Page 91 of Untamed Coast

She stepped back from the window and moved to her desk. “Come on in.”

Amos still looked like a longliner who had wandered into the wrong building—camouflage overalls, orange knit cap, and a face weathered from years at sea. He moved like a man who didn’t need to prove anything. She’d suggested he wear something nicer—something that said vice president rather than deckhand—but he’d shrugged it off. This was Alaska. Nobody cared what you wore if you got the job done.

He handed her a manila envelope. “Closing papers for the Ketchikan house.”

She nodded, flipping through the documents. That made three now. Three quiet houses in three coastal towns, all purchased under a shell trust. She had no intention of putting her name on anything that might draw attention.

The Sitka house, Safe Anchorage, had been open for six months. It could take in ten women and children at a time, and had already sheltered nearly a hundred. The housemother—Donna—ran a tight ship, with two volunteers on call and a back gate that was always locked.

In Juneau, the Haven had barely opened before the neighbors started sniffing around. Too much traffic. Too many hushed voices at odd hours. Anya had walked door to door, offering to send them a little cash each month just to help keep it discreet and safe. All of them said yes. A few had thanked her. One had cried.

She planned to call the Ketchikan property Radiant House. She’d furnish it herself this weekend. She always did. It was her favorite part—choosing the paint colors, hanging quilts and quiet art, filling the pantry with tea and cereal and soup cans. Safety had to feel like home.

She set the envelope down, returned to the window, and wiped away the condensation from her breath. The water beyond the boatyard was glassy smooth.

“We should go down there next week,” she said. “Introduce ourselves. Make sure the staff knows what they’re doing.”

Amos nodded. “I’ll have the floatplane ready.”

She gave him a smile. “Assuming the weather’s good. Yeah.”

Outside, the Travelift set the boat gently into the water. Anya watched the hull settle, the boat’s reflection shimmering.

She didn’t have an ending for this new chapter of her life. But this—this was a good start.

Chapter 72

-.-. --- -. ..-. .-.. ..- . -. -.-. .

Radioville, AK

2017—Marconi Franco

Marco leaned forward in the folding chair, watching waves break from a tidal rip around the distant point.

The flat-black RIB emerged—on plane and at high speed—from behind the neighboring island. The driver’s neon orange beanie and the blare of the outboards broadcasted its arrival. There was a second person in the boat.

Marco took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as he clenched his fists in his lap. The flat-black RIB made a beeline for the beach, coming ashore next to Marco’s dinghy. The driver jumped out and helped his passenger ashore—a woman—small, nimble.

She retrieved a bag from the boat and started up the path toward Marco while orange beanie guy took the bow line…

No.

In a flash, he grabbed the shore line of Marco’s dinghy, jumped back in the RIB, and backed away from shore with Marco’s dinghy in tow.

Marco’s only means of escape was gone. He was trapped.

He gripped the plastic armrests of the lawn chair, willing himself to remain still. He forced a breath, trying to relax his tensed muscles. A surge of adrenaline washed through his body. It took all Marco’s strength to simply do nothing.

The woman continued up the path. Her stride was strong and confident. Her face was weathered, but calm, looking much older than her stature conveyed. She could be in her seventies—maybe even her eighties. She held direct eye contact with Marco as she approached.

“You’re sitting in my chair.”

Marco’s throat tightened. “I figured you left it here for me.”

Her face softened, a slight smile brightening her eyes. “You’re a very determined man, Mr. Franco.” She held his gaze.

Marco squeezed the case of the inReach device through the fabric of his jacket pocket. The two hours he’d given Bill was too long.