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“You got a restraining order?”
“That doesn’t work with Richard.” She stifled a painful laugh. “As far as he’s concerned, I belong to him. I don’t have a say in the matter.”
Caleb’s hands contracted into fists, his knuckles blanching as he swore under his breath. His eyes darkened from smoky to granite. He looked away, scanning the diner for a moment before he met her gaze again. “You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you while I’m around.”
God, she wanted to believe him. So much.
“That’s sweet but…” Knots coiled in her belly. “No one can guarantee that.” Images crowded her mind. Miller, the dead detective at the safe house. The side of his head turned inside out like some alien flower, and blood so black she thought she’d fallen into hell.
“What I said stands.”
He sounded so sure of himself. Confident. She wanted to trust him, to share the burden she carried.
“Whatever happened before now doesn’t matter. What counts now is you’re here.” His voice was firm.
She stared at the pitted wood of the table. “This is bigger than I can explain. Dangerous. Not just for me, but for anyone who might try to help me. I can’t put you in that position.”
Staying on the move was the only solution.
Caleb swung his head in a definite no. “That doesn’t change what I’m saying, and my past gives me confidence about what I say.”
“Because you were a SEAL?”
“Yes.”
The diner door chimed and instinct won. Grace checked over her shoulder and immediately wished she hadn’t.
A tall woman in a sheriff’s uniform strode into the diner, her blonde hair pulled back in a neat bun, a male police officer trotting after her.
Shit. Police. Richard had contacts everywhere.
She faced front again, her heart rate escalating. How long to the emergency exit on the far side of the diner? Or would out through the kitchen be faster?
Grace snuck another peek. The Sheriff and deputy approached the counter. Louisa was plating pie, but she’d stopped to chat to them. Grace heard Caleb’s name, and the Sheriff looked over to their table.
She’s looking directly at me.
A tremor of intimidation rolled through her under the officer’s assessing gaze. Grace resisted the urge to avert her eyes guiltily, feeling as if this fierce-looking woman could somehow see straight into her troubled history if she looked too closely.
The sheriff left her deputy at the counter and walked toward their table. Her steps were fluid, hinting at excellent physical fitness. Grace didn’t doubt that in this remote corner of Alaska, this woman was a formidable presence, a force to be reckoned with.
Hell.
She tensed her legs, preparing to bolt. It was all over. It made perfect sense Richard would reach out through law enforcement, use their greater surveillance capacity to track her down.
The sheriff stopped at their table, her weight shifting to one hip. Her gaze was steady, bleeding strength into the air. “Hi.”
15
“Hey Sarah.” Caleb smiled at his big sister standing at the end of their table, but he was painfully aware of Grace’s rigid posture and white-knuckled grip on her coffee. His concern deepened. Seeing Sarah was freaking her out.
Fuck.
He shouldn’t care. Caring meant forming connections, and connections left you vulnerable. But for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he teetered on the edge of an emotional precipice. He wanted to be there for Grace, to support her through whatever trouble she faced.
“Grace. This is my sister, Sarah. Sarah, this is Grace.”
Sarah steepled her hands on the table. She looked as immaculate as ever. Her sheriff badge shone and her uniform was creaseless. “Hi Grace.”
