Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

A nd here Moose thought he’d found the perfect hiding place.

Country music star Oaken Fox’s new home sat on a crest that overlooked the waters of Turnagain Arm, in an exclusive neighborhood off Seward Highway some forty-five minutes south of Anchorage.

But it could be hours away, given the seclusion, the tall Sitka spruce, mountain hemlock, and Alaskan yellow-cedar that surrounded the one-acre property.

Moose stood at the railing of the upstairs loft in his jeans and T-shirt, bare feet, listening as footsteps entered the hallway leading to the downstairs garages. Already, morning light gleamed through the two-story windows at the front of the great room, turning the oak floors to gold, casting over the white beams that crossed the expanse in the main room. The place had clearly been remodeled and given an updated shine, from the black leathered-granite countertops to the painted stone fireplace and the updated black-and-gold hanging ceiling fans.

He’d expected something a little more rugged country, with moose heads and cowhides. It did have bearskin rugs, but the rest was sleek and modern, set against crisp white walls, leather furniture, and white overstuffed chairs, along with a gray granite table that could seat his entire team and then some.

A deep deck jutted out from the great room and overlooked the ocean, now glistening with light.

The footsteps stopped right below the loft, and for a moment, he thought Oaken had returned home. When Moose had texted Oaken last night—he didn’t know where the singer had jetted off to for the weekend—Oaken had given him his code with the offer to stay as long as he needed.

Moose hoped he only needed one night. That somehow, getting the money from the bank’s safe deposit box this morning might allow him to negotiate with Rigger and even get the guy to head back to Miami.

Except, that wouldn’t erase Tillie’s attack on Flynn.

Or untangle her from the kidnapping charges.

The footsteps started again, and into the great room walked a dark-haired man dressed in a chamois shirt, a pair of jeans, and wearing a padded vest.

He carried a bag of food and set it on the counter.

Then the man looked up.

Shep.

What?

“Hey, boss,” Shep said. “Hungry?”

“Starved.”

Shep reached inside the bag. “Oaken gave me the code to this place when he closed. I’m his security alert contact. He texted me last night and said you were going to be here and not to call the cops. So I brought donuts and coffee instead.” He also pulled out a Styrofoam container. “And I picked up some egg muffins from the Sunrise Grill.”

“Yum.”

The voice came from across the room, the doorway to the lower level bedroom. Tillie stood there, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a flannel shirt—clothes he’d picked up for her at a Walmart on their drive south.

Seemed like a better idea than trying to sneak back to the hospital to retrieve her car, if it was still in the parking lot.

Now she walked into the room, her long dark hair down, and slid onto a high-top stool.

Moose came down the stairs. “You’re Oaken’s security contact?”

“Yep,” Shep said and put water into a kettle to heat on the stove. “I always loved this place—you can see it from the road, just sitting up here on the hill. So I told Oaken about it, and of course, he nabbed it up. Tillie, do you prefer coffee or tea?”

“I’m an anything-that-has-caffeine girl,” she said and looked over at Moose as he settled on a stool. She seemed tired but less broken than last night.

Maybe it was just that she wasn’t holding a gun on him. That memory still sat in his bones, along with her story of Rigger, and Pearl and Hazel.

And her soft words that had landed like stones on his heart. “You’re such a . . . such a great guy. You’re always so calm.”

Right . Clearly she had no idea that he’d tossed the night away in the king-sized bed, staring through the skylight at the stars, reliving a few nights he’d like to forget.

“So, I heard about the fun and games at the hospital,” Shep said, grabbing muffins to heat in the microwave. “Flynn’s okay, by the way.”

How Moose wanted to step between Tillie and Shep’s words. But Tillie hadn’t exactly filled him in on the details of her escape, so . . .

“Was she hurt?” Moose kept his voice low.

Tillie’s mouth tightened and she looked away. “I tried not to hurt her?—”

“She wasn’t hurt. Just stunned. And bruised—and surprised.” Shep pulled out a coffeepot and a drip filter. “Clearly she wasn’t expecting you to sweep out her feet and run.”

“For the record, I wasn’t either. I just . . . reacted. And panicked.”

Moose nodded.

“Does Flynn know she’s here?” Moose asked.

The kettle whistled. “Of course not,” Shep said. “I can keep a secret. But it won’t be long before Axel figures out you’re together.”

“I think he already has. I have three missed calls from him from last night.”

Tillie looked at Moose, eyes wide. He shook his head. “Don’t worry. We’re going to figure this out.”

“And get my daughter back.”

“Yes,” he said softly.

Shep took a mug from the cupboard and poured Tillie a cup of coffee.

She took it, and an egg muffin on a napkin. “I’m going to take a shower.”

When she’d closed the bedroom door behind her, Shep turned to Moose, voice low. “What’s your plan?” Moose took a breath, and Shep added, “Really. I can keep a secret.”

“I just don’t want to get you into trouble,” Moose said.

“Moose. Trouble is always with us. It’s how we react in trouble that matters.” Shep set a cup of coffee in front of him. “It’s never the right thing to let a brother carry a burden alone.” He pushed the plate of egg muffins toward Moose. “God tells us to pray that we’ll lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way. We don’t do that because our lives are actually calm. But our spirit can be. And we can respond in a godly way to our circumstances. Anyone can see that you’re in up to your chin here, and the water is rising.”

Moose ran his hands down his face. “Maybe.”

“Listen, I know a little about being in over your head.” He picked up his mug of coffee. “I was caught in an avalanche in the Alps many years ago. Took them three days to get me free, and in that time, all I had was faith—and another person, trying to keep me alive. And that was enough.”

“How did I not know this about you?”

Shep gave a half smile. “Listen. I know you feel responsible for everyone. But the truth is, you’re not the only one wearing the red Air One uniform. And I know this isn’t our standard rescue, but it’s just as important. Just as lifesaving.”

“I don’t want anyone ending up in jail.”

“Me either. So we bring Flynn into this, tell her the whole story—whatever it is—and get her on our team. The truth is hard, but I think it’s the only way.”

“I don’t know, Shep. That puts Flynn in a bad position.”

He set the coffee down. “Or it arms her with truth. And what about your cousin Dawson?”

Dawson did owe him. Or he owed Dawson—Moose had never sorted it all out. Still . “Okay. Tillie told me a few things last night that might help. I need you to tell Flynn—and then have her and Daws track down Rigger. If he’s still in Anchorage, we need to know.”

Shep said nothing.

“Tillie has information on Rigger that could blow up his life.”

“Now this makes sense.”

Moose nodded. “Sit down. I’m going to fill you in on the big pieces.”

Thirty minutes later, after he’d given Shep the rundown, and after Moose had emerged from the bedroom, showered and put together, Shep left. Now Tillie was seated on the black leather sofa, watching the news.

“Where’s Shep?” she asked as Moose came downstairs.

“Running an errand,” he said and sat down opposite her. “I think the bank is about open. Ready to get your money?”

She sat up, turned off the television. “No more interviews with Julian Richer.”

“Maybe he’s left town, put this all behind him.”

“Maybe tomorrow there will be world peace.”

He smiled. “Right.”

She leaned forward, clasped her hands together. “Listen, Moose. Let’s say I get the money and the phone, and it has what I hope on it. . . . I still can’t risk going to Flynn. She’ll arrest me and ask questions later, and that means Hazel stays in foster care. I can’t do that to her.”

Oh, Tillie . “You need to start thinking beyond this moment. You need to start believing that there is a way out that doesn’t involve you running.”

She blinked at him. “That’s what I’ve done my entire life.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“What do you suggest?”

“Trust.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Trusting you.”

“Not me. I want you to trust God .”

She narrowed her eyes.

“What if you started to look for God, his provision, his rescue, his love?”

She swallowed.

“You said you believe in God. Is it so difficult, then, to believe that he might care about you?”

“How?”

“Not to be arrogant, but I believe there’s a reason I kept coming into the Skyport during your shift for a year. Maybe we were supposed to meet. Supposed to end up right here. Because God cares very much about our lives.”

“If God cared, then my mother wouldn’t have died, my father would have come home, and Pearl wouldn’t have gotten cancer.”

Okay . He got that. Still, “Or that was the natural consequences of a fallen world and man’s sinful choices. What if there is a different perspective?”

“What kind of perspective?”

“Faith. Faith that God knows what he’s doing. That he loves you, even in the pain. Faith that everything, for someone who trusts God, works together for good.”

“Is that like hoping that things will work out? Feels like a platitude.”

“Or the only real answer. You can believe, or you can go it alone. I choose to believe.”

She swallowed. “It doesn’t feel good.”

“No, sometimes it doesn’t. But that’s where the faith comes in. And ultimately, we have to believe that God is for us, in all of it.”

She sighed. “Faith. I’m going to need it for your epic plan, aren’t I?”

“Might help.”

“Fine. For you, I’ll try and trust God.”

“And not panic.”

“And not panic.”

“And not run.”

She drew in a breath. “And. Not. Run.”

“Good. Because you’re going to have to do all that if this plan is going to work.”

He got up and went over to the counter where he’d taken out the contents of the Walmart bag. “Do you know how to make a hijab?”

She walked over and found the long black scarf. “I can make this work. Why?”

“Because Alicia Torre is now Muslim.”

Her mouth opened. And then she smiled. “Okay. Yeah. This could work.” She picked up the scarf and headed to the bathroom.

A few moments later, she emerged, her head covered.

Meanwhile, Moose had put on a baseball hat, pulled on his jacket. Hopefully no one at Northern Skies Bank knew him. He grabbed a shoulder bag with a long strap and waited as she walked to the door, carrying her bag of toiletries and extra clothing.

He handed her the shoulder bag.

“What’s this for?”

“The contents of the box.”

“Right.” She pulled the strap over her head.

He held the door open. “First stop, Roz’s house. Then to the bank.”

But she didn’t move, just looked at him.

“What?”

“God will show me he cares by giving me back my daughter. Let’s go.” She headed out the door.

But he put a hand on her arm. Took a long breath. “Tillie, I need you to hear this. And I hope it find roost. God loves you even if you don’t get your daughter back.”

A terrible horror entered her eyes.

“No panicking. But I need you to know that.” Then he pulled her to himself, held her, and closed his eyes.

“Lord. We don’t know what you have planned, but we trust you. We commit this crazy endeavor into your hands, and . . . yes, we ask for favor. For us to trust the outcome you desire. And we humbly ask that you bring Hazel back to Tillie and give us justice. Amen.”

When he lifted his head, she was staring at him, her eyes glossy. “Okay.” Then she headed through the front door and down the stairs into the garage.

And he stepped outside and looked heavenward. Please .

“We’re going to get caught,” Tillie said.

“No, we’re not,” Moose said as he opened the door where his truck was parked on the street behind Roz’s house near Earthquake Park. He’d told Tillie to stay put, then sneaked into the back door of the garage, bypassing the yellow crime tape in the front. He’d emerged with the key on the ring with the yellow flip-flop five minutes later.

Now he slid into the truck’s front seat with a grin.

“Please don’t smile.”

“We’re going to figure out a way out of this. You’ll see.” Moose put the key in her hand. “Keep holding on to faith.”

When he looked at her like that, his gray-green eyes on her, his dark hair curling out of his baseball cap, when he winked and grinned, she might do exactly that. Because Moose just seemed to radiate faith, and it caught her up, made her taste it, long for more of it.

So, yes. “Just drive.”

He pulled out. “What’s on this phone we’re going after?”

“I don’t know. But I think it could be a voicemail that she’d saved for a long time of Rigger threatening to take Hazel away if I said anything about Matthew’s death. She played it for me a couple days after it happened, and I asked her to save it, just in case.” She could still hear his voice, see the expression of terror on Pearl’s face.

“Why didn’t you take it to the police?”

She looked over at him. “I wanted to. But he had a hold on her that she couldn’t break away from.”

“Abusers do that.”

“Addiction does that. I think she thought she couldn’t escape him.”

He turned onto Hickel Parkway. “Until someone showed her the way.” He glanced at her. “Clearly you’re in the rescue business too.”

She gave a laugh. “Moose, sometimes the way you see me?—”

“Is exactly right.”

Oh .

But she smiled. Glanced at him. “You’re always so unflappable.”

He laughed at that, then, “Not on the inside, honey.”

She didn’t mind the honey so much. Or at all. In fact, the word sank through her, found her bones, turned her warm.

They pulled into the Northern Lights Alaskan Bank. A two-story brick building with windows along the front and two cameras over the front door that had probably already captured them.

Moose parked around the side. “Put on that headscarf.”

“Fine.” She put on the scarf, tucked it under her chin, around to the back of her neck and even tied it. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

“It will. Here’s the fun part. I want you to speak Dari.”

“My passport says I’m American.”

“Yeah, but I think you’re a foreign bride.”

She looked at him. “Your foreign bride?”

He grinned.

“For Pete’s sake.”

“Say that in Dari.”

She looked at him. Fine .

He raised his eyebrows at the words that emerged.

“Okay, that was actually the phrase ‘the night is long and the dervish awake.’”

“And it means . . .”

“There’s a long way between here and success.”

“Indeed. So, go in, show your ID, and then I’ll translate for you?—”

“Listen, even if I speak Dari, they’re not going to let you in with me. Not unless I sign paperwork.” She stopped on the sidewalk. “Let me take it from here.” She looked up at him, patted his chest. “But you can stick around should anything go south.”

His mouth closed. “Okay. But . . . I don’t want the cameras to pick up your voice, so speak low. Show your ID, get the box, and leave.”

“Sir, yes sir. ”

He rolled his eyes.

They’d started walking in the front door when his words filled her head— “We commit this crazy endeavor into your hands, and . . . yes, we ask for favor.”

The words lingered now as she walked up to a teller. Not busy, the place held a hush, and she didn’t look, but felt a dozen cameras on her.

She pulled out her passport. “Hello. I need to access a safe deposit box.”

The teller, a woman in her early sixties, took the passport, then keyed the information into her computer.

Moose had stepped behind Tillie, away a little, head down.

“Yes, Ms. Torre.” The teller slid off her chair and walked over to an office, rapped on the window.

A man got up, and they huddled for a moment. Tillie didn’t move. The teller returned. “Do you have your key?”

Tillie held it up.

“Very good. You’ll meet our branch manager by the security entrance.” The woman pointed to a door near the back of the room, and Tillie took her passport and headed over.

Moose followed her.

But when they reached the door, the branch manager held up his hand. “Sorry, sir, just the owner from here.”

Admittedly, she felt a little naked walking through the big steel door, opened by a swipe of a card, then a code, and finally a fingerprint.

She didn’t glance back at Moose, however, just followed the banker through, into the safe deposit box room. Three walls with white metal boxes, with two key locks in each door.

For a second, she was back at the hospital, Flynn saying she was going to arrest her. She hazarded a look at the banker, who was searching the room for her number, written on a card, and only then did she check behind her.

No one seemed to be rushing to call security, so . . .

“Box 2301.” The banker stopped in front of a box and she walked over. Handed him her key.

He unlocked the door and pulled out a long inner box.

It didn’t seem heavy enough for a hundred thousand dollars. He set it on the nearby table.

“I’ll close the door behind you. Buzz when you are ready to leave.” He indicated a doorbell by the massive door.

Then he left her there, closing her in, and she looked up just in time to see Moose’s gaze on her. It wasn’t unlike a prison, the room austere and cold. She blew out a breath and opened the box.

No money.

She stared at it, not sure why it felt like a punch.

No. Money .

Roz had lied to her.

Except—Pearl’s old phone sat in the box, on top of an envelope.

She pulled out the phone, then the envelope. Stuck it in the bag, then closed the box and put it back. Shut the door and removed her key.

Then she pushed the bell. A buzz sounded, and the door clicked.

From the outside, the banker opened it.

“All done?”

“Thank you,” Tillie said and marched past him. Didn’t even look at Moose, although she saw him pocket his phone as she walked out into the brisk morning air.

Only then did she take a breath, the air crisp and smelling of autumn, the scent of loam in the air.

Moose had followed her out, of course, and now touched her elbow. “Keep moving.”

Right .

She stood and headed with him to the truck. Slid into the seat, then while she strapped in, he put the truck in reverse and pulled out.

“You look pale.”

She pulled off the hijab. “The money is gone.”

He glanced over at her. “What?”

“The money. It’s gone.” She unzipped her bag and pulled out the phone. “Just this and an envelope.”

She tried to power on the phone, but it was dead. “We’ll need a charger.”

“Look in the glove box,” he said, and turned onto Minnesota Drive, heading north.

She opened the box and found the neatest, most organized glove box she’d ever seen. And a number of USB charging cables.

“I keep a few in there—never sure what I’ll need.”

She found an old USB C and plugged it into Pearl’s Android phone and then into Moose’s console. The phone’s face lit up, the battery indicating zero. “It’ll take a few minutes.”

“Open the envelope.” He turned onto Northern Lights Boulevard.

“Where are you going?”

“Trust me.”

Her mouth tightened. She pulled out the envelope. Her name was scrawled on the front, and she recognized Roz’s handwriting.

The return address was an insurance company—Guardian of Alaska.

She opened it just as Moose pulled onto a side street. Looking up, she recognized Turnagain Parkway. “Are we going to Roz’s?”

“Nope. What’s that?”

She pulled out a piece of letterhead, the name of the company embossed on the front, the letter addressed to her, and she must have made a little noise because?—

“Tillie. You okay?”

“It’s a life insurance policy.”

He had braked at a stop sign and now looked over at her. “A life insurance policy?”

“It’s a cover letter that outlines a whole life insurance policy. It’s taken out on Roz, but Hazel’s the beneficiary.”

He went through the stop sign, continued along Turnagain. “So Pearl took the money and put it in a whole life policy? Why not herself?”

“Probably they wouldn’t approve her, since she had cancer.”

“That makes sense. And it couldn’t accumulate value. What’s the cash value?”

“A what?”

He turned on Illiamna Avenue. “A cash value. Most whole life policies have a death benefit and a cash value. Who is the owner of the policy?”

She scanned the letter. “I think I am.”

“That Pearl. Smart.”

“What do you mean, smart? How am I supposed to pay Rigger back with a life insurance policy?”

He stopped at an intersection. “You use the payout from the cash value. And then, when Roz dies, you’ll also get the death benefit minus the cash value. How much is the death benefit?”

“It says it’s five hundred thousand, but?—”

“When was it taken out?”

“Three years ago, right before my sister died.”

He nodded. “It’s probably worth that or more by now with compound dividends.”

“But why put money in a policy in the first place?”

He pulled up to Lyn Ary Park, found a parking spot facing the baseball diamond. Turned to her. “Let me see it.”

She handed over the letter. He scanned it. Then he handed it back to her. “I think so that you would have bargaining power. The hundred grand is yours to access. And if you do, you can give it to him. But I guarantee it’s been growing in value over the past three years. My guess is that Pearl knew you’d have legal fees too.”

“What do you mean, legal fees?”

He looked up, past her, and she nearly left her skin when a rap sounded on the window.

A man with dark hair, smiling, wearing a jacket and a pair of hiking pants, stood at her door. “Who?—”

Moose rolled down his window and leaned over her. “Hey, Ridge.”

“Moose.”

“This is my friend Tillie.”

“Tillie,” Ridge said. “Moose says you have a story to tell.” He held out his hand. She shook it, then turned her gaze to Moose.

“He’s my new lawyer.”

What? Her voice fell, whisper taut. “What have you done?”

His smile dimmed. “Tillie. Trust me.”

“Moose. What have you done ?”

“Tillie. He’s my lawyer . He’s not going to turn you in.”

“Moose told me a little of your situation on the phone this morning,” Ridge said, his hands in his pockets.

How —

“And you’re going to need me, if the morning news is right.” Ridge pulled out his phone, then opened an app and showed them a video.

Julian Richer stood outside the Federal Building, with its creamy gray exterior, surrounded by reporters, and next to him, Flynn Turnquist.

Tillie held her breath as Julian spoke.

“I’m here as an advocate for all custodial parents who have had their children stolen from them. Seven years ago, I had a child with a woman who, sadly, passed away, and since then, I have been searching for my daughter. She was found last night with her aunt, a noncustodial guardian who fled custody and is at large. On behalf of all parents out there seeking their children, I want to thank the Anchorage Police Department and especially Detective Turnquist for their help in getting my daughter back.”

Tillie stared at the phone, shaking.

“Tillie. Calm down?—”

“No.” She looked at Moose. “I have to find Hazel before he hops on a plane with her?—”

“Yes,” said Ridge. “Family law is not my specialty, but I called a friend, and they’re working on an injunction to prevent Richer from taking Hazel out of Alaska right now. In the meantime, Moose texted and said you might have evidence against Richer that could help your case?”

She glanced at Pearl’s charging phone. “I think so.”

“Get in,” Moose said, and Ridge climbed into the back seat.

She powered up the phone. The home screen showed a picture of baby Hazel.

Tillie’s throat thickened as she opened the voicemail app. Please, please ?—

Empty.

What?

“She had a voicemail—it had Rigger recorded saying to stay away from her and Hazel.”

“Could it be in the cloud?”

She searched through the files. . . . Nothing but a video file. She clicked on it.

And then she turned hollow as she watched Rigger charge onto her townhome deck and assault her sister while toddler Hazel cried from a nearby high chair.

“That’s him?” Ridge said.

“This was on our Ring. I installed cameras when we moved in, afraid of this very thing.”

And then . . . silence as they watched Pearl struggle against Rigger . . .

Tillie closed her eyes, remembering feeling it as if it were yesterday. Her, coming into the house, seeing Rigger beating Pearl, then grabbing a tire iron from her car and charging back onto the deck, now on camera . . .

“Wow, that’s some swing you have there,” Ridge said as the sound of her blow echoed through the video.

She opened her eyes to Rigger, sprawled on the ground, writhing, his head bleeding.

And then she watched as she grabbed up Hazel, then Pearl, and stumbled away from the shot.

The video stopped.

“He was in the hospital for nearly two weeks,” she said quietly.

“Did he file assault charges?” Ridge asked.

“I don’t know. We left right after that.”

“I’ll check into that.”

“No voicemail about the murder,” Moose said quietly.

She looked at him, then Ridge. No cash. No proof. No Hazel.

“If all of Anchorage wasn’t on the lookout for you before . . .” Ridge said.

Moose touched his hand to hers, as if hoping that she’d stay instead of bolting from the truck.

“Ridge, I need you to look into the murder of a man named—” He looked questioningly at Tillie.

“Matthew Lopez.”

“Yep. A little more than five years ago. He might be listed as missing. And then see what you can do to slow down Hazel’s transfer of custody.”

Ridge nodded.

“And get out of my truck and pretend you never talked to us. We’ll be in touch.”

Ridge’s mouth made a grim line. “I know that you probably don’t want to hear this, but the longer you run from custody, the worse it gets.” He slid out of the back seat. “But I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks, Ridge.” Moose already had the car in reverse, pulling out.

“I want to find my daughter,” Tillie said.

“I know.” He turned onto Marston drive.

“Where are we going?”

He wore what looked like fury in his eyes. “Someplace where you’ll be safe.”

“I don’t want to be safe.”

He stopped at the light. Turned to her. His voice turned low and crisp. “That’s very clear. But I need you to be safe if I’m going to get your daughter back.”

His words shook through her. And that’s when, for the first time, she realized that maybe, underneath it all, Moose Mulligan wasn’t quite so safe, so calm after all.