Chapter 9
Ella
An hour later, Jake pulled up in front of the bakery. Saturday morning, and Main Street was busy with the usual morning traffic—ranchers picking up supplies, mothers running errands, the occasional tourist stopping for coffee.
“I’ll be back at one,” Jake said, his eyes scanning the street as Nora and I got out. “Call if you need anything before then.”
I nodded, suddenly reluctant to leave the safety of his truck. “Be careful,” I said, not entirely sure what I was warning him against.
His eyes softened. “Always am.”
Inside the bakery, the familiar scents of yeast and sugar enveloped us. Frank looked up from the register, relief washing over his face.
“Thank God,” he exclaimed. “Line’s been out the door all morning.”
I hung up our coats and tied on an apron. “Sorry, I’m late. Family emergency.”
Frank waved away my apology. “Just glad you’re here now. Denise called in sick too—something about her kid having strep.”
Great. Just what I needed—a busy shift with no help. “Nora, honey, you can set up at the corner table with your books.”
She nodded, already pulling out the coloring supplies I’d packed for her. I kissed the top of her head and went to work.
The morning passed in a blur of customers and orders. I kept Nora in my peripheral vision at all times, a habit I’d developed years ago but which now felt more urgent than ever. She seemed content, alternating between coloring and helping Frank arrange cookies on display trays.
Around noon, the bell over the door jingled, and I looked up to see a man I didn’t recognize enter.
He was tall, well-dressed in a way that stood out in our small town—cashmere coat, polished shoes, hair slicked back with expensive product.
Something about him made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
He approached the counter slowly, eyes roaming the bakery as if committing every detail to memory. When his gaze landed on Nora, it lingered a beat too long.
“Can I help you?” I asked, wiping flour from my hands.
He turned to me, and his smile never reached his eyes. “Yes, I hope so. I’m looking for a woman named Ella Shaw.”
My stomach dropped. “May I ask why?”
He pulled out a business card and slid it across the counter. “Alex Kozlov, private investigator. I’m working on behalf of a client who’s trying to locate a family member.”
The name meant nothing to me, but the mention of a client searching for family sent ice through my veins. I kept my expression neutral as I glanced at the card.
“I’m Ella,” I said, deciding that denying my identity would only make me look suspicious. “But I’m afraid I can’t help you. I don’t have any family looking for me.”
His smile widened fractionally. “Are you certain? My client is quite insistent that you might have information.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. From the corner of my eye, I saw Nora look up from her coloring book, sensing the tension in my voice.
“I think you have me confused with someone else,” I said firmly. “Now, if you’d like to order something, I’m happy to help. Otherwise, I have customers waiting.”
Kozlov leaned closer, dropping his voice. “Miss Shaw—or should I say, Miss Petrova? Or perhaps, Miss MacGallan —we both know that’s not true. My client wants to reconnect. Surely you can understand that?”
Before I could respond, the bell jingled again, and Jake walked in. His eyes immediately took in the scene—my rigid posture, the stranger leaning over the counter, Nora watching with wide eyes.
“Everything okay here?” he asked, moving to stand beside me.
Kozlov straightened, assessing Jake with a quick, calculating glance. “Just having a friendly conversation,” he said smoothly. “Business matter.”
Jake’s hand came to rest on the small of my back, a subtle show of support that gave me strength. “We were just finishing up,” I said. “As I told you, I can’t help you.”
Kozlov nodded, apparently accepting defeat for now. “Very well. But my client is persistent, Miss Shaw. He’s waited a very long time for this reunion.” He picked up his card and slid it into his pocket. “I’ll be in touch.”
We watched him leave, the bell jangling cheerfully in his wake. As soon as the door closed behind him, my knees nearly buckled. Jake’s arm came around me, steadying me.
“Who the hell was that?” he demanded.
“A private investigator,” I whispered, mindful of Nora still watching us. “He knows who I am, Jake. He called me Petrova.”
Jake’s face hardened. “Get your things. We’re leaving now.”
I didn’t argue. “Frank,” I called, my voice shaking slightly. “Family emergency. I need to go.”
Frank looked between us, concern etched on his face. “Go, go. I’ll manage.”
Five minutes later, we were in Jake’s truck, Nora securely buckled in the backseat. Jake drove with one hand on the wheel, the other holding his phone to his ear.
“Caleb,” he said when his brother answered. “We’ve got a situation. Someone approached Ella at the bakery. Private investigator asking about her past.” He listened for a moment. “Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking too. We’re headed back now.”
He hung up and glanced at me. “You okay?”
I nodded, though I felt anything but okay. My mind was racing, replaying every word of the encounter. “He knew, Jake. He knew my real name, and he kept looking at Nora.”
“We’ll figure this out,” he promised, reaching across to squeeze my hand. “You’re not alone, remember?”
In the rearview mirror, I could see Nora watching us, her small face solemn. She didn’t fully understand what was happening, but she knew enough to be afraid. I forced a smile for her benefit.
“Everything’s fine, sweetheart,” I lied. “Just a busy day.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded anyway, returning to her coloring book.
“I need to call Kane and warn him,” I said, pulling my cellphone out of my pocket. While I did that, Jake kept Nora busy asking her a ton of questions.
When I hung up, he drove faster than was safe on the icy roads, checking the mirrors frequently as if expecting to be followed. I found myself doing the same, scanning each car we passed for signs of the sleek black sedan Kozlov had arrived in.
When we pulled into my driveway, Caleb was waiting on the porch, tension evident in the set of his shoulders. He met us halfway to the house.
“No one’s been by,” he reported. “But I got a call from the vet. Scout’s doing better—they’re saying he might be able to come home tomorrow.”
Relief washed through me. At least that was one piece of good news. “Thank you for checking on him.”
Inside, I sent Nora to her room to play while the three of us gathered in the kitchen. I recounted every detail of my encounter with Kozlov, trying not to let my voice shake.
“He knew exactly who I was,” I finished. “There was no doubt, no question. Mikhail’s father had to have sent him.”
Jake paced the length of the kitchen, his expression thunderous. “This is escalating too quickly. First the package, then Scout, now this guy showing up in broad daylight.”
“They’re testing boundaries,” Caleb said quietly. “Seeing how far they can push before we push back.”
I looked between the brothers, struck by how similar they suddenly seemed—the same hard set to their jaws, the same calculating look in their eyes. These were men who understood violence, who had faced threats before.
“What do we do?” I asked.
Jake stopped pacing. “We need more information. Who this guy really is, who he’s working for, how much they know about you and Nora.”
“And in the meantime?” My voice cracked slightly. “I can’t keep Nora home from school forever. I can’t stop living our lives.”
“You stay at my place or the lodge,” Jake said firmly. “Both of you. At least until we know more.”
I wanted to argue, to assert that I could protect my own daughter, but the truth was, I was terrified. If they knew where I worked, they knew where Nora went to school. They could be watching us right now.
“Okay,” I agreed. “For now.”
Jake nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I need to make some calls. See if I can dig up some information on this Kozlov. See if he’s really a PI or something else.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the kitchen. “Do you think he’ll come back? To the bakery, I mean.”
“I think we need to be prepared for anything,” Jake said, his voice gentle but firm. “Which means no one goes anywhere alone for now.”
Caleb stood, adjusting the bandage on his hand. “I’ll take first watch. You two should get some rest while you can.”
I wanted to protest that it was barely afternoon, but exhaustion hit me suddenly, a bone-deep weariness that made even standing feel like too much effort. The adrenaline crash from the confrontation at the bakery left me shaky and drained.
“Come on,” Jake said, noticing. “You look dead on your feet.”
He guided me to the living room couch, his hand warm and steadying on my elbow.
I sank into the cushions gratefully. From down the hall, I could hear Nora talking to her stuffed animals, weaving some elaborate story about brave foxes and evil wizards.
The normalcy of it made my throat tight with emotion.
“She doesn’t deserve this,” I whispered as Jake sat beside me. “Any of it.”
“No, she doesn’t,” he agreed. “But she has you. And you’re stronger than you think.”
I turned to look at him, studying the lines of his face, the stubble darkening his jaw, the way his eyes held mine without flinching. “Why are you doing this, Jake? Really. You barely know me.”
He was quiet for a long moment, considering.
“Maybe I see something of myself in you,” he finally said.
“Someone who’s lost a lot and is trying to build something new.
Or maybe...” He hesitated, then reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Maybe I just can’t walk away from someone who needs help. Not again.”
The touch of his fingers against my skin sent warmth spreading through me, chasing away some of the fear. I leaned into his hand without thinking, seeking comfort.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I admitted. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t walked into the bakery when you did.”
His smile was slight but genuine. “You’d have handled it. As I said, you’re stronger than you think.”
Before I could respond, my phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket, heart racing when I saw the bakery’s number on the screen.
“Frank?” I answered, trying to keep the panic from my voice.
“Ella.” His voice was strained, urgent. “That man who was here earlier—he came back. He was asking all kinds of questions about you and Nora. Where you live, how long you’ve been here.”
My blood turned to ice. “What did you tell him?”