Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

S he’d known that someday her mistakes would catch up to her.

Unfortunately, Tillie had stopped looking in the rearview mirror for a while now, believing that she’d outsmarted the bogeyman.

So, her fault for not paying attention. Her fault, and Hazel would pay the price.

“Mommy, will you come back?”

Hazel stood in her coral-and-green Moana nightgown, the ruffle on the hem torn from where she’d put her toe into it in the night, wearing her favorite pink cowboy boots, holding her ratty stuffed dog. Good news was, they didn’t have to sleep in their car any longer. And they’d both taken long-awaited baths, so at least she was leaving her daughter clean and fed and hopefully, please, safe.

And most important, hidden.

Tillie crouched in the entryway of Rosalind Turner’s small two-bedroom tract home in a cozy, fenced safe lot in an old family neighborhood near Earthquake Park. The place smelled of pumpkin soup and Roz’s incense candles, and if anyone could keep Hazel safe, it was a former cop.

A former vice cop from Miami, one who knew Rigger and what he could do.

“Of course, honey. Mommy just needs to take care of . . . something. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Tillie pulled Hazel close, held her seven-year-old lanky body to hers, savoring her skinny arms around Tillie’s neck and the smell of shampoo and bubble bath. She was everything Tillie lived for.

Tillie met eyes with Roz, who stood behind her, arms folded over her barrel body. Their conversation an hour ago returned to her?—

“If I’d known Rigger was back and after you, I would have come home sooner.”

Tillie knew what it meant to Roz to visit her grandchildren, and frankly, she’d thought it was fine.

Thought she could handle Rigger, if it really was him that’d appeared at the Skyport Diner a month ago, looking for her.

She’d slipped out the back and returned home to scoop up Hazel, pay the sitter, and move them to a hotel.

But her money had run out while she was trying to figure out her next play, and that’s when they’d landed in the car and?—

“What are you going to do?”

Tillie couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t face the barrage of reasons why this might be a terrible idea. In her head, she saw no other way to bargain for her freedom. Hazel’s freedom.

So here she was, saying goodbye to her only treasure, the one reason she had for living. She pushed Hazel away and held her by the arms, meeting those green eyes. “Obey Grandma Roz. I’ll be back by morning, okay?”

Hazel nodded, but fear swept her expression, so Tillie held out her pinky.

Hazel hooked it and smiled.

“Okay, then.” She got up and lifted a hand to Roz, walking to the door.

“I got this. You be safe.”

Tillie swiped the moisture from her cheek and headed out into the twilight, something inside her jerking when she heard the lock click.

Rigger wasn’t going to take anything else from her, so help her. . . .

She got into her car, closed her eyes, and offered a foxhole prayer, although she doubted that anyone might be listening, and turned the engine over.

Someone might be listening, though, because the old Ford Focus started, and she let out her breath.

Then she pulled out and headed east, toward Eagle River.

It wasn’t a fancy house, and perhaps she should have sold it, but after her sister Pearl died . . . well, it was all they had of her. Memories, laughter, and stories embedded the painted panel walls, hard work in the remodeled kitchen, the bathroom, Hazel’s ocean-scape bedroom.

As Tillie drove up Highway 1 to Eagle River, the absurdity of her thinking wound around her chest, squeezed.

Of course Rigger would know to look for a house in the name of his former girlfriend. Deceased girlfriend, but Tillie had never changed the deed.

Stupid! She slammed her palm into the steering wheel.

Even more stupid was sticking around Anchorage for a month, hiding. She should have pointed her car south, headed toward the lower forty-eight. But she just as easily might have ended up on the side of the road, steam coming out of the radiator.

And then there was the whole driving through Canada part, and the necessity of a passport. And while hers might work, Hazel’s had expired two years ago, which meant that driving over the border was out of the question.

So, yeah, she’d fled, bunked in the Bird Creek Hotel, then over at the Puffin Inn, then the Ramada, and finally the one-star Mush Inn.

Cash only. But who knew what Rigger would do to track them down? After all . . . she had his treasure too.

Breathe.

She passed Cottonwood Park, and Fort Richardson, with its safe, cordoned fencing, the military housing that she’d walked away from.

For a good reason .

But sometimes . . .

Breathe.

Farther up the Glenn Highway, she passed the landfill, then the correctional facility, and finally took the Artillery exit over to Eagle River Road.

Passed Eagle River Elementary. With any luck, Hazel would start second grade there in a couple days.

Or she’d be in foster care while her mother went to jail. . . .

Breathe.

Tillie wound her way off Eagle River Road, back to Meadow Creek Drive, a nice name for a nice neighborhood with families and fishing boats and pickups and swing sets in the backyard and friendly Labradors and manicured lawns and sure, probably a few broken families, but for the most part . . . safe. The kind of life that Pearl—and Tillie—had wanted for Hazel.

Pearl had even mentioned, toward the end there, getting a dog. If she hadn’t gone so quickly, Tillie might have given in.

Most of the houses sat on half acres with a line of thick evergreen between them, the forest still trying to reclaim the land.

She turned into the driveway of the smallest house in the neighborhood, but in her estimation the prettiest, painted a deep yellow with a blue door—Pearl’s idea—and a chain- link fence around the back for the someday dog, and a mostly manicured flowerbed and?—

Wait.

She put the car in park, and everything inside her seized.

Smoke drifted, black and thickening, from the backyard.

No—

She threw herself out of the car, rushed to the gate, and let herself inside, ran along the side of the house.

Stopped.

The playset, the homemade swing set that Pearl and Tillie had built for Hazel on her third birthday, threw flames into the twilight sky.

How—

She ran to the patio, where the hose lay curled in the box. She cranked on the water, then sprinted over with the hose, opening up the nozzle as she got close.

The water hit the structure, and the flames sizzled, the smoke cluttering the air, acrid and sharp. She coughed, pulled her shirt up to her nose, and kept spraying. The water filmed back over her, wetting her hair, her shirt, but the flames started to die, spurting now and again to life.

“I figured this would bring you home.”

She froze even as she doused the last of the flames. The charred legs still held the second story fort aloft.

She turned, the hose in her hands, and braced herself.

Rigger stood on the patio, the sliding door to her house open. He held a chicken leg, and she didn’t want to know how long he’d been living in her house, sleeping in her—or Pearl’s—bed, probably ripping the house apart in his search.

She raised her chin, turned off the nozzle. “What are you doing here?”

“I think you know, Steelrose. ”

“That’s not my name.”

“That will always be your name.”

She rolled her eyes.

He took a step toward her, threw away the chicken leg, and wiped his arm on his sleeve. He wore a black nylon muscle shirt, a pair of track pants, kicks. Bald, but a thick black beard scrubbed his chin, and he’d easily put on thirty pounds of muscle in the five years since she’d last seen him.

Now he advanced at her, and she held up the hose.

He laughed. “You think a little water is going to stand between you and what’s mine?”

“It’ll slow you down.”

“Not even a little, honey.”

Then he leaped at her. She threw on the water, but like he said, it barely hiccupped his movement. It worked just enough for her to dodge him, though, to get a leg out and trip him. He went spinning into the ash and fire.

She took off for her car.

He rolled, shouted, cursed, and she didn’t have to look behind her to know he’d found his feet.

She hit the gate, pulled it shut, heard the latch fall and sprinted toward the Ford. Opened the door, slid in— C’mon, c’mon!

The engine whined, refused her, and in a second, he had yanked her door open.

He grabbed her arm, and she reached behind her with the other and got her hand on a book.

A hardbacked copy of The Black Stallion , worn and broken and her current read-aloud to Hazel.

As Rigger dragged her from the car, she nailed him on the side of the head.

He shook off the blow, although it did loosen his grip on her.

She rolled away, onto her feet, breathing hard.

It seemed that somebody in this nice neighborhood might be calling the police, or the fire department. But then again, that would mean questions.

Still. She pulled her phone from her back pocket, backed away, pressing the emergency button.

“Really?” Rigger advanced on her, ripped the phone from her hand, threw it.

And then, even as she searched for it, he punched her.

Right in the jaw, and her face felt like it might explode. The punch turned her around, slammed her to the ground. Wiped thought from her brain.

Get up . A voice in her head screamed, and she listened, rolling to her knees.

He lunged at her, but she rounded, blocked his blow, put her fist into his face.

Bam! Now he was bloodied too.

It only turned him into a bull, rabid, and she saw it enter his eyes.

This was the look Pearl had warned her about. And of course she knew it—but she’d known him before, too, so?—

“Are you really going to kill me? Because you do and you’ll never find it. Never find her .” She backed up toward her car, and in the distance, a siren moaned.

Thank you, Meadow Creek Drive . Even if no one had the courage to come out of their house, someone had called the cops. Or her emergency call had gone through?—

The siren stalled him, just for a moment. His eyes narrowed. “You can’t run from me anymore, Tillie. I want it back?—”

“I’ll give you the money, Rigger. Just . . . leave. Just leave us be.” She held up her hands, and they shook.

His smile ripped a chill through her.

The siren grew louder.

She took off for her car, dove in and shut the door. Locked it even as he slammed his fist on the glass.

Then, thank you— her car turned over. She pulled out, spitting up grass as she missed the driveway.

He ran out into the road.

She met his eyes as she floored it.

He spun out of the way.

At the end of the block, a glance into her rearview mirror confirming that no, he wasn’t running after the car, she let up on the gas, refusing to drive like a maniac.

Especially as she passed the police on the way out of the subdivision.

Her body shook, but she kept driving through the neighborhoods, the night descending around her. Only when she stopped at a light and spotted the neighboring driver staring at her did she realize she was bleeding. A cut on her face, her lip split open, and probably she wore a black eye too.

Rigger knew how to throw a punch, of course.

She put a hand to her face and turned onto a side road, then searched the backseat for a towel. Nothing.

One thought pressed over her—they needed to leave town. Now .

She opened the glovebox, shifted inside it. Her hand closed on a package of travel tissues. As she pulled it out, a piece of paper fluttered out.

She pulled out a tissue and pressed it to her face, then picked up the paper.

Find me if you need me.

The tight, blocky handwriting conjured up the owner. Moose Mulligan. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, booth two, in the front, chocolate milk, midnight chicken, fries, and the man who’d asked her out.

She’d turned him down.

She hadn’t seen him since because he’d fled after she turned him down for a date. But what was she to do?—saying yes meant peeling back her life and . . .

And that would get them all into trouble. At the very least, her secrets were ticking bombs that he’d be better off not knowing.

Still, she’d felt bad, missed his friendship, so she’d sent chicken home with his brother what seemed like years—but might only be weeks—ago, with a note asking him to come back.

Then Rigger had shown up, and she’d forgotten about Moose, what with trying to keep Hazel safe.

But he was a friend. And more importantly, a pilot.

And he’d written his address and phone number on the napkin and . . .

Her eyes filled, her throat burning. Maybe . . .

She put her car into drive, and with the sun in her rearview mirror, she headed toward the Glenn Highway.

His address put him east of Eagle River in an upscale community located on the Knik River.

It didn’t have to be complicated, just a simple “Moose, can I get a ride?” To where? Juneau? Or even Fairbanks. Just someplace off the map.

Of course, she’d need the money first. But that came after she appeared on Moose’s doorstep. . . .

She glanced in the rearview mirror. Not looking like this.

She needed a gas station and then directions to Moose’s place.

Pulling into a Speedway, she got out and headed inside to the bathroom. Kept her head down.

No wonder her head throbbed. Rigger, the former MMA boxer, had managed to bloody her nose, blacken her eye, and split her lip with one lousy punch.

Tearing off paper towels, she wet them, then eased the coldness onto her nose, cleaning it off, then pressing into her lip. She held back a groan and then dabbed at it until she didn’t look like she’d been dragged across blacktop.

Then she wiped her shirt and zipped up her black jacket. Pulled back her dark hair and took a long breath.

A woman came out of a nearby stall. Middle-aged, she was overweight and wore a sweatshirt with Moose’s Pub and Pizza written on the front. Her eyes widened at Tillie.

“I’m fine. Just a little fight with a door.”

“Yeah,” said the woman, turning on the water. “I hope the door got the worst of it.”

Tillie made a face.

“You should report that.”

“Thanks,” Tillie said and headed outside, her head down. Yeah, she needed to ditch town, and fast, before she left a trail of breadcrumbs.

She got into her car, pulled down the visor, and found a pair of sunglasses. Then she reached for her phone in the console between her seats to grab the GPS to Moose’s place.

Stilled.

Her phone lay in the yard.

Worse, Roz’s location was still in her phone, her last known position. And sure, she had a password, but it was easily breakable by no one but Rigger. Hazel’s birthdate.

She got out of the car and went inside, now wearing her sunglasses, and headed to the checkout counter. “Do you have a phone I can use?”

The young clerk considered her for a moment, then reached under the cash register and pulled up an old landline phone. “You okay?”

“I will be.” She dialed Roz’s number, grateful for the fact that she’d made Hazel memorize it.

And how sad would Pearl be to know that Hazel was memorizing numbers in case Tillie got arrested and Hazel went into foster care. Some mom she’d turned out to be. She shook her head as the phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

And then, finally, picked up.

“Roz—it’s me. I lost my phone?—”

“I know.”

Not Roz, and her legs nearly buckled. “Rigger. Listen?—”

“You listen. You have one hour. Get the money and get here, or you will never see Hazel again. But I will leave you Roz as a gift to bury.”

“Rigger, just don’t?—”

He hung up.

She pressed her hand to her chest, her breaths coming too fast.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

She barely saw the kid, even as she hung up and turned away.

“Ma’am?”

Air, she needed . . . air . Pushing outside, she gulped in the night, the fragrance of pine and a little diesel and the sense that she was so far out of her element . . .

More than air, she needed rescue.

The woman from the bathroom came out. Stopped. “Honey? Let me help you.”

Tillie looked at her, her gaze on her sweatshirt, and then gave a painful, dark laugh. “Seriously?” Her eyes filled. “Can I . . . can I borrow your cell phone?”

The woman frowned.

“I need to look up an address.”

The woman pulled out her phone, and Tillie pulled the paper from her pocket and keyed in the address. Read the directions up Highway 1 and over to the Old Glenn Highway.

From there, she would go past Lookout Point, then take a left on River Drive.

She could find it from there. “Thanks.” She handed back the phone, dangerously close to unravelling.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call someone?”

“No. I . . . I think, I hope I’ve figured it out.” Please .

And yeah, it might be stupid, but the fact was, Moose might be exactly the answer. Get the money, give it to Rigger, then talk Moose into flying her and Hazel far, far away. Off-the-map kind of far away.

Maybe then they’d all live through this.

Maybe. But clearly she was in over her head, and suddenly, the idea of finding Moose simply clung to her. As if he’d somehow materialized out of the night and right into her brain. Or heart. Whatever .

She got into her car, closed her eyes as if—praying?—and the stupid Ford turned over, acting as if it hadn’t quit on her during her time of need. Pulling out, she imprinted the map in her head and headed toward the highway.

This was not a bad idea.

Moose was her friend. He cared.

See, this was not a bad idea.

He’d come looking for her, for Pete’s sake, at the diner, had left his address behind like a calling card. And indeed, it read, Find me if you need me.

This was not a bad idea!

She turned off the Glenn Highway just as the sun winked out, leaving a pall over the land. The forest closed in, the river to the east, below the ridge, the road winding along the top, and mountains rising to the west. A wild, untamed land.

A place she could still get lost in, with Hazel.

Please!

She turned left on River Drive and began searching for his house number as the route led her closer to the Knik River.

Beautiful homes back here, some log, some timber-framed, many with green tin roofs, long drives, lamplight along porches, evergreens and golden aspen and red maple trees, the sense of luxury and a life without trouble.

No one hunting these people down, kidnapping?—

She brushed away the moisture under her eyes. This was not a bad idea. . . .

A sleek black mailbox with bronze letters listed his address, and she slowed. No gate, but the long gravel driveway suggested it sat on the river’s edge, with a view.

This was not . . .

She turned in and found herself pulling up to a magnificent timber house with a large cleared yard, a garage wing and, from what she could see in the fading light, a view of the river.

A porch covered the entrance, up a short, wide flight of stairs, a light over the door, beckoning and . . .

This was a bad idea.

Who was this man? She’d pictured his house as a nice ranch-style house, or even a split-level in a suburban neighborhood, something modest and unassuming, like Moose.

But Moose was a lot more than she thought. He did own and operate a private search and rescue team, and that probably took money. And skills. And sure, she was already a little wowed by that, but . . .

But this . . .

Yep, very bad idea.

She turned her car off and stared at the house. A few other cars sat in the drive—a Jeep, a Nissan Rogue. And as she sat there, she heard music drifting into the night, and laughter and . . .

He had friends. And a life. And she just couldn’t bring trouble into it.

Except . . . Find me if you need me . And then, for a second, she was sitting in a booth with him, and he was telling her about his cousin who’d gone missing and how he regretted that, and . . .

And then Pearl reached out of heaven and down into her heart and said . . .

“Trust.”

Right . For Pearl. For Hazel.

She got out of the car. Headed up the stairs. Stood at the door. Then closed her eyes and pushed the doorbell.

Managed not to run when she heard footsteps.

Bad. Bad idea ? —

The door opened.

Silence. Moose stood there, a tall, gentle giant, his frame filling the door. He wore a flannel shirt, rolled up at the elbows, and a pair of jeans, and the slightest tousle to his hair, those gray-green eyes pinned on her, and he smelled weirdly delicious, as if he’d been grilling and . . .

No, this was a very?—

“Tillie.” He stepped out then, and maybe she’d stepped back—probably, because inside she was already running—but he caught her hand. “You’re hurt.”

She’d completely forgotten about her face, thanks to the horror in her chest, but she nodded, then shook her head and—shoot, now her eyes burned.

“Come in.”

He tugged her inside. Shut the door behind her. Then came to stand in front of her, so much concern in his eyes that standing there in the entryway, she knew it would be okay.

Somehow, they would be okay.

Even when she looked up at him and said quietly, “I need your help, Moose. My daughter has been kidnapped.”

And it wasn’t quite the truth, but close enough.

He just blinked at her, his expression hollow. Probably from the revelation of the fact that she had a daughter. Oops . But he said nothing. Just reached out and pulled her against him, his big arms around her, holding her tight. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.”

Oh, she wanted to lean into him, to put her arms around his neck and hold on, to close her eyes, but . . .

But they had no time.

Still, just that moment was enough.

Yes, this might be the best idea she’d ever had.

She pushed away from him.

He caught her arms, then nodded and stepped away. “Let’s get some ice on your eye.”

She followed him, trying not to be awed by his magnificent kitchen, and in a moment, he was handing her an ice pack. “Stay here.”

But he didn’t go far, just stuck his head out of the sliding-glass door and said something to whatever guests he was entertaining.

And then she knew. Because of course, the people who followed him in were his Air One team. She knew a few of them—Axel, his brother, of course, and Shep, and Boo, the EMT, London, a fellow pilot. And country music star Oaken Fox. Huh , she hadn’t expected that.

Finally, another woman, a redhead who came in and stood by Axel.

“Tillie?” Boo said. “What happened?”

Moose stood at the end of the island, gripping it, and she got it—all that cool control went into that grip because a fierceness had entered his expression.

It was exactly that fierceness that gave her the will to swallow, then turn to his team, to Boo, then Shep and Axel, and finally back to Moose. “I’m sorry, but I had no other choice.”

Then, because of exactly that reason, she doubled down on her lie. “My daughter has been kidnapped. And I need your help to get her back.”

Silence. Moose looked at his crew, and specifically the woman standing with Axel, and finally back to Tillie.

“We’ll get her back,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

And deep down in her soul, she believed him.