have to tell him something. He deserves to know.”
“I don’t want him to be part of that world. My father’s world. I don’t want him to know anything about it.” Muscles clenched at the corners of his jaw. Tendons stood out along his neck. “If everything works out with the police the way you’re hoping it will, promise me you’ll tell him I’m dead.”
“I’m not going to lie.”
“You don’t know it will be a lie.”
His words knocked the air from her lungs. He was right. She wouldn’t know. His father could find him, kill him, and she would never know.
“Promise me.”
Tightness pinched her throat. Swallowing hard, she smoothed her hair back from her face and scanned the park through the haze of leafless branches. “I’ll tell him you’re dead.”
“Good.”
Where were the police? Why weren’t they here by now?
As if conjured by her thoughts, a sedan slowed on the highway below. It swung into the entrance of the park and crept toward the parking lot. She’d never cared about makes and models of cars, couldn’t tell one from another, but the plain lines and dark blue of this one seemed like just the type the police favored for their unmarked cars.
The time had come.
She forced herself to keep her eyes on the car. She couldn’t allow herself to glance at Alec, to look one last time at the intense gray of his eyes, the gentle hook of his nose, the full lips she’d once relished kissing. It wouldn’t get her anywhere. It would only make the moment more bitter. Only remind her of what she’d once thought she’d had with him. What she’d never really had at all.
The car wound past the first parking lot and toward the shelter.
“There’s a cabin up near Minoqua. On Lake Tomahawk. 1342 Brinberry Road.” She could feel his gaze on her, sense the question in his eyes. “It was my dad’s fishing and hunting cabin. The one in pictures of me as a kid. Before he died, he sold it to his former partner. No one uses it until summer, so it should be empty this time of year. The key is hanging under the edge of the siding, near the door.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
The car slowed near a bank of trees.
Drawing a deep breath of resolve, Laura offered her gun to Alec, grip first.
Alec met it with a flat palm, pushing the weapon back to her. “Keep it.”
“I won’t be able to keep it. Not in police custody.” She looked up at him. But he was watching the car. She followed his gaze.
The car had come to a complete stop. Now it backed into a small, gravel service path concealed by trees on one side, and the park shelter on the other. A beam of sunlight penetrated the windshield, shining like a spotlight on the occupants.
Laura narrowed her eyes, straining to see. The driver looked young, not familiar. But the passenger—
She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and stared at the cut and bloodied face of the man who had dragged her from her bed. The man who had said he’d killed Sally.
Sergei Komorov.
“Do you still think the Beaver Falls Police Department will protect you?” Alec said, his voice as low and ominous as a rumble of thunder.
Her mind spun. She didn’t know what to think anymore. All she knew was that there would be no officers whisking her and her baby to safety. There was no safety anymore.
For any of them.
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