Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

M oose’s jaw hurt from reading through Rigger’s bio, the one he had dug up on his computer, propped at the kitchen table.

A bio that didn’t even come close to matching what Tillie had told him. And Moose didn’t know what to do with the gap.

He sat in his pajamas and a white T-shirt, feeling frowzy and unkempt, a little grumpy, his black coffee unable to cut through his mood.

Something didn’t add up, and the information on the screen only confirmed it. Someone was lying.

Please, let it not be Tillie .

“Moose. You’re up early.”

Shep came walking out of the family office-slash-guest room, wearing a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt—the attire he’d worn yesterday under his jumpsuit—his brown hair askew, looking like he’d slept poorly on the lumpy pullout. He carried a toothbrush and paste, probably from the toiletries kit he kept in his car. “Tillie in bed?”

“We were ten minutes into the first episode of Downton and she was out. I woke her up at the start of episode two, and that lasted about five minutes. I finally woke her up to go to bed halfway through episode three.”

“As long as she didn’t seem confused or ill . . .”

“Nope. But I’m a little confused and a little sick after reading up on this Rigger guy.” He turned the computer toward Shep. The screen showed a picture of a bald fighter flexing his arms down, teeth gritted, on the cover of The Ultimate Fight , a decade ago.

“That’s the guy?” Shep gave him a side eye. “You went mano a mano with him?”

Moose turned the computer back. “I held my own, but yeah. His ring name was Rigger, real name Julian Richer, out of Florida. Married, with two children, ages seven and nine. He won two MMA light heavyweight championships when he was younger—ten and eight years ago. He also founded a series of MMA-specialty gyms and started a franchise that put his net worth in the millions. He’s running for mayor in Hollywood, north of Miami.”

“And he kidnapped Hazel.”

“I wouldn’t call it kidnapping. More of a threat, with some hostage thrown in. But yes, that was him.”

“Seems like a strange side gig while on vacation to Alaska with his family.”

“Right?” Moose finished his coffee. “And he’s got money. So why would he be after some prize money that legally doesn’t even belong to him?”

Shep nodded.

“Unless he’s here for his daughter.” The voice came from Axel, who’d come down the stairs from the loft. He wore a pair of jeans, his hair still shower wet, and he’d shaved. He walked over and looked at the screen. “Oof. He’s pretty.”

Moose nodded. He didn’t even for a little want his brain to wander over to the connection between Rigger and Tillie.

Especially since the easy math said that Hazel’s birthday landed after the man’s marriage to—“He’s married to a former exotic model, too. Courtney Baker.”

Axel moved into the kitchen, grabbed the coffeepot. “So, now what?” He poured the coffee.

Moose sat back. “I don’t know, Axel. Who puts their daughter in jeopardy like he did?”

“None of it adds up,” Shep said, reaching for a cookie. “Let’s just hope it’s over.”

“You know, you could just let Flynn and Daws handle it,” Axel said. “Flynn is pretty good at tracking people down. She could get to the bottom of this.”

Moose nodded, his arms folded over his chest. “Yeah. The police might at least know if he’s left town. Can you text her?”

Axel smiled, then picked up his coffee and headed to the door. “With pleasure.”

Moose laughed, then got up and looked at Shep. “You heading back to Anchorage this morning?”

“Yeah. Picking up London on the way.” Shep poured himself a cup of coffee.

“So . . . it’s none of my business, but . . . is there anything going on between you two?”

Shep stilled, then glanced at Moose. “Nope.” But he said it quickly and didn’t quite meet Moose’s eyes.

Moose sighed. “Okay.” But it put a fist in his gut. The whole night had, and he was just feeling dark.

“Listen,” Shep said quietly. “London and I have history. I should have told you that, but . . . anyway, we’re working through it. So no, nothing’s going on. Now.”

Moose had gotten up and stood by the stairs. “Thanks. Let me know if anything changes.”

Shep nodded. Gave him a grim smile.

He understood that expression. Had worn the same smile for the better part of the last year, trying to figure out how to sort out his feelings for Tillie.

Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed her.

Maybe he shouldn’t have promised her that he’d keep her safe.

Maybe . . . well, maybe he’d gotten himself in over his head, again.

He showered and shaved, trying to figure out why his gut roiled inside him.

What he hated most was the feeling that he’d never quite catch up to all the promises in his life.

Like Grace Benton, the woman who’d died in a blizzard last spring after he’d made promises to her father.

Or like his promise to Boo not to drag her into the public eye.

And Axel, nearly dying twice this summer after Moose had made a lifelong promise to protect him.

And now Tillie, and Hazel . . .

He stared into the mirror, and for a moment, Pike Maguire stared back. “The only regret I have is that I didn’t try harder to keep my word.”

Yeah, he’d lived with that echo in his head for three years now. Kept him awake sometimes.

Sorry, Pike . Moose didn’t have a clue how to keep that promise.

He wiped his face, hung up his towel, and wished that he didn’t start every day with failure.

Then he headed downstairs to where Hazel and Tillie sat at the table. His mother stood at the stove, making pancakes, the smell of maple syrup spicing the air.

Axel had left, evidenced by the absence of his Yukon in the yard.

Shep came out of the office cleaned up, having used the main-floor bathroom. “I’ll see you back at the Tooth,” Shep said.

“What’s the Tooth?” Hazel asked.

Moose walked over to the coffee maker for cup number eight thousand fifty-three. “It’s what we call our office down in Anchorage.”

“Are we going back to Anchorage?” Tillie sat in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, one leg up, her dark hair back.

He turned, nodded. “I think so. How’s the noggin?”

She touched her head, winced. “Tender.”

“I’ll bet. No more spinning?”

She met his eyes. “Not in the way you mean.”

Huh.

His mother set a plate in front of Tillie, then patted his chest. “Sit. Eat.”

He pulled up a chair and let her set a stack of pancakes in front of him. “I’d be just fine with cookies.” He winked at Hazel.

“I’m sure you would,” his mother said. “I’ll send some on the road with you.”

Only then did he notice Tillie’s pallor. She seemed to have gone white. He wanted to ask, but she looked up and offered a tight smile, then glanced at Hazel, and somehow he picked up a vibe that now wasn’t the time.

Still . “Tillie, should we stay?”

She looked at his mom. “Forever? Sure.” Then she smiled at him, and the haunted look seemed to vanish. “But maybe it’s time we got back to our lives.”

Hmm. Okay then.

But two hours later, she seemed painfully silent as they turned off Highway 3.

“I need to get my car,” Tillie said quietly.

Right .

He couldn’t get past the feeling that something might be slipping out of his grip. “You should stay at my house?—”

“Yes! Please!” Hazel, from the back seat. She’d begged to take Kip with her, too, so she’d been sulking most of the trip, making do with a seen-better-days stuffed dog. Seeing her smile turned his heart.

“No, Hazelnut. Your school already started. And . . . I need to try to get my job back.”

He looked over at her. “They have someone else working night shift. She’s not nearly as good as you.”

“I can’t work night shift with Roz in the hospital and recovering. She’s my sitter.”

Right . “I . . . I could watch her.” And there he went, again making promises he couldn’t keep.

Tillie reached across the console and touched his arm. “No. You’ve done enough.”

And there it went again, the tiniest clinch in his chest telling him that something wasn’t right. That all was not as it seemed.

He swallowed it back, though, and headed home.

Tillie’s car sat in the driveway, a wreck that probably shouldn’t be on the road. And it occurred to him then that she should have used some of that prize money to buy a car.

Why hadn’t she?

But before he could ask, she got out. And what did it matter, anyway?

He turned off the truck and helped her with her bags. His mother had given her an extra suitcase and the Sorels, along with a hat and mittens for Hazel, and now Tillie shoved them all into her back seat.

He noticed that they joined a blanket and some pillows. “You are going to your house, right?”

Hazel climbed into the back seat, barely enough room there. He gave her a tight smile. She held on to her stuffed puppy, then barked at him.

“Okay, Kip. I’ll see you soon.” He petted the stuffed animal. Hazel grinned. Everything inside him hurt.

Which made no sense because he very much planned on checking in with Tillie. Tomorrow. Or tonight or—“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? I mean . . .”

She had rounded to the driver’s side. “Moose. You’ve done so much?—”

“I made you a promise.”

She cocked her head, a warmth in her eyes. “I know. Thank you. We’ll be fine.” Then her eyes seemed to turn glossy. And that was just it .

“What is going on?” He didn’t mean his tone to be so rough, but—“You are acting weird. Like I’m never going to see you again or?—”

“You’re not.”

He stilled.

She glanced inside the car, then shut the door and spoke over the top of it. “I’m leaving, Moose. I’m going to stop by and see Roz and then . . . I have to leave.”

He felt punched. “Why? What does this guy have on you that makes you need to run? I don’t get it. If you’re scared, stay with me. Axel is here. Tillie, I don’t understand.”

Her mouth closed, her eyes bright. And she just shook her head.

He looked away, back to her. “Then what was that kiss about? I thought—I care about you.”

“I care about you too, Moose.” Her words emerged so achingly soft his throat simply closed. “A lot. But this . . . this is bigger than you, or your promises. And I have to choose Hazel. Always Hazel. Rigger won’t stop looking for us—even if he has the money.”

“Why?” He didn’t mean for his voice to thunder or to scare that look into her eyes. But—“He has a family. And a home. And money. Why does he want you?”

“Because I can destroy it all.”

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He yanked it out. Axel. Moose growled as he opened the call. “What?”

“Hey, bro. Uh . . . we have a callout. Sorry. The state police called—the glacier dam at Skilak Lake down in Kenai broke. There’s flooding all along the river—people trapped. Sorry, it’s urgent.”

Moose looked at Tillie, watched her swallow, her mouth tight.

“I’ll be right there. Get the chopper ready.” He hung up. Met her eyes. “Please, please, stay.”

She drew in a breath.

“Please be here when I get back.”

And then he got into his truck and left his heart in two pieces as he turned and headed out of the driveway into yet another promise.

“Mommy, are you crying?”

Hazel’s voice emerged from the back seat, and Tillie blinked hard and looked away, hating that Hazel could probably see her in the rearview mirror.

“I’m just tired, honey. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

She’d dropped like a stone on the sofa, barely remembering when Moose roused her the first time and no recollection at all of going downstairs until she woke, nearly screaming, hot and clammy from the nightmare.

No, the memory.

The. Memory .

She blew out a breath. This was why she had to get as far away as she could from Rigger.

Please let him have taken the money and left. But her gut—and her nightmares, apparently—didn’t believe that.

She wiped a hand across her cheek. “I’m fine, honey. I . . . Listen, when we get to the house, I want you to grab your favorite shirts, five of them, and just a couple pants, and don’t forget your winter jacket, okay?”

Silence. She glanced up. Hazel’s gaze hit her hard through the rearview mirror.

“No.”

She glanced over her shoulder. Hazel folded her arms, crossed her legs.

“No, I’m not going anywhere. I wanna go back to Moose’s house.”

Tillie drew in a breath and tightened her hands around the steering wheel as she turned off the highway, toward Eagle River. She shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

“It is possible. He said we could stay—I heard him.”

“Yes. But we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . .” She gritted her teeth. Because eventually her sins would catch up to them, and Moose would get caught in the fight. Because she could only take care of one person in her life. Because—“Because it’s just you and me, honey. That’s the way it has to be.”

“I don’t like that way.”

Neither did Tillie, and she tightened her jaw as she pulled onto their road, then into the driveway.

No fire, no car in the driveway, no evidence that Rigger had been here to terrorize her. She would bet that he’d called his family to fly here as soon as Roz was injured, giving himself a new identity, a way to throw off the detectives.

She put the car into park, turned it off, unbuckled.

Hazel didn’t move.

“I’m going in to get some things. And then we’re leaving. If you want anything, you should go now.”

Then she got out and didn’t look back. Reality . She’d learned the hard way, and it was time for Hazel to figure it out too. She couldn’t look after her forever, and?—

“I hate you!”

She turned, and Hazel had gotten out, rounded the car, and now picked up a rock as if to throw it. Tillie didn’t move.

Tears raked down Hazel’s face and she shook. “I . . . I don’t want to live in the car anymore. And I don’t want to . . . I don’t want to . . .”

“Hazel.” Tillie strode over, dropped to her knees, and pulled Hazel to herself. “I know. I know.”

Hazel buried her face in Tillie’s neck. “I miss Grandma Roz. And I . . . just want everything to go back to the way it was.”

Her too. Only, even then . . .

No, Tillie wanted better, for both of them.

She held Hazel away from her. Met her eyes. “Hazelnut. That man that was in Roz’s house—he is a bad man. A very bad man. And I don’t want him to?—”

“Is he my father?”

Tillie drew in a breath. “We talked about this.”

“He said he was, and I keep having this nightmare . . .”

“What nightmare, honey?”

“I don’t know.” Hazel ran her hands over her cheeks. “There’s shouting, and then you’re there, and you’re fighting with him.”

Oh. No . That couldn’t be?—

“And I’m so scared, I’m hiding under a table, and then he’s trying to grab my feet, and I can’t get away?—”

Okay, that part wasn’t real. She held Hazel’s face in her hands. “That’s not going to happen. That will never happen.”

“Promise me you’ll never leave me, Mommy.”

“I promise, with everything inside me. Never.”

Hazel nodded and Tillie again pulled her close. “C’mon. We’re going to go see Grandma Roz as soon as we’re packed.” She met Hazel’s eyes, and Hazel smiled, then wiped more tears and took off for the house. Hazel knew the code at the door and was inside and in her room by the time Tillie went through the house to the patio.

Indeed, the pavers had been moved, the waterproof box opened, the space emptied.

She knelt beside the space a moment; then her gaze went to the charred playset. She’d steer Hazel clear of that sight.

But how had he figured out their hiding space?

She got up and went to Pearl’s old room, opened the closet, and pulled down a small duffel bag from the hidden rafter space above.

Passports, thank you, Hecktor , and cash—just a couple thousand. She should have grabbed it all before, probably, but . . .

But she hadn’t wanted to believe that she’d have to leave her life behind.

She opened a drawer and took out Pearl’s diary—for Hazel someday—and then shoved it all into a backpack, along with a fleece jacket. She shoved a ball cap on and headed to her room.

Hazel was there, her Nanea American Girl doll sticking out from the top of her backpack, along with two Ella Diaries books and a book of stickers.

Right . Tillie grabbed the locket on the dresser, stuck that in her pocket, then pulled her fleece from her closet, as well as a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. “Let’s go.”

Hazel grabbed her backpack, zipping it as she headed for the door.

And weirdly, as if a piece of her past rose to take possession, it felt like they might be running out into a war zone, her sergeant in her ear. “Remember your training. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. Oorah.”

Tillie pulled Hazel back. “Stay with me.”

“Mom, you’re hurting me.” Hazel pulled out of her grip, then headed toward the car.

In Tillie’s wildest nightmare, Rigger emerged from the woods on either side of the house, charged, and grabbed Hazel. Threw her in his car. Then it would be all over, wouldn’t it?

But no. Hazel got in, and Tillie climbed into the front. “Buckle up.” Then she pulled out and tried not to floor it, her heart in her throat.

Sheesh, she’d worked herself into a downright lather. Probably over nothing. Probably, Rigger was on a plane back to Florida with his family.

Probably .

She blew out a breath at the stop sign, another at the light, and by the time she hit the freeway, she’d left the nightmare in her rearview mirror.

Turning on the radio, she glanced at Hazel. She’d pulled out Nanea and had her seated on her lap, talking to her in low tones. Oh, she was so much like Pearl. Sometimes it took Tillie’s breath away, seared her, right through to her bones.

Don’t worry, Pearl. I got this.

She got off onto Airport Heights Road and determined not to cast a look at the Air One Headquarters, located off Merrill Field, as she drove to the hospital.

She managed almost all the way to the light and then sat there and glanced over.

The red chopper was gone, Moose already on his way to rescue another soul. His truck sat parked alongside Axel’s Yukon, along with a Nissan Rogue, an orange Subaru, and a hard-sided Jeep. The lineup of his team.

Her throat burned as the light changed, and she turned back to the road, to the hospital. The car turned in as if it knew the way, and out of habit, she parked in the same place, near the ER and the Ivy Infusion center.

“Leave Nanea here, honey. We’ll be back as soon as we see Grandma Roz.”

Hazel put the doll in her backpack and picked up her stuffed dog.

Tillie caught Hazel’s hand as she came around, and found the locket with her other grip. She pulled it out and handed it to Hazel.

Then they headed inside.

She shook away the memories and managed a smile for the woman seated at the information counter—midfifties, dark brown hair, a look of efficiency about her.

“I’m a friend of Rosalind Turner. Can I see her?”

The information woman—her tag said Mary—turned to a computer. “I’ll call up. Your name?”

Tillie glanced at Hazel and then handed over their names.

She wouldn’t be here long. But Roz deserved a goodbye, and besides, she’d asked them to come by.

And there was the question of her badge number in the box, or at least, that’s what Shep and London had said. Another message from Rigger, that no one she loved was safe?

“Room 312.” Mary issued them name stickers, and Tillie took Hazel’s hand as they headed up the elevator to the third floor.

It was quiet here, a half-staffed nurses’ desk and the muffled sound of a few televisions on in the rooms as they walked down the hallway to room 312.

The door was ajar, and she knocked, then pushed it open.

Roz lay in the bed, half sitting up, eyes closed, a thin oxygen cannula under her nose, an IV in her arm. Beyond her, a window opened up to a view of the mountains to the north. Tillie shook away the trauma of the last day and walked over to the bed.

“Grandma Roz, wake up!”

A pause, during which Tillie might have panicked, and then Roz opened her eyes. She blinked, then, “Oh. Oh my. Oh, my girls . I was so worried.” She reached out on either side and took Tillie’s hand, then Hazel’s. “This is good news.”

Not that good , but Tillie didn’t say anything.

“Grandma Roz, we went to a big house, and they had a bathtub big enough for three people. Or four. And then there was a puppy named Kip, and he fell down a hole and so did I, and then Mom came and so did Moose, and we flew in a helicopter. And I got cookies and pancakes for breakfast.”

Roz had always reminded Tillie of that old Cagney and Lacey television show her foster mother had watched. Roz playing the role of Lacey, with her dark, now white hair, her solid body.

Now it seemed she’d simply sunk into herself, thin and pale, and she looked . . . old. And even frail as she smiled at Hazel. “That is an adventure.”

Tillie put a hand on her arm. “It’s a long story.”

Her gaze turned to Tillie. “I met your friends. Or maybe they’re not friends, but . . . they were at the house. They know.”

Tillie’s breath caught. “They . . . know? What do you mean?—”

“They know that the . . . package isn’t there.”

Hazel had gone over to the window, pushed her forehead to it.

“What package?”

“Don’t play that game with me, Tillie. I know about the . . . cookies.”

“Cookies?” Hazel asked, turning.

“For the love, Roz.” Tillie spoke to Hazel. “No, not cookies.”

She looked again at Roz, cut her voice low. “How do you know that?”

“Your sister. She was worried. Under the patio is a terrible place to hide a hundred thousand . . . cookies. She said it numerous times. So . . . we moved it.”

Tillie’s mouth opened.

“You remember when you bought the playset? And put pavers on the patio?”

“Yes. That’s when Pearl buried the suitcase.”

“And I deposited the money. In a safe deposit box.”

Of all the things that might have issued from Roz’s mouth—“What? A safe deposit box?”

“Yes. C’mon, Tillie. You don’t leave that kind of”—she dropped her voice low—“money under your fire pit.”

“You do if you can’t go to a bank and get it!” She shook her head. “How do I even find it?”

“It’s under the name Alicia Torre.”

The name she’d used to escape to Alaska. Alicia Torre, and her sister, Henrika, and her daughter, Aurora. “How do you know that name?”

“Please. I was the one who directed you to Hecktor to get new passports. I made him tell me.”

Right .

“Okay, so . . . what bank?”

“Northern Skies.”

Tillie didn’t know what to do with the rush of feelings. Rigger hadn’t found the money. Which meant that Rigger hadn’t found the money . Which meant he was still out there.

See, this was why she needed to run.

“Okay. So, how do I get it?”

“There’s a key in my house. It’s on the lawn mower key chain.”

“That’s safe.”

Roz lifted a shoulder. “Hiding in plain sight, right?”

Tillie shook her head.

“And by the way, the phone is there too.”

The what? “What are you talking about?”

“Pearl gave me a secret phone. I think it was her old one, from Florida. Told me to keep it safe—that if anything happened to you or if Rigger showed up, I was supposed to give it to you.”

“Pearl had a secret phone?”

Roz wore her cop face. “Yes. Your sister wasn’t always . . . well, she had some smarts.”

“My sister was brilliant. But she didn’t know who to love . . . and who to walk away from.”

“Seems to me you don’t either.”

Tillie recoiled. “What?”

“What happened to the man who came with you to the house? The one who tussled with Rigger while you got away.”

“He’s . . . I . . . You know what? I can’t have anyone else in my life who could get hurt. Like you.”

“I’m going to be fine. But you keep making decisions that lead you away from what you really want.”

“What I really want is . . .” She looked at Hazel, back to Roz, her voice low. “I want Hazel to be safe from Rigger. I want her to grow up happy, with a mother who loves her.”

Roz shook her head, and Tillie had to take a breath, step back. Gather herself.

So much pain in all of that. “I’ll get the key. And the money. And the phone.” Her eyes filled. “And . . . thank you, Roz. You’ve been . . . everything to me.”

Aw, she didn’t mean for it to end like this. Sheesh, she was a marine, made of tougher stuff than dissolving on the floor at a goodbye.

And Roz was too, although now her eyes filled, and a tear dripped down her wrinkled cheek. She looked at Hazel. “Hey, Nut, come give Grandma Roz a hug.”

Hazel ran over and flung herself into Roz’s arms. Roz grunted but just closed her eyes and held on.

Tillie took another step back. Those two deserved this moment.

The door opened behind her and she turned. “We’ll be done in a moment—Flynn?”

The woman she’d met a few nights ago stood in the doorway. Auburn hair pulled back, she wore black pants, a gray shirt, a leather jacket, open, and around her neck, a police badge.

A man walked in behind her.

“Hey, Tillie,” Flynn said.

The man walked past her over to Hazel, who’d stood up. He crouched in front of the little girl. “Hi, Hazel. My name is Dawson. I’m a friend of your friend Moose, and he asked me to come here and see if you wanted some ice cream.”

What—

Hazel looked at her mom, back to Dawson, and her expression said she didn’t believe him either.

Tillie turned to Flynn. “What’s going on?”

Flynn’s mouth pinched. “I think you know.”

For a second, the slightest brilliant second, the word Run! flashed through her mind. The second after that, she saw herself restrained and cuffed and dragged away while Hazel watched, scarred for life.

So Tillie didn’t run. She simply looked at Roz, who sat stricken in the bed, then at Hazel and smiled. “It’s okay, Hazelnut. You go with Dawson and get that ice cream, and Mommy will be with you as soon as she can, okay?”

Dawson held out his hand, and with everything inside her, she wanted to leap across the bed and kick him in the chin. Land and follow with a spinning punch and—yeah, it all flashed through her head as Hazel reached up and met his grip.

Tillie forced a smile as Hazel walked past her, her breath cutting off as Hazel looked back at her.

Just like Pearl had when they’d taken her away that first time.

Then the door closed, and Tillie looked at Flynn.

“Tillie Young, there’s a warrant out for your arrest under Florida Statute 787.03, interfering with parental custody and kidnapping of a minor.”

“You don’t understand?—”

“You need to come in so you can formally sort this out with a lawyer?—”

“You don’t understand!”

“Tillie—”

And then, against the backdrop of Roz’s gasps, one bad decision led to the next and then the next, and suddenly Tillie was out in the hallway, Flynn in the room behind her on the floor—not dead, and probably not unconscious, but definitely incapacitated.

Leaving Tillie to run, and run, and run.