find me—I want it to happen here, where I have built a community, rather than somewhere new where nobody knows us.

” She met his gaze, and the fear she saw in his blue eyes broke her heart, but her mind was made up.

“So either protect me here, or don’t protect me at all. ”

Brandt’s face hardened, his posture shifting into something more official. The warmth she’d occasionally glimpsed beneath his professional exterior vanished completely.

“If you stay, it will be on my terms.” His tone left no room for negotiation. “Mandatory check-ins, twice daily. Full transparency about your movements.”

A concession.

It was far more than she’d expected, and she nodded, tamping down the flood of relief. “I can live with that.”

“I’m not finished.” Brandt’s gaze locked with hers, unflinching. “No contact with the men from Valor Ridge. None. Especially Jax Thorne.”

The relief evaporated like morning dew under a harsh sun. “That’s not fair. They’ve done nothing but help me.”

“Fair doesn’t keep you alive. These men are dangerous, Nessie. Not just because of their pasts, but because they draw attention you can’t afford.”

She wanted to argue, to defend Jax and the others, but the cold logic of Brandt’s words sank into her like teeth.

Every time she’d been with Jax, people had stared, whispered.

Every interaction had been noted, cataloged, and remembered.

In a town this small, that kind of visibility was a liability she couldn’t ignore.

“For how long?” she asked, hating the tremor in her voice.

“Until I’m satisfied it’s safe.” His expression softened at her obvious distress. “Look, I get it. You like him. But whatever this is between you two, it isn’t worth Oliver’s safety.”

The mention of her son’s name was the final blow. She closed her eyes briefly, picturing Oliver’s gap-toothed smile, the too-serious eyes that had seen more in seven years than most adults saw in a lifetime.

“Fine,” she whispered, the word tasting like defeat. “No contact with Valor Ridge.”

“Or Thorne specifically,” Brandt clarified, making sure there was no wiggle room in their agreement.

“Or Jax.” She swallowed hard against the tightness in her throat. “But you have to let me tell him. I can’t just disappear on him. Not after everything.”

Brandt shook his head. “No contact means no contact.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence, marking the seconds of a future that suddenly felt emptier than it had moments before.

“I’ll install additional security,” Brandt said, his tone gentling.

“I already have. Ghost and—” His name caught in her throat. “Jax. They installed cameras for me.”

“Okay then. I’ll double-check their setup and add motion sensors, as well as a direct line to my phone. And I’m staying in town.”

She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. Tears burned behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She’d spent too many years crying over men who made decisions about her life without consulting her.

“I need your word, Nessie.” Brandt wasn’t backing down. “No contact with Thorne or any of the men from that ranch.”

“What about when they come to the bakery? I can’t exactly ban paying customers.”

“You can serve them coffee, but nothing more. No private conversations, no after-hours repairs, no hugs outside the jail or making out in the alley.” His eyes narrowed. “And if Thorne tries to get close to you again, you shut it down. Hard.”

The unfairness of it all made her want to scream. She’d finally found people who accepted her, who made her feel safe without smothering her, and now she had to push them away.

But what choice did she have?