Chapter One

Hope Island, Maine. Present Day.

T he sign in the window said, "Help Wanted—Barista." Ellie Jamison walked past the notice, barely giving it a glance.

Two weeks. She'd been on Hope Island for two weeks lying low. Trying to heal. Over the past seven years Ellie had lost count of the number of places she'd lived all over the world . . . and the different aliases she'd used to escape the two-fold attack coming her way.

From Syrian Intelligence who'd shot her on the shore of the Dead Sea and knew she'd escaped. For reasons she didn't understand, they'd been persistent through the years. Determined to find her and shut her up.

But the hardest truth came in knowing she was considered an enemy of her own country. She'd been accused of murdering Daniel and betraying secrets to the Syrians. Her mind reeled every time she thought about those accusations her director threw at her.

She'd been running for so long Ellie had lost track of the places she'd gone. The names she'd used. The people she'd met while unable to make a connection. They passed through her life like ghosts.

Ellie massaged the spot on the back of her neck where they'd injected her with something meant to paralyze her body briefly and render her unconscious. It had left a nasty scar. It and the gunshot wound she'd suffered after she'd escaped the box were constant reminders of what happened that night. But the emotional wounds ran much deeper.

Through the years, she'd endured countless near misses until she'd ended up in the Pacific Northwest.

Oregon had felt different. Days had turned into weeks, then months, and Ellie started to believe she'd finally outrun the threat until she'd walked into her tiny apartment and straight into an ambush. The last attack had almost taken her out. It happened less than a month earlier in a small coastal town.

She'd fought with everything she could muster but lost. If it weren't for her neighbor reporting the incident to law enforcement, Ellie would be dead. Police sirens had scared off her attackers.

Ellie had known if she didn't get away before the cops arrived, she'd be brought in for questioning. Besides Syrian Intelligence, Ellie had no doubt Mossad had agents stationed across the US who were actively searching for her still.

If caught, she'd either be sent back to Israel for prosecution or she'd be dead, depending on who captured her.

Barely escaping, she'd left everything she owned behind in Oregon except for the engagement ring Daniel had given her and the Ruger that never left her body anymore.

But she had survived. She was alive, and maybe this time—this place—would be different.

Ellie passed another window. The same help wanted sign appeared there. A barista. Could she allow herself to settle here? Grow comfortable? Form surface-level connections. She'd learned how hard bonds with others were to sever—even bonds that weren't well rooted like most of hers had been through the years—when she had to leave in the middle of the night after danger found her again.

Over the past seven years, she'd worked for a tailor. On a ranch in Montana. For a winery in Napa Valley, to name a few. Anything to pay the bills while she searched for answers. She'd never been a barista before, but she did love all things coffee .

The window of the Hopeful Coffeehouse showed a dozen patrons seated inside despite it being mid-afternoon in late summer. Most of the vacation traffic appeared to be slowly dying away. Schools were back in session. What she was witnessing here as an outsider looking in was Hope Island locals at ease in their favorite coffeeshop.

Several chatted. Others worked on laptops. Some played on their phones.

On one wall, the large TV broadcast storm updates. The weather service was predicting more of the same over the next few days. Resulting in heavy swells in the Atlantic and tides that might break decades-old records.

Ellie had been through desert storms where the sand was so thick it became impossible to see your hand in front of you. She'd lived in Montana where the winter could be brutal. In Oregon she'd experienced an abundance of rain. But never anything like this. Late summer storms were battering the coastline near Hope Island relentlessly.

She tore her attention from the gloomy weather report to assess the business. The counter lay to the left in the establishment. Rows of three tables deep cluttered the middle section, with booths placed against the right wall.

She'd been here once before. The first week after she'd come to Hope Island, back before all the bruises had faded. Ellie had done her best to cover them but had been forced to wear sunglasses during the entire outing.

Back then, vacationers were everywhere around the island. Despite the crowds, there had been something almost promising about the Hopeful Coffeehouse that she hadn't found in any of her previous landing spots. Hopeful. She wanted the promise of hope the coffeeshop, as well as the island, offered.

Foolish. Hope was a luxury she couldn't afford.

When she'd been here before, Ellie had sat at the back near the hall leading past the restrooms to the rear exit. She'd been trained to always have an escape plan. For the moment. For life itself.

Daniel's handsome face floated into her thoughts, unwelcome. Over the years, she'd done her best to compartmentalize what happened with one goal in mind. Find the ones responsible for Daniel's murder and make them pay.

Questions still swirled around what happened that night. Why hadn't the men taken her to the deepest part of the Dead Sea to ensure death? They'd been watching for her. As soon as she emerged from the box, she'd been shot in the shoulder. Why not a vital organ? That question kept her up most nights.

While she'd nursed her injury, she'd pulled in every favor she had from assets only to learn she was wanted by her own people for murdering Daniel and accused of being a Syrian spy.

Gideon, the man who had seen her potential first and brought her onboard with Mossad, was more than her boss, he was like a second father. She'd thought he, of all people, would believe her. Only he hadn't. Not that she could blame him given the fact that her weapon had been used to murder Daniel. There was no record of a meet. Gideon claimed she'd lured Daniel there to kill him because he'd found out she was a traitor.

Stop it . . .

Feeling sorry for herself hadn't gotten her anywhere. Daniel deserved justice. If her own people didn't believe her, then she'd find a way to get it for him.

Her attention returned to the help wanted sign in the window. She needed money. She'd coasted onto the island on fumes. Used all her money to rent the small bungalow along the shoreline. There wasn't enough extra cash left to buy such luxuries as gas for her car, so she'd taken to walking. Besides, it kept her sharp, her body fit.

However, to keep afloat she'd need to get a job and soon.

Ellie swung toward the door and slammed into a man talking on his phone. The impact jolted Ellie back to the present. Strong hands descended on her shoulders. Immediately, she tensed and stepped back out of his grasp while wincing at the pain his touch created.

Her gaze inched from a broad chest, past a strong stubble- covered jaw, to settle on the deepest, most intense brown eyes she'd ever seen.

"I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" The tall man in his thirties waited for a response Ellie couldn't give because she was too busy assessing him as a possible threat.

Mossad had agents all over the world. They also used assets that were not necessarily Jewish, so the threat coming after her from her former team wouldn't be easy to spot.

"Ma'am, are you okay?"

She watched his full lips move and realized she was staring at them.

Ma'am. He called her ma'am. Ellie bit back a laugh. She was barely thirty herself and yet she felt years older. The toll being on the run had taken on her appearance probably made her appear older.

He'd asked her something . . .

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize I'd hit you that hard."

He thought he was responsible for her pain.

"No. I'm fine. It wasn't you." Ellie slowed her words realizing she was talking too fast. "It's just an old injury."

His concern lifted, and he smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. "That's good to hear. I thought I might need to take you to the hospital." He waited again for a response she couldn't give because Ellie realized their interaction was creating somewhat of a scene. She couldn't afford to draw unnecessary attention to herself. Staying in the shadows as much as possible kept her alive.

"No, it's not your fault. I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing."

Stop talking . . .

The instinct that had kept her alive for seven years kicked in to remind her even the nicest of people sometimes hid secrets.