Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

M oose didn’t even know where to start with his questions. Like, who had hit Tillie and why, and how did he get his hands on him?

And then—she had a daughter ? He hadn’t even remotely seen that one coming.

The kidnapping part, however, might be the most important, so as she leveled her words at his team, he tried to ignore the shaking in her voice. And the memory of the way she had, ever so briefly, clung to him in the entryway. And just tried to focus on the Most Important Horrible Thing.

Kidnapping. Right. Focus .

His team stood, silent, absorbing Tillie’s words in his kitchen, the smell of the grilled steaks still lingering in the air. He walked over to the sliding door and shut it, and with that, muted the sound of the river rushing in the darkness and any remnant of joviality around the table just a few minutes prior.

He’d invited the team over for a small, put-the-past-behind-them celebration. His brother, Axel, had finally found the love of his life in Flynn Turnquist, a detective from Minnesota, and country singer Oaken Fox had purchased an A-frame home south of Anchorage, in a posh area overlooking a ski resort, probably to start a life with Boo Kingston, the team EMT. And Moose . . . well, he’d survived being buried alive, so that had felt like a reason to celebrate.

In fact, he’d managed to almost, but not really, put Tillie and her disappearance behind him.

Okay, not at all, but he’d been trying, and that counted.

And then . . . and then the doorbell rang, and now he stood at the edge of what felt like a dark and stirring mess of trouble.

He didn’t have a second thought about diving in. And never mind helping Tillie?—

“How old is your daughter?” he asked now, cutting through the shock.

“Seven.” Tillie set her ice pack on his granite island.

“You need to keep that ice pack on,” Boo said, coming up to her. “The eye is pretty swollen.” She gave her face a once-over. “Doesn’t look like your nose is broken, however.”

“I’ve had a broken nose. I know what it feels like,” Tillie said, and Moose had to look away. Good thing he was holding on to the counter.

Seven.

“Start at the beginning.” This from Flynn, who currently worked in the Investigative Support Unit of the Anchorage Police Department, her job mostly in the area of hunting down robbery suspects, vehicle hijackers, and, conveniently, kidnappers.

Flynn slid onto a stool at the counter and pulled another out for Tillie, patted it. She kept her voice soft, and it could be why Tillie sat down. Boo picked up the ice pack and handed it to her, and Tillie obeyed.

The small action had everyone breathing again, or so it seemed, because Axel walked over to stand behind Flynn, and Oaken perched on the arm of one of Moose’s leather sofas. London stayed by the door, arms folded, Shep standing nearby.

“I . . . uh . . .” Tillie glanced at Moose, an expression in her beautiful brown eyes that he didn’t recognize. She’d always exuded a sort of calm confidence, even the time he’d managed to cajole her into sitting down with him, chatting about their lives.

Um, not a mention of terror in her life. He could hardly breathe through the fist in his chest.

She looked at Flynn. “My sister and I moved here from Florida. Miami. And when we came, we, uh . . . we emptied our joint savings account. About a hundred thousand dollars.”

“That’s a lot of savings,” Shep said.

She glanced at him, back to Flynn. “We were running from her . . . ex. Who is . . . not a great guy, and who thought the money should belong to him.”

Moose mentally added that to his list of questions. But really, they had no time. “He followed you here?”

She looked at him. “Yes.”

“What happened to the money?” Axel asked.

“It . . . some of it went to pay for my sister’s cancer treatment. It was . . . experimental, and . . . it did work, for a while, at least.” She looked away, sighed, and when she met Flynn’s gaze again, her eyes were glossy. “She passed away three years ago.”

More silence.

“I’m sorry,” Moose said softly.

Tillie nodded. “Thanks. Um, but now . . . I don’t have the full amount. And the rest of it is . . .”

“In the bank?” Oaken said.

“Under my patio.”

Moose raised an eyebrow.

She set the ice pack down again. “Rigger showed up about a month ago at the diner, looking for me. I don’t know how he found me—maybe he followed me to work. I panicked and ran. Hazel was staying at a sitter’s house, so I grabbed her and . . . hid.”

Moose tried not to narrow his eyes, but . . . why?

“I have a friend here—an ex-cop who was down in the lower forty-eight visiting her family. She got back a few days ago, so I brought Hazel there, hoping . . .” She blew out a breath. “We thought if I had the money—what was left of it—then I could offer it to him and he’d . . .”

“Leave?” Flynn said. “Just like that?”

“I don’t know! I just know he’s . . . he’s dangerous.”

“He did that to you?” Axel said, pointing to her face.

“Yes.”

Moose looked away from her, swallowing hard. He usually had a pretty good handle on his emotions, but . . .

“I don’t know if Rigger was waiting for me or what, but when I went to the house, he’d set the playset on fire. We have cameras on the front of the house, so maybe he thought I’d come home.”

“Which you did.”

“I didn’t know he was there?—”

“Why didn’t you call the police?” Flynn asked.

“What could they do? It all happened so fast. And it’s my word against his.”

“They could arrest him for assault,” Shep said, lifting his chin toward her appearance.

“I hit him too.”

Moose drew in a breath. He wanted to say Attagirl , but that had probably only made Rigger angrier.

Thank God she hadn’t been hurt worse, and with that thought surfaced his prayer two days ago, while trapped in the glacier. Please. Keep her safe. Bring her help if she needs it . “How did he get your daughter?”

“I called 911, but he grabbed my phone. I think he must have used it to track Roz’s address. When I realized that, I called Roz to warn her. . . . He answered.” She drew a breath then, maybe remembering the call, because he saw a sort of horror flit through her eyes.

“And?” Flynn said softly.

“I have an hour to get him the money or he leaves with her.”

Moose glanced at the clock. She’d been here a total of fifteen minutes. “Where is he?”

“Anchorage.”

Forty minutes away. “We’ll never get there in time.”

“I could go to Roz’s house. Stall him. . . . If someone else can pick up the money.” She looked at Moose.

Him? Um, no way was he leaving her. He looked at Shep, who nodded and turned to Tillie. “Where is it, exactly?”

“Under the firepit, under the patio pavers, in a waterproof box.”

“Cash?”

“Yes.”

Shep frowned.

“I wanted a way to get it, fast. . . .” She swallowed.

More questions, but Moose just walked over to Shep. “I’ll text you an address. You go.”

He noticed that London followed Shep to the entryway.

“Axel, grab Tillie’s address, send it to Shep. Flynn, you should get on the horn to?—”

“Dawson. I’m already on it.” Flynn had pulled out her phone. “We’ll get a negotiator on the scene too.”

“Wait!” Tillie’s voice stopped him cold.

Flynn looked up from her phone.

“You’re a cop?”

Flynn frowned. “Yeah.”

Tillie slid off her stool. “Okay. Uh, this was a—” She slid the stool in, held up her hands. “I’ll take care of it?—”

“Tillie!” Moose didn’t mean his tone, but, “What’s going on?”

Tillie had turned a little white and now swallowed, met his eyes. “I . . . It’s just that Rigger is dangerous. And if he knows there’s cops . . .” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here. This was a bad idea.” She turned and headed toward the door.

Moose caught up to her, grabbed her arm.

She turned, stiffening, her eyes wide.

He let her go, hands up. “Listen. Dawson is my cousin. You can trust him.” He looked at Flynn. “Right?”

Flynn must have read his look, because she pocketed her phone. “Yeah. Just me and Dawson.”

Even he could tell she was making false promises, but if Moose could get there first . . .

That was it. He’d go with her, figure out a way to stall or even talk Rigger away from her kid—and yeah, even to his own ears it sounded half-cocked, but all he had to do was buy them time.

He lowered his hands. “I’m going with you. We’ll talk to Rigger. If all he wants is his money, maybe he can be reasoned with.” He didn’t believe a word of what he said, given the damage to Tillie’s face, but it also bought him time with her, to get Flynn and Dawson on site and some SWAT backup. . . .

“No way,” Flynn said. “I’m not going to let you walk into a possible kidnapping with an armed felon.”

“He’s not armed,” she said. “And I don’t think he’d hurt Hazel.”

“Except for the kidnapping part,” Flynn said.

“I think . . . I think we can solve this. Without the police.”

Flynn gave her a look.

“Please. If he sees cops, then . . . then things could get ugly.”

“No way I’m letting you walk in there?—”

“It’s not up to you.” Tillie, for the first time, wore an expression on her face that resembled a fight.

“The only one in danger here is me,” Tillie said softly. “And I want to keep it that way.”

Moose glanced at Flynn, saw fight on her face too, and stepped between the two women. Turned to Tillie. “ Then we’re going to go talk to him. And Flynn and Dawson are coming as backup. Any sign that we’re in over our heads, we’re out.”

Moose glanced at Flynn, and she gave him a look that said she didn’t much like his plan. She opened her mouth as if to argue, but he held up a hand. “I promise. No one will do anything stupid.”

“Call me and turn your phone on speaker. And if he has a weapon, you leave.”

He nodded.

But Tillie was shaking her head. “I’m sorry I came here. I panicked, and . . . this was—I was really just hoping to ask you for a ride. A plane ride . . . to anywhere. I didn’t expect you to . . . This is too dangerous, Moose. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“This is the best thing you could have done,” Moose said. He put his hands on her shoulders. “I told you to find me if you needed anything. This guy hurt you, Tillie. And he has your daughter. Let’s go talk to him, at least. And if I’m with you, then maybe he won’t try anything.” His voice lowered. “If it goes south, Flynn and Dawson will be there. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

Her mouth tightened. He didn’t look at Flynn.

“Okay,” Tillie said softly.

He reached for his jacket, shrugged it on, and then put on his boots. “Let’s go.”

Shep and London had already pulled out of the driveway in Shep’s Jeep. Now he opened the garage door and grabbed his keys from the hook. Held the door open for Tillie.

She came out, and he led the way off the porch, across the driveway, and to his truck. He spotted her Ford Focus in the driveway, the one with the dented bumper, and it raised more questions.

Too many.

He got in his F-150. She slid into the other side.

“You sure you want to do this?”

“Never been more sure about anything in my life,” Moose said as he fired up the truck.

He pulled out and spotted Flynn and Axel coming out of the house, followed by Oaken and Boo. He backed into a spot on the drive, then pulled out along his driveway, the motion-detector lights popping on as he headed toward the road.

She sat quietly beside him, her hands in her pockets.

He reached Old Glenn Highway and turned onto it, headed for Highway 1. “Can I ask how?—”

“No.”

He glanced over at her. “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“How would you?” She looked at him, her expression stoic in the wan dash light. “I’m not in the habit of sharing my personal life with the customers who come into the diner.”

He’d sort of thought . . .

But he nodded. He wasn’t her boyfriend, and she didn’t want him to be—she’d made that pretty clear when she turned him down for a date. And sure, she’d clung to him at the door when he’d embraced her, but he could easily attribute that to fear, or maybe relief.

Now, she sat staring out the front windshield, almost a soldier’s expression on her face.

On her wounded face.

His entire body burned. Talk. He was just going to talk to this guy.

“How’d he find you?”

“I’m not sure—except the house we live in is in my sister’s name, so probably that’s the connection.”

“How does he know your sister?”

She looked out the window. “He got her hooked on heroin in high school.” She wiped her cheek. “She got clean, but . . . it probably caused her liver cancer.”

That still didn’t connect the dots, but when Tillie went quiet, he didn’ t know what to say.

So he just reached out, across the console, and found her hand. Squeezed it.

She glanced at him then, her jaw tight. “I’m sorry.”

“Nope. We’ll get your daughter back, and then . . .” He offered a quick smile. “Then we talk.”

Her mouth made a tight line, and she looked away.

And the fist in his chest tightened.

“Where in Anchorage are we going?”

“Earthquake Park. It’s a little ranch house.”

He said nothing as they passed Eagle River and then entered the city limits of Anchorage.

“Turn right on Northern Lights,” she said, pointing.

“Is this where you live?”

“No. My house—my sister’s house—is in Eagle River.”

No wonder Dawson hadn’t found her when he’d searched Anchorage for Tillie Young.

They passed Minnesota Drive, all the way to McKenzie, and he took another right.

No sidewalks in this part of town, but the houses were small and on tidy city lots, built after the 1964 ’quake. Some had since been remodeled or torn down, creating an eclectic array of styles.

She pointed to a small ranch with a jutting front deck and a trio of birch in the front yard. The closed blinds along the front bay window obscured the view, so no joy on a sniper shot.

“Who is this Roz?”

“She’s the ex-cop. She used to work in the gang unit.”

“Do I want to ask how you met her?”

“Probably not, but let’s just say that Rigger’s been on her radar for a while.”

Okay . Moose turned off the truck, parking it behind Rigger’s car, and got out. Tillie emerged from the other side, and he caught up to her, grabbed her hand. “Stay behind me.”

She looked at him. “You stay behind me . He sees you and he’s going to get rattled.”

“Just so we’re clear, you’re not going in there without me.”

Behind him, Flynn and Axel had pulled up across the street. Axel turned off his lights.

Moose dialed Axel’s number, then put his phone on speaker and mute and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Tillie headed toward the door. She knocked, then opened it and stepped inside.

He followed her in.

The entry led to the family room and a kitchen on the back of the house. A hallway led back to the garage, the bedrooms on the opposite side, away from him.

A recliner and a side table sat opposite a sofa.

A man stood in front of a fireplace, his hands on the shoulder of a little girl in a worn nightgown. She was cute—dark hair, like Tillie’s, and pretty green eyes, and she bit her lip, her eyes wide, and clutched a stuffed animal to herself.

Seated on the recliner, a bruise to her cheek, was a woman, beefy, with short white hair, wearing leggings and an oversized T-shirt. She sported a shiner too—clearly Rigger’s calling card.

“Stop,” said Rigger, and Moose caught the storm door as it closed. Stayed in the entry as Tillie took a step onto the faded brown carpet.

“Who’s he?” Rigger said.

“A friend,” Tillie said.

He looked at Moose. “Get out.”

“I’m sorry, Tillie,” said the woman.

Tillie held up her hand.

“I can’t do that,” Moose said quietly. His gaze scanned the room. “And as long as you stay unarmed, this can all end without anyone getting hurt.” More hurt. But he didn’t want to throw accusations.

He hoped Flynn was listening. Not armed, Flynn. No shooting .

“This is none of your business.”

Moose said nothing.

“Your money is on the way,” Tillie said. “Why don’t you let Hazel go.”

Hazel made a move then to run to her mother, but Rigger yanked her back. “Now why would I do that?”

“Please, Rigger. You don’t want Hazel to go back with you. That’s not a life for a little girl.”

Rigger’s eyes narrowed. “Why not? She’s my daughter. She’ll live the life I want for her.”

The words landed center mass in Moose. He didn’t know why, but all this time he’d thought . . . well, he didn’t know what he’d thought, because yes, the questions had been circling, but . . .

Rigger was Hazel’s father? Her sister’s ex? What life had Tillie lived?

And maybe Hazel hadn’t known this either, because suddenly she rounded on Rigger and, even as Moose stood stunned, the little girl hit Rigger below the belt with what seemed to be everything inside her. Rigger grunted and bent over, and then?—

Then Roz leaped at the man, and Hazel took off for Tillie, and Moose—all Moose saw was fury.

Blind, red fury, the likes of which he’d never tasted before, filled his chest, his throat, his very breath, and he too launched himself at Rigger.

Three steps across the room, and he reached the thug right as Rigger threw Roz away, slamming her against the wall.

She crashed into a coffee table and fell to the floor as Moose tackled the man, his arms clamped around him.

Moose was a good foot taller, twenty pounds heavier, but the guy was all street brawn.

Street brawn and hate.

He thundered back with an elbow jab that speared into Moose’s ribs. Moose grunted but held on.

Then Rigger sent his fist into Moose’s thigh, and something sharp seared through him. His leg buckled and he fell.

Rigger broke free.

Moose glanced at his leg. Blood.

Rigger held a small switchblade in his grip. He shook his head, bouncing away. “Now you did it!”

He turned toward Tillie, who pushed Hazel behind her.

“Run!” Moose shouted, even as he pushed away from the wall.

Rigger dove at Tillie, but she somehow got her hand up and slammed the knife arm away.

Then, in a move that looked practiced and even professional, she swept Rigger’s legs out.

The man went down.

Moose dove on him.

Tillie turned and pushed Hazel out the door, running hard after her.

Moose gripped Rigger’s wrist with both hands as Rigger and he rolled. Rigger got a knee into his thigh and Moose grunted.

A shot to Moose’s chin snapped his head back, and Rigger ripped away from him.

Rigger bounced up, Moose rolling hard to his feet.

Moose hadn’t even bloodied him.

Rigger glanced toward the door.

“Stop!”

Moose looked over at the voice.

Roz. She stood in the kitchen, holding a handgun trained on Rigger.

Moose stood between them. “Roz. Put the gun down. Nobody gets shot today.”

“He’s not going out that door,” Roz said, her voice steady. “You stay right here until the police come.”

“The police aren’t coming,” Rigger said, and Moose hoped his phone was still on. Except it if was—why hadn’t his team rushed in to help?

Roz took a step toward him. “Get down on your knees.”

Rigger laughed at her.

She pulled off a shot that zinged past Moose into the wall behind Rigger. And Moose could almost hear his words again. “Now you did it.”

Rigger roared and leaped at Roz.

She shot again, and missed him, because he didn’t even slow, just tackled her, shoving her back into the kitchen table.

Another shot went off, and Moose found himself in the fray. He yanked Rigger away, but Roz and Rigger fought for the weapon, and Moose got his hand on it too, twisting with them, jamming it down, away from them?—

“Rigger, let go!” Roz, shouting.

And then, another shot.

Just like that, Roz went down.

Rigger ripped away.

Moose held the gun.

And then the door slammed open, and Flynn and Dawson and who knew how many SWAT officers stormed into the house. One of them yelled, “Down, get down!”

Moose dropped the weapon and hit his knees beside Roz. She lay on her back, her sweatshirt swimming with blood, and he bent over her. “Where are you hit?”

But she simply writhed, her hands over her body, and he couldn’t find the wound.

Hands grabbed him back, threw him to the ground, and he held his hands out. “It’s not me! It’s not me!”

A knee went into his back, however, and a hand grabbed his wrist, wrenched it behind him.

“C’mon!”

The other wrist, and said hand forced his head down. “Don’t move.”

“Don’t let him get away!” He tried to look for Rigger, but so many legs filled the room, he couldn’t see him.

Rigger certainly hadn’t been forced to the linoleum.

And behind him, Roz was shouting. “Tillie. Run. Run!” So that didn’t help.

But he lay, facedown, hands cuffed, breathing hard, thinking the same thing. Run, Tillie, run!

Roz then went painfully quiet. He glanced over at her, but she was lost behind so many shouting bodies.

Flynn’s voice—“We need a bus—now!”

And another voice—his cousin Dawson—“He went out the back!”

Aw . Moose closed his eyes, jaw tight. C’mon!

Moose rested his forehead on the floor, listened to the thunder of his heartbeat. And tried not to feel the mountain crashing down over him, again.

Shep thought that London left covert life long ago, on the top of a mountain.

Or maybe he just wished it.

Still, as they pulled past Tillie’s tiny bungalow in Eagle River, the night dropping down over it like a haze, he realized he probably needed someone who possessed a few sneak-and-grab skills.

Could be he was simply imagining a past for her, given his sketchy information. After all, he didn’t exactly?—

“Turn the corner and let’s park. See if we’ve been followed.”

He did exactly that, turning his Jeep around in a driveway and then settling it in a shadow under a massive lodgepole pine. “I feel like I’m in a spy movie.”

“No. This is a heist movie.” She looked over at him, and he couldn’t tell if she was kidding.

Then she winked, and it sent a zing right through him, and shoot, they were in an unrequited romantic tragedy.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Tillie’s place was a little box of a house, tucked away among the trees, with a facade that seemed to have been painted with melted butter. Cute. Sweet. Not at all the kind of place you’d expect to find a cache of money. But then again, people who hid things had a way of painting a pretty exterior.

He glanced at London. She’d said little on the way over here, her jaw set in a hard line, probably reliving Tillie’s words about Rigger. Shep was doing the same. The idea of a man hitting a woman the way Rigger had hit Tillie—Shep’s gut was a knot.

The least they could do was grab the money and try to untangle her.

He hoped that was the reason for London’s pensive vibe.

“The neighbors have a light,” London said, pointing to a house next door. “But it seems like they aren’t home. The house is dark. I hope nobody has a dog.”

As if on cue, a dog barked into the quiet of the night.

Perfect .

“Okay, let’s go.” London slid out of the car, then crouched by the door, closing it fast.

He grabbed a shovel out of the back seat, then got out and came around the car behind her.

The air held a hint of pine from the surrounding trees. The faint smell of smoke also wafted by, perhaps from a nearby chimney. The hum of the highway murmured in the distance.

“We should call the cops.”

“You heard her. She needs this money.” London glanced at him. “Don’t be a pansy.”

His eyes widened and she laughed a little, the sound sneaking through him to take hold, and shoot, but this woman . . .

Maybe it hadn’t been the brightest idea to reach out with the offer to join the Air One team, but at the time it had seemed like . . .

Like he’d been saving her life.

Just like she’d saved his.

“Let’s go.” She took off across the street, walking fast, avoiding the tall streetlight, into the yard of Tillie’s home, through the grass, and over to the side of the house without stopping.

He scooted behind her, his heart a hammer.

“I’ll bet the neighbors are staring out their windows, watching, dialing 911.” He shook his head, then imitated a fictional neighbor. “Elmer, why is that man holding a shovel?”

“Just act normal.”

“How is this normal?”

“I mean—act like you belong here.”

With her?

She looked back at him, her blue eyes twinkling, and for a moment, he thought she could see inside him, all the way in, where he didn’t have a hope of keeping his feelings for her tucked away.

Yeah.

See, this was why he had to tell her the truth. Because a year working with London Brooks had stirred up everything he’d been trying to forget and seeded new hope, a future he could no longer ignore. And didn’t want to.

“Ready?” She started to ease out of the shadows.

Just then, a car turned down the street, passed their SUV, and beamed light across the yard.

She whirled around and shoved him back into the shadows, against the house.

He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close as the car motored by.

Her hands gripped his arms, her head against his chest, and he could almost feel her heartbeat. Definitely slower than his.

The car passed. “Okay, let’s hurry.” She pushed away from him and jogged to the gate, then through it to the back of the house.

He didn’t know what to do with the rush of adrenaline that burned through him. One of them clearly had a knack for this sort of thing. . . .

Still, there he went, following her around to the back of the house.

A playset, blackened and still smoking, sat in the shadows of the yard, charring the air.

London was already moving patio furniture. “She said it was under the fire pit, right? Grab that side.”

He hustled over and grabbed the edge of a round fire pit, helped her move it aside. Then he dug his shovel into the patio paver. The sand chipped away, and he rocked the shovel as London got on her knees. In the wan light, her golden hair held back in a ponytail, wearing a light canvas jacket, she seemed every bit of the woman he’d met so many years ago.

And for a second, he was back in the chalet in Switzerland, working with her to dig them out of their icy tomb.

“Take this.” She’d pried up the square stone paver, and now he bent to grab it and move it aside.

Right. Focus . Not the kind of memory to take out and relive.

But he might never forget the blinding, terrifying moment he’d fallen in love at first sight.

She pried off the next paver, and he loosed another. Soon, they’d cleared a square area covered in sand. When he sank his shovel into it, it hit plastic.

“I think it’s a plastic bag, or the ground covering.” London had turned her phone light on but put it face down on the ground so only a bit of light pooled out. Still, he made out the hole as he dug, breaking through the plastic.

His shovel thudded on something hard.

“There’s a box here.” She pulled up another paver, then tore at the plastic covering with her hands.

He cleared out the area.

Indeed, an airtight plastic box, right where Tillie had said.

London sat back, gasped, and then looked up at Shep. “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure. I mean . . .”

“Her story was a little wild.”

“Yeah. Except she came to Moose. Which said she was serious. You don’t involve your friends unless you really need help.”

“After disappearing for a month first.”

“Yeah, there’s that.” She shook her head. “Clearly she’s desperate to come out of hiding.”

“If this guy really has her daughter—which it seems he does—that seems like a good reason.”

She leaned forward, brushing sand away. “Yeah. To save someone I loved, I might just give up everything too. Here, I think there’s a latch.” Picking up her phone, she shone her light on it.

He tried not to be shaken by her words and reached into the dirt. “It’s stuck.”

“Try the shovel.”

He put the shovel’s pointy end against the latch, used it as a lever, and the latch popped open.

He dropped the shovel, then knelt again, taking one edge as she took the other. They lifted the lid.

Inside lay another plastic bag. It held a box of some sort.

Shep reached in and took out the bag. Set it on the patio. A twist-tie secured it.

He untwisted it and reached in. Pulled out a hard-sided carry-on-sized suitcase. “Feels pretty light for a suitcase filled with money.”

“And it’s not locked,” London said. “Weird.”

“Yeah.” He set it on the patio, and she knelt beside him as he found the zipper and unzipped it.

Lifted it open.

And he’d half expected it, but still, the sight of the empty case hit him like a punch.

He swallowed.

“This is bad,” London said.

He glanced over at her. She’d picked up her phone and now shed the light on the interior, as if confirming.

“There’s a note.” She reached in and picked up a folded piece of lined paper. Opened it. Frowned and handed it to Shep.

“It’s just a number.”

“Five digits, so it’s not a phone number,” said London. She took the paper back and turned it over. “There’s nothing else on it.”

Nearby, the dog barked again, and Shep jerked. “Let’s get out of here.”

She nodded. “Should we put the patio back together?”

A light flicked on across the backyard at the house over the fence, probably someone letting in the dog, but Shep was already on his feet. “Nope. Let’s go.”

He carried the suitcase, in case they’d missed something, the shovel in the other hand.

London got up, holding the paper. “We’ll google it in the car.”

Yeah, hopefully a long way from here. “And we need to text Moose an update.”

London headed out around the side of the house just as another car came down the street, its lights bathing the front yard.

Shep dropped the shovel and yanked her back, against him in the darkness, his arm going around her waist, holding her there.

For a second, he couldn’t breathe, watching the pickup drive by, feeling her molded against him again. Strong, lean, perfect.

And then she laughed.

Laughed.

Which made his stupid heart beat right out of his body.

She turned in his arms. Looked up at him. “What, saving my life again?” She smiled, her eyes twinkling and blue and . . .

Shoot . He couldn’t stop himself. Longing simply took over him, grabbed up his common sense, and threw it out into the night. Told him that yes, this was the right thing—that working together for a year had rekindled her feelings too, and that she felt the same way that?—

And yeah, he should have asked, but again, his common sense had lit out for the lower forty-eight by now, so he just leaned down and . . .

He kissed her.

Just like that. One hand still around her waist, the other holding the suitcase. Pressed his lips against hers, and for a second, a brief, amazing second, she stilled and her lips softened.

He wouldn’t exactly say kissing him back, but not not kissing him back either, so?—

Aw . She was the night, mysterious, with the scent of fading summer on her skin, the taste of too many unspoken hopes, and he was way down the road into their tomorrows when he felt her hands on his chest.

Oh.

No.

She pressed back, caught her breath. “Shep . . .”

He let her go. “Yeah . . . I . . .”

“I don’t, I mean . . .” She swallowed. “I don’t think I’m ready.”

He didn’t want to mention that it had been three years since her fiancé died . . . but maybe a person never let go of their first love. “I get it. I’m sorry?—”

“Don’t be sorry.” She offered a smile, suddenly not the person who’d just led him on a clandestine looting mission, but almost tentative. Even regretful. “I . . . you’re . . . I . . .”

“Let’s just go,” he said. “It’s okay.”

Then he picked up the shovel and left her there, not looking back, a burn in his throat.

Stupid, stupid ?—

She caught up with him and said nothing as they walked to the car. He unlocked it, threw the shovel and suitcase in the back, and got in.

She was already in the passenger seat, on her phone, googling something. She didn’t look at him.

The car felt as cold as the icy tomb where they’d nearly perished, once upon a time. So much for true love.

Or . . . maybe she’d never felt that way about him.

Not now — “Could be a date.” He pulled out his keys, started up the car.

“That’s six numbers.”

“Coordinates?”

“Lat and long?”

“I’d think that needs a decimal point.”

He put the car into gear.

She was too pretty, sitting there with the glow of the light on her face. And he’d gone and dropped a bomb between them. “Time-travel parameters?”

She looked up. Smiled. “Not enough digits. Unless the month was just one digit. In that case, you need to send me to May of 2772.”

“Why you? I’ll go.”

Her mouth opened, and for a second, he thought that she might spill out something about her past, about the life she’d once lived.

But then again, he supposedly knew nothing about that life, so . . .

He raised an eyebrow.

Then, softly, “You’re right. You go. You were always better at showing up at the right time and place.” And she met his eyes with a look that said she remembered everything about how they’d met. And everything that had gone down between them.

“Did I screw everything up?”

“No,” she said, her mouth a tight line. “But now isn’t the time?—”

His phone buzzed on the console. A text. He picked it up, read it. “It’s Axel. Things went south.” He looked at her, his breath tight. “Roz is shot, Moose is in custody, and Tillie’s in the wind.”

Perfect. Now she could add car theft to her résumé.

Not that it was long, but still—what had possessed Tillie to jump into Moose’s truck, put it in reverse, and pull out of the driveway?—

Wait . Probably the Run, Tillie, run from Roz. And then gunshot behind her, and she’d simply grabbed Hazel and done just that.

Run.

She’d spotted the truck and just reacted—she’d seen Moose leave the keys in the ignition, and it’d all clicked.

She threw Hazel into Moose’s truck, belted her in, ran to the driver’s side, and got in.

She had the car in reverse even before she spotted Flynn running through the night, uniformed SWAT on her tail, and one of them tried to stop her—banged on the car—but she floored it.

Barely missed Axel’s Yukon, slammed her car into drive, and slammed the gas to the floor.

Didn’t look back.

Beside her, Hazel was crying, of course, and she grabbed Hazel’s hand, squeezed. “It’s okay, Hazelnut; it’s okay.”

But no, it was far, far from okay, and even Hazel knew that, because she shook her head and pulled her hand away.

Okay, fine, she’d deal with the little girl’s emotional breakdown after she got them?—

Where?

She didn’t have a clue where she might be going. Just pulled out onto Northern Lights Boulevard and merged into traffic.

“Mom—who was that man?”

“That was Moose. My friend.”

“No . . . the bad one. The one who said he was my dad.”

She glanced at Hazel. Tears reddened her face, and she had pulled her knees up, draping her nightgown over them, her boots on Moose’s nice leather seats.

“Honey, he’s . . . he’s not your father. He’s just saying that. Your real father was a good man. A soldier who died fighting for his country. He was a hero.”

Hazel snuffled, ran her hand across her face, dragging snot with it. “He hurt Grandma Roz.”

Tillie nodded, her chest tight, not wanting to think about what exactly might be going down back there. In her worst nightmare, Moose was dead and?—

She should never have gone to his house. Stupid, stupid! Her throat burned, and she blinked back heat in her eyes.

She stopped at a light, breathing hard.

“Where are we going?”

She looked over at Hazel. Swallowed. Right now, Shep and London were digging up the money, but if Rigger had gotten away . . .

No, she couldn’t go back to the house. “I . . .”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Hazel said.

Right . “Okay, I’ll find a gas station.”

“And I’m hungry.”

Of course she was. “McDonald’s?”

Hazel smiled, nodded.

Fine . “One Happy Meal coming up.” Except— shoot . Her wallet was in her car . . . back at Moose’s.

“Sorry, just the potty for now, honey.”

She should return his truck too, so as not to be a felon. There was that.

She pulled into a Holiday station and parked between a couple more trucks. Lights beamed down from the tall stanchions, and the odor of diesel and gas followed them into the station. Inside, the smell of greasy chicken fingers under the heat lamps stirred her gut.

She needed a Happy Meal too.

She followed Hazel into the bathroom. Stood at the mirror. Yikes . They looked like a couple of homeless people. Or worse. Washing her face, she emerged a little cleaner. Hazel came out, washed her hands, and met her eyes in the mirror. She had Pearl’s eyes, a little gold around the irises, a heart-shaped face. A real beauty.

Of course, that had only gotten her sister into trouble.

Tillie took Hazel’s hand, and they walked out of the station, got back into the truck. She had the urge to turn around, return to Roz’s house, check on . . . everyone. But a police car zoomed by on the road behind her, its siren moaning and . . . Nope .

She shouldn’t go back to Moose’s house either.

“Mom? Are we going?”

She’d been sitting in the car, the engine running, just holding on to the steering wheel. She glanced over. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“I want to go home.”

“I don’t think so, honey.”

She put the car into drive.

A hand slammed on her driver’s side window, and she jerked, jumped. Hazel screamed.

She stared, and for a second, blinked at the man.

Not. Rigger .

Axel stood by her door, his blue eyes fierce, his mouth set. Uh-oh .

Her heart hammered as she lowered the window. “Um—I panicked.”

Axel glanced into the truck, then back to her. “You did the right thing.”

Just like that, the fist inside her chest loosed. She breathed in. “How’s Moose?”

“Dunno.”

The shots.

“Was he . . .”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, or Flynn would have texted me.”

“And Rigger?”

Axel grimaced. “I think he got away.”

So, going home was definitely out, then.

“Roz?”

“An ambulance was on the way when I left.”

She closed her eyes.

“Who are you?” Hazel, leaning across the console.

He smiled, and Tillie’s heartbeat slowed a little. “I’m Axel. Who are you?”

“I’m Hazel.”

“Nice to meet you, Hazel.” He looked at Tillie. “Did you have a destination or. . .”

“I left my car at Moose’s house.” Not really an answer, and perhaps he knew it, because he let a beat drop between them.

“I think Moose’s house is exactly where you should go.” His words emerged gentle. “And stay.”

“I don’t . . .” She glanced at Hazel, then turned back, and lowered her voice. “I’ve brought Moose enough trouble for one night.”

His voice dropped. “Moose has been worried sick about you for a month. He tried to get Dawson to find you?—”

“Dawson?”

“Our cousin. He’s a detective with the Anchorage police.”

Oh.

“Moose cares about you, Tillie. It might be nice if you were there, waiting, when he got back.”

He stepped away from the truck. “Or I suppose you could keep driving. Because as much as Moose loves this truck, I think he cares about you more.”

And now she couldn’t breathe. Axel met her eyes. Then he nodded and walked away. She followed him through the rearview mirror, saw him get into his Yukon. Drive away, back toward Roz’s place.

“Mom?”

“Yeah, it’s okay, Hazelnut. We’re going to be okay.”

Funny, that’s exactly what Moose had said to her.

She turned the heat up as they got back on the road. Hazel curled up on the seat, putting her head down on the console, and Tillie rubbed her shoulder.

The big truck found its way back to Moose’s place almost on its own, and as she pulled in, her decrepit Ford Focus looked pitiful and desperate.

“You could keep driving.” She got the gist of Axel’s words. She could take Moose’s truck, and he wouldn’t come after her. Wouldn’t press charges.

And that made her what kind of person?

“Where are we?” Hazel lifted her head.

“Someplace safe.” She parked the truck, then turned it off and went to her car. Inside were Hazel’s backpack, her own backpack, and a few supplies she’d picked up over the month—toiletries, foodstuffs, a couple blankets and pillows.

Yeah, definitely homeless.

Hazel had gotten out, come around the car. “This is a really fancy house.”

“It is.” She handed Hazel her backpack and pillow. “How would you like to stay here for a few . . . days?”

Days?

More like hours.

She sighed as she followed Hazel up the steps and knocked.

Nothing.

Axel had told her to go here. She opened the front door.

Quiet. Just the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

“Take your shoes off, honey.”

“It’s so big.”

Indeed, Moose’s home felt gargantuan, with the vaulted, beamed ceiling and the towering stone fireplace that rose in the great room. She’d noticed his gourmet kitchen before, with the eight-burner stove and the massive, ten-by-six-foot granite countertop, but only now took in the second story that overlooked the great room.

“Where should I put my stuff?” Hazel still held her backpack and pillow.

Tillie felt like she might be in that old movie, the one she’d watched with her sister at Christmastime, about a kid, alone in his house.

“Um, upstairs?” She looked into a room on the main floor—an office with a walnut desk and bookshelves—and then opened another door—the basement. So, “Yes, upstairs we go.”

Hazel scampered upstairs, dropping her pillow on the way, and Tillie scooped it up and heard Hazel shouting, “Mom! The bedrooms are huge!”

Of course they were. She found herself on a bridge between two sections. One led to double doors—she guessed that might be the master, so, nope, not that direction.

Hazel had run down the hallway to the other section. A bedroom at the front of the house, and one at the back. Only three bedrooms, but to her seven-year-old who’d only lived in their tiny house, their bedrooms the size of Moose’s guest closet, perhaps it did seem huge.

She found Hazel in the front bedroom, standing on a huge king-sized bed with a homey brown quilt, pure white sheets, and pillows the size of her car.

“Hazel, don’t jump on the bed.”

Hazel jumped off and ran into the bathroom. “Mom! You have to see this!”

Tillie dropped her blanket and backpack, along with Hazel’s pillow, on the bed and followed Hazel into the en suite.

Hazel stood in a whirlpool tub big enough for, well, Moose, or even her entire Marine unit.

And wow, she hadn’t thought about that life in years, so neatly putting it behind her, altering nearly everything about herself, at least on the outside.

On the inside, she’d needed the remnants of the marine she’d been to survive the last month. And if she were to go back there, the thought could make her smile, imagining St. Nick and Popeye trying to cram their bodies into the jacuzzi.

“Mom, look!” Hazel pointed up, and Tillie followed her gaze to a skylight. Only then did she realize that under her feet, the tile was warm.

Double sinks, and a shower with a bench, and perhaps this wasn’t such a terrible idea. In fact, maybe she could also find a laundry room.

“Do you want to take a bath?”

“Yes, yes, yes, please!”

She laughed. “Okay. Go ahead and run it. Close the door. I’m going out to the car to get our stuff. I’ll see if I can find you something clean.”

Hazel jumped out of the tub, and as Tillie turned to go, she found small arms giving her waist a squeeze. “Thank you!”

She looked at Hazel through the mirror, the smile on her face. “For what?”

“For not making me sleep in the car.”

Her words punched Tillie right in the sternum, even as Hazel rounded back to the tub and started the water.

Oh, Hazelnut .

She closed the door, hearing Pearl’s voice. “Just don’t let him find her. Don’t let him take her.”

Trying, sis . Why hadn’t she been smarter? And now . . .

She couldn’t think about Moose, not yet. Not until Hazel was clean and safe and sleeping.

Taking another trip to the car, she unloaded her trunk—clothing she’d purchased over the past month. Not much, really—just a sweatshirt and a jacket and some boots, and clothes for Hazel. But they’d been worn so many times, they smelled lived in, survived in, really.

She brought them back inside, then emptied their backpacks and wadded the entire mess into a couple pillowcases she took from the bed.

Hazel was in the bath, splashing, and Tillie knocked, then spoke through the closed door. “Everything okay?”

“I’m a mermaid!”

“Yeah, you are.” She smiled and almost felt a laugh, something foreign and scorched, in her chest. Then she took the clothes in the pillowcases downstairs to the basement.

Nice digs—a sectional sat in front of a massive theater screen, a pool table with the cues in a rack on the wall on the other side. A glass door led somewhere, and when she peeked in, she found a hot tub and a sauna room.

Her thoughts went to Hazel splashing in the tub. She’d die if she saw the hot tub.

Don’t get too comfortable . The thought pinged inside Tillie as she headed down the hall. She peeked into one room, and it looked like an office. The next was an expansive bedroom, not unlike upstairs, but clearly occupied, and a little messy.

She found the laundry room at the end of the hallway. Dumping her clothes into the water, she added some soap and shook her head at the way she was diving into Axel’s suggestion.

She didn’t deserve this. But . . . desperation.

Then she headed upstairs.

She’d brought some food inside—cereal, yogurt, a bag of chips, a few chocolate bars. She’d left any hope of real nutrition behind when Rigger showed up. Now her body craved something substantial. Except, how audacious was it to open his fridge and dive in?

Very. But Hazel was hungry and so was she, so . . .

Steaks. Wrapped in plastic. Along with a salad and broccoli—clearly the dinner he’d left behind. Someone had taken the time to clean up.

She pulled out the salad and the steak. Started to unwrap the plastic when footsteps on the outside stairs stopped her.

She reached for a knife in the block. Because Axel’s other words hung in her head too. “I think he got away.”

She turned off the lights, backed away from the kitchen entrance, hiding.

Please, Hazel, stay upstairs .

Tillie had locked the front door—she’d checked. Still.

She held her breath as the door opened.

Steps, inside, heavy. Then the door closed.

Rigger wouldn’t close the door, would he?

The movement stopped. Oh no?—

Then steps, down the short hallway, toward the kitchen and?—

“Stay back!”

She rounded, the knife up.

“Holy cats!” The light slammed on, and Moose stood in the entry, his eyes wide.

His face bore a scuff on his whiskered chin, and blood crusted his jeans, and just like that, his hand grabbed her wrist. “Let it go, Tillie. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She nodded. And he let go. She yanked her hand away and set the knife on the counter.

“What are you doing here?”

He blinked at her. “I live here.”

“I thought—” She was shaking now, stepping away from him, terribly aware of the look on his face, a little angry, a little relieved—honestly, she couldn’t place it. “Are you okay? I was afraid they were going to arrest you.”

“They did arrest me! Or tried to—long enough for the media to come by and get a great shot of me handcuffed against a cruiser. So yeah, that will be a big help to my lawsuit.”

Lawsuit?

He took a breath. Closed his eyes. “Okay. Sorry. I am usually a little more reined in.”

Yes. She knew that. She’d seen him after the rescues while he processed . . . usually with a milkshake rather than a stiff shot of whiskey. Which was at the least, interesting. Definitely telling about the kind of man he was.

That probably accounted for why she stood in his kitchen, the knife on the counter, feeling more chagrined than afraid.

Probably accounted for why she’d too easily gone to him for help.

“I’m so sorry, Moose.”

He opened his eyes. Sighed. “No, Tillie. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She nodded, just to confirm. “And Hazel is taking a bath in your swimming pool upstairs.”

He blinked at her a moment, then let out a laugh. “Right. Okay.”

And just hearing him laugh made her want to weep, a rush of light and warmth through her.

Maybe they would be okay after all.

The door opened then, and Axel came in. She glanced at him.

“Good,” he said, and sat on the bench to unlace his boots.

Good?

“He said I could come here,” she said to Moose, as if in explanation.

Moose nodded, glanced back at his brother. “Yep. That was a good call.”

“Was it? Because Rigger is still out there, and?—”

“And I have lights everywhere and a security system. The guy who used to own this place was . . . he was a little paranoid. Not sure why, but I don’t hate it.”

For some reason, the fact that Moose wasn’t the original owner, hadn’t built this place felt . . .

Well, a little like he wasn’t completely out of her league.

What? No, she was just tired. And unwound and . . .

“Moose, your leg.”

He looked down. “Yeah. That was unfortunate. As it turns out, just a flesh wound. But it’s messy.”

“Your entire pant leg is bloody.”

“I need a shower.” He glanced at Axel. “How about heating up the grill? I’d like a redo on those steaks.”

“On it,” Axel said and winked at her as he walked past.

What? She didn’t know why, but she turned to Moose to tamp down her overwhelming sense of relief.

Because this was still a bad idea. Desperate and temporary at best. “I won’t be in your hair long, and I promise to stay out of the way?—”

“Oh no, you don’t.”

Moose walked over to the counter and pulled out a stool. “Sit down. And don’t move until I come back. Because I need to know exactly what is going on.”

And this time he didn’t smile.