Chapter 3
Three
Getting off an Aleutian island required a plane or a boat, and neither was in a hurry.
Grace handed a customer a coffee, smiling like nothing was wrong, knowing that with the ferry not due for three days and back-to-back storms keeping planes and boats out of commission, her world had shrunk to the size of a cage.
Twenty-six hours since the Instagram photo, and she was still standing behind a counter, selling muffins like her life wasn’t about to end.
Conservatively, Lars’s systems swept every six hours, but getting to Unalaska took planning. Flight schedules. Weather windows. The logistics of reaching a remote Alaskan town weren’t simple. If they’d found the photo immediately, the earliest they could arrive would be...today.
Every calculation led to the same conclusion. If they were coming, they’d be here soon. Her only hope was the Alaskan weather continuing to throw a tantrum.
“Amy, dear, you feeling all right?” Mrs. Thornton peered at her with concern. “You’ve been wiping that same spot for five minutes.”
Grace forced her hand to stop. “Sorry. Just thinking about the storm last night.”
“Oh, it was a big one.” Mr. Patterson leaned against the counter. “Good thing the supply plane came on Tuesday. Won’t see another one until next Thursday now.”
Thursday. Five days away.
Unless the weather cleared and she could talk a local pilot or captain into taking her away, the ferry in three days was her only option. So that meant staying visible, maintaining her cover, pretending everything was normal while her nerves frayed like old rope.
The bell above the door jingled.
She looked up, preparing her brittle smile for another customer.
The smile died on her lips.
Magnus Rebel stood in the doorway, rain dripping from his jacket. For a moment, neither of them moved. The bakery, the town, the entire world condensed to the space between them.
She saw the exact second recognition hit. His eyes widened, disbelief cascading across his face. His jaw clenched. His hands fisted at his sides. The air between them crackled with unanswered questions, grief, and fury compressed into a single, devastating look.
“Annie?” The name came out rough, uncertain.
Testing.
Every cell in her body screamed run.
So she did.
The tray in her hands hit the floor. Pastries scattered like startled birds. She was already moving, her body carrying her toward the back door. Behind her, Magnus shouted something. She didn’t stop to parse the words.
The alley behind the bakery was narrow, cluttered with dumpsters and delivery pallets. She knew every obstacle, had mapped escape routes her first week here. Left at the loading dock. Right at the blue house. Through the gap in the fence that looked too small for an adult but wasn’t.
Magnus’s footsteps pounded behind her. Closer than they should be. He’d spent years running through wilderness with sixty pounds of gear. Chasing one small woman through town streets was nothing.
Don’t let Oliver see. Don’t make him a target.
The thought drove her forward, faster than fear of Magnus catching her ever could. She cut through the hardware store’s back lot, vaulted a low fence, and landed hard on the other side. Her ankle twinged but held. Magnus cleared the fence like it wasn’t there.
She sprinted down the hill toward the water, feet slipping on wet pavement. The harbor spread before her, gray and choppy, boats bobbing like toys in a bathtub. She veered left toward the commercial docks, where the crab boats created a forest of masts and rigging.
Almost there. Almost.
A hand caught her arm, spun her around. She twisted, tried to break free, but Magnus had her backed against a wall of stacked crab pots before she could blink. His hands braced on either side of her, blocking escape.
They were both breathing hard. This close, she could see his longer hair curling on his neck, the bushiness of his beard he’d kept trimmed tight in Montana, and new lines around his eyes, a hardness that hadn’t been there before. She’d done that, added weight to a good man’s shoulders.
“Don’t.” His voice came out ragged between gasps for air. “Don’t run.”
She pressed back against the crab pots, metal edges digging into her spine. “Magnus, please.”
“Ten months.” He sucked in a breath. “Ten. Months.”
“I can explain.”
“Can you?” The words were sharp, furious. “He cried. Every night. For weeks.”
Grace’s stomach dropped.
“Asked what he did wrong.” Another harsh breath. “What made you leave?”
“Magnus—”
“I told him you loved him.” His voice cracked. “Was that even true? Was any of it real?”
She opened her mouth, but he barreled on before she could get a word out.
“Or was I just—” He stopped, chest heaving. “Convenient? A babysitter?”
“No.” The word ripped from her throat. “No, it wasn’t like that.”
“Then what?” He leaned closer, eyes wild. “What was it like?”
Her lungs locked up, and her brain went blank. His anger was everywhere—in his voice, his hands, the set of his jaw. She couldn’t get out from under it. She’d imagined this moment a thousand times, but nothing had prepared her for the raw devastation in his eyes.
“Mom?”
The small voice cut through everything.
Grace’s head snapped toward the sound. Forty feet up the dock, at street level, Oliver stood on the sidewalk, the harbor master beside him. Oliver’s face lit up.
“Mom!” He started forward, then stopped, smile faltering.
The harbor master’s hand landed on his shoulder, holding him in place.
Grace’s legs nearly gave out. Oliver. Here. Now. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to see her, wasn’t supposed to—
Movement behind Oliver caught her eye.
A black van pulled up to the curb. The passenger window rolled down.
Lars Eriksson smiled at her from inside. His gaze moved from her to Oliver, then back to her. His smile widened.
He’d put two and two together.
He knew.