Page 27 of Tangled Past
Silence settled for a moment, punctuated by the hiss of the heater and the muted thrum of the tires on packed snow. Theisland slid past in ghost-like shapes—tree lines, fence posts, the distant glint of harbor lights through the storm.
“Chief Kelly wants to move you,” Asa said after a minute. “Someplace off your usual routes. Some place where he can control entry points.”
“Like witness protection?”
“More like common sense,” he said. “We’re not set up for full-on WITSEC here, but we can put distance between you and the places he’s already used, like your cottage, the bistro. The barn.”
She turned her head to look at him. “Doyouthink it’ll help?”
“I think it’ll give him one less way to get to you,” Asa said. “And one more way for us to watch for how he tries.”
“Where?” she asked, suddenly aware of how small the island really was.
“There’s an off-season rental on the west bluff,” Asa said. “Owned by a family that winters in Florida. Will’s used it before as a temporary shelter location. No direct relation to you, no connection to me. One way in from the road, a clean line of sight to the tree line. It’s as close to a safehouse as we get out here.”
“And you?” she asked, hating how vulnerable she sounded. “Where will you be?”
“Where do you think?”
She swallowed. “With me?”
“Unless you throw me out.”
A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. “I don’t want to need anyone to stay alive.”
“That’s not weakness,” Asa said. “That’s just the truth. Nobody does this alone. Not long-term.”
She turned back to the window, blinking tears away. The snow outside blurred into streaks of white and gray. “Did you ever . . . blame me?” she asked quietly. “For what happened toyour father?” The question had sat in her chest for days, growing heavier by the hour. It came out now that the barn had ripped her open and left everything raw.
“No,” he said immediately and passionately. “I blame him, Maya. The man who pulled the trigger.” He glanced at her again, eyes dark. “I never blamed the four-year-old who hid where she was told and tried not to breathe too loud.”
Her throat closed around a sob she refused to let out. Hearing this from the boy who had lost his father that night scraped against the lie in a way nothing else had. “I don’t even remember my mother’s face,” she whispered. “What kind of daughter forgets her mother?”
“The kind who survived something she was never meant to carry,” Asa said. “The mind makes trade-offs when it’s drowning. It holds onto whatever keeps you afloat and lets the rest sink for a while.”
She stared at his hands and the tiny scar on his right knuckle, which she’d noticed the first time he’d reached across a table for evidence photos.
“What if I never get it back?” she asked. “What if I never remember who she was?”
He drew in a slow breath. “Then we find out some other way. We’ll ask questions. Track records. We’ll talk to anyone who might have known her.”
Maya closed her eyes.
For a split second, a flash of something moved behind her eyelids. A woman’s hand, calloused but gentle, smoothing hair back from her forehead.
A whisper: “Hush, Maya. We’re almost safe.”
Then the barn. The hay. The rabbit’s fur against her cheek.
The sound of the door being forced open.
Pain knifed through her skull.
She gasped, pressing both hands against her temples.
“Maya?” Asa’s voice sharpened. “Talk to me. What did you see?”
“Just a hand,” she forced out. “A woman’s hand. My mom, I think. She said we were almost safe. She sounded scared, but sure. Then it skips to the barn. It’s like everything jumps straight to the barn.”
