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  For the approximately five hundred residents of Gustavus, Alaska.

  Thank you for the tours, explanations, delicious food, medical care, wildlife and weather warnings, and generous friendship.

  See you all again next time.

  Acknowledgments

  My husband, Charlie, and I had so much fun when we visited Alaska to research details for this book. Though the town of Benedict is fictional, our time in Gustavus and Juneau will forever be fondly remembered.

  Thank you to everyone at the Annie Mae Lodge who not only welcomed us but made us feel at home in their beautiful (but really primitive) world. We were fortunate to make some lovely friends while we were there.

  Hello and thanks to Sarah and Andy Pernick. Ready to go back?

  Thanks to author Kate Carlisle, who came to the rescue when I said I needed a really perfect title. And, it took her only seconds.

  Thanks to my agent, Jessica Faust, who always works hard, but this time she took it to a whole new level. I am forever grateful for her patience and persistence.

  Thanks to my editor, Hannah Braaten, for everything, but this time it’s for believing in this one.

  Thanks to editorial assistant extraordinaire Nettie Finn; copy editor Bill Warhop; cover designer Jonathan Bush; and everyone at Minotaur. You are all magical.

  My family is the definition of supportive. Thank you, Charlie and Tyler. I’m so lucky to have you both.

  One

  The good thing about being suddenly overcome with fresh terror is that you forget everything else you were afraid of. At least temporarily.

  The pilot next to me in the two-seat prop plane angled his almost toothless grin my direction and said loudly, “A little bumpy today. You’ll get used to it.”

  I doubted that, but I was too scared to respond. Besides, we had to yell to hear each other over the engine; the headsets we both wore were merely ear protection. I swallowed hard and nodded, sure my face had turned gray, my lips thin. At least, that’s how I’d once described what a sense of terror looked like when it came over one of my characters. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was pleased that I’d nailed the description. And then the plane dipped again, my stomach following closely behind. I forgot about everything, characters included, but our plummet toward earth.

  “Oh,” I said with a catching breath.

  The pilot, his name was Hank, laughed and then scratched his chin. “This is nothing. Like I said, you’ll get used to it.”

  Not riding in this sort of plane ever again might be a good reason to never leave my new home. Surely, Benedict, Alaska, would suit me just fine. Everything was going to be fine. I was going to be fine there, feet on the ground, all the time. Totally fine.

  We moved through a layer of gray clouds that dissipated quickly and the world beneath became exposed. I gasped at the sight, but I was sure Hank didn’t hear. I was on the way to a small village, but all I could see from above was landscape so beautiful and gigantic that it stretched the edges of my very soul. Mountains, ocean, tributaries, wilderness, big puzzle pieces of geography with long borders. The small plane and our small selves were mere specks in comparison. And that was exactly what I’d wanted, what I’d searched to find—I silently reminded myself. If this expansive place didn’t swallow me whole, it would hide me well.

  “What’s that you got there?” Hank asked as he nodded at the item on my lap.

  “It’s a typewriter,” I said loudly as I looked at him. If he didn’t hear me, he could probably read my thinned lips.

  “You’re sure hanging on to it tight,” he said.

  I hadn’t noticed, but I was holding on to the old Olympia’s boxy clip-on case for dear life. If I died and it remained intact, at least it might make a good souvenir for my agent or editor.

  “You write?” he asked.

  “Sometimes,” I lied. In fact, I wrote a lot. As a writer, I spent most of my time typing. At least I used to. I’d brought the Olympia with the hope that I would be able to work again. I still had deadlines. I just had to figure out if I could do what I needed to do to meet them. Write. Create. Come up with fictional stories, thrillers. “It’s a family heirloom,” I lied again.

  I’d bought it myself twelve years ago in a pawnshop hidden in the Missouri Ozark woods. I’d written every one of my six bestselling novels on it, but I wouldn’t tell Hank about those either.

  “Yeah?”

  I nodded.

  “Okay. Cool,” he said as his eyes flitted over the c-shaped scar on the side of my head.

  I’d had to take off the cap I’d put on to cover the scar so the headset would fit. The staples were gone and the hair around the scar was already growing out from the surgical shave, but the cut line was still conspicuous, without the cap at least. It would probably always be somewhat noticeable, or so my neurosurgeon had said. She’d mentioned that part after telling me that my brain hadn’t been damaged badly and would recover fully; relief had overridden any vanity, but Hank’s searching eyes sent a self-conscious wave through me. I pushed it away.

  “Why are you coming to Benedict?” Hank asked a moment later. He didn’t ask about the scar.

  “I’m moving there,” I said.

  “Why?” He gave me a full once-over with his eyes. There was nothing lascivious about the inspection, just curiosity.

  “I wanted to get away for a while.”

  “Mission accomplished, little lady. It’s a great place. You’ll love it, and it’s made for people who want to get away for a while. Or forever, I suppose.”

  I cringed inwardly at “little lady” but sent the man currently in control of my survival another understanding but forced smile.

  “Where are you staying?” he asked.

  “A room at Benedict House.”

  It had been the pictures I’d found on the hospital’s Internet of the old hotel that ultimately sold me on Benedict, Alaska. A timeworn, two-story building on the corner of the quaint, minuscule downtown, its Russian architecture was interesting; white with blue trim and topped by a golden dome. It was somehow both welcoming and regal, invulnerable, maybe fortress-like. Via Dr. Genero’s computer—so no one could trace the search to me—I’d also looked at pictures of the nearby Glacier Bay and the surrounding mountains and glaciers, which had seemed big but not as big as they looked in person. However, it had been that old hotel, a place that seemed to promise safety and security, that had made my decision. As it was, I hadn’t had much time to consider many options. I’d sneaked into the office with only a fifteen-minute or so window to use the computer unnoticed. I’d left the office just as a nurse walked around the corner. She’d smiled at me, her eyes flitting over the scar, which had been even more obvious two weeks ago, but she hadn’t seemed curious as to why I was in that hallway, a wing with only doctors’ offices, in my hospital gown and sweatpants.

  “Oh, I see. What did you do to get put into Benedict House?” Hank asked.

  “I don’t
know what you mean,” I said after a pause.

  He looked at me with furrowed eyebrows and a mouth agape. He said, “What do you know about Benedict House?”

  “It’s a Russian Orthodox Church building that was converted to a hotel, and had a room available?”

  “Huh. Interesting.”

  I looked at him. “What’s wrong with the Benedict House?”

  “I didn’t know they were open to renting out rooms.” He rubbed his hand over his chin again.

  “A hotel not open to renting out rooms?”

  “Well.” He shook his head at himself. “Not important. Hang on, we’re almost there.”

  The plane dipped and tipped, and I held on to the typewriter even more tightly. I wished for the mysterious conversation about the Benedict House to continue if only to distract me from the impending crash.

  I looked out at the landscape again and tried to breathe evenly. A couple of hours ago, I’d stepped off a bigger, normal-sized plane in Juneau and had been greeted by a cool, rainy day. However, my glimpse out of the bigger plane’s window of the coastal city made me wonder if I should have chosen it over Benedict. Juneau wasn’t big, but it was civilized. The flight in the smaller plane had taken us through lots of clouds, but now that we were well underneath them, I could see very little civilization.

  But, again, that had been what I’d wanted.

  “Where there isn’t ocean, there’s so much green,” I said. However, my eyes scanned the ocean for the shadow or tail of a whale. The water was so clear, but, though I saw a few boats, no whales were in sight.

  “What’s that?” Hank asked.

  I looked at him again, sure I sounded stupid, but I’d had a picture in my mind. “More green trees than I expected. It’s not all glaciers, snow, and ocean.”

  “It’s June. There’s still snow on the tops of the taller mountains, and the glaciers and ocean are still there, but mostly you’ll find a forest. Sitka spruce and mountain hemlock. You might have seen the glacier by Juneau, but you won’t see any where we’re landing. You’ll have to tour the bay. You can take a boat out to see them.”

  I hadn’t seen the glacier outside Juneau, and I wondered how I’d missed it. Below us, a wide river suddenly became the focal point, teal-ish, foamy water moving toward the sea. The natural beauty was breathtaking, unreal really. It was also fierce. Here, Mother Nature always won.

  “That’s the airport over yonder.” Hank nodded.

  I hadn’t seen an airport, so I followed his line of vision past the river. A paved strip bordered an edge made of forest. An industrial-type building, not big but not too small, sat on the other side of the strip. In between the building and the strip someone stood on a tower that resembled something I’d seen in the end zone at my friend’s son’s high school football game: a place where a kid with a camera stood above the crowd and filmed. In fact, that tower seemed sturdier than the one I was currently looking at. This one seemed to lean precariously.

  “Is that a man in a lumberjack coat, holding binoculars up to his eyes?” I said.

  “Sure, that’s Francis. We’re looking for a checkerboard flag. That means we’re aimed the right way and clear to land. The radio doesn’t always work.”

  Even though I knew nothing about air traffic control, I didn’t think that checkerboard flags were part of any official regulation for aircraft. Nevertheless, I kept my eyes on Francis and hoped for the signal. A strange relief mixed with jubilation when I saw him raise his arm and wave the flag.

  “We’re cleared,” I said.

  “Excellent!” Hank said. “Hang on.”

  The plane seemed to speed up toward the landing strip. Not only did I hang on to the typewriter, I pressed my feet to the floor, as if I could assist with what was sure to be a rough landing.

  I closed my eyes tightly just before the wheels hit. I expected to be bumped and jarred around in the tiny cockpit, but I wasn’t. The landing was smooth and though there were strong g-forces, it wasn’t jarring at all. I opened my eyes.

  We came to a stop right at the building, only ten or so feet away from the thick woods on our other side. The pavement wasn’t in the best shape, but it looked like Hank had missed the bigger potholes. I was momentarily impressed.

  “There’s Gladys.” Hank nodded toward the trees.

  Again, I followed his line of vision. It took me a second to see what he saw; the woods were thick, dark, and shadowed, and tiny raindrops spotted the windshield.

  “It’s a moose,” I finally said as the creature stuck its gigantic head out in between some branches.

  “Yep. Gladys likes to greet the planes. If you stick around, you’ll get to know her. She’s friendly, but she is a moose, so be careful.”

  “What other kind of wildlife will I find around here?”

  “All of it.” Hank shrugged.

  “Okay.” I couldn’t look away from the moose. I was fascinated by the way she seemed to watch us closely, looking directly at me with her big, brown, intelligent eyes. She looked at Hank, at me, and then at Hank before she pulled back and became hidden in the shadows.

  I’d never seen a moose in person before. I didn’t know what “all of the wildlife” meant, other than moose and bear hungry for salmon swimming upstream to spawn. I’d seen the pictures, of course. I’d only been here a few moments, but I already knew that pictures couldn’t do this place justice: this land colored outside the lines of anything I’d ever known or imagined. I was ill prepared. This world was different than my world, very different. And once again I reminded myself: that’s what I’d wanted. Mission accomplished, little lady. And, I wasn’t as scared of Alaska as I was of the reason I’d run to it.

  Hank drove the plane, steering it in a tight right turn, still missing the bigger ruts and cracks in the landing strip, and stopped not far from the tower as Francis climbed down it. The pilot helped me deplane with my typewriter, and the one backpack I’d brought. I grabbed the Cubs cap from my pack and put it on quickly. My knees were slightly wobbly, but they’d stabilize. I’d worn a thin windbreaker with only a T-shirt underneath. It was cool and windy, the rain light with the promise it could get heavier any minute. We’d landed under thin clouds but I could see darker ones headed our way.

  “How were the winds?” Francis greeted us. He’d stuck the checkerboard flag into his back pocket.

  “Not bad at all,” Hank said.

  I couldn’t chime in with my less positive report even if I’d wanted to. I was struck momentarily silent and breathless—my throat tightened as my eyes landed on Francis’s jacket. Lumberjack; red-and-black plaid. It was a common coat, particularly here, I’d bet. I’d seen Francis on the tower and hadn’t made the connection, but now I did. Or something inside me did. The man who’d kidnapped me, Levi Brooks, had worn the same sort of coat. I could suddenly feel its rough texture as he’d grabbed me around my neck. Until that moment, I hadn’t remembered him grabbing me that way. I could suddenly smell his sourness in my nose and at the back of my throat, the rank inside his van, putrid and raw. Inwardly, I shook myself and cleared my throat. The memories were coming back, bit by bit, but now wasn’t the time. I had to stay in control.

  “You guys are twins,” I said after I blinked myself out of the strange, hopefully passing stupor and looked back and forth between them. They were probably in their late sixties with matching unruly gray hair and friendly brown eyes. One of them parted his hair on the right, the other on the left, and Francis had more teeth than his brother.

  “Yes, ma’am, Francis Harvington.” He extended his hand and his eyebrows came together over curious eyes.

  I took the typewriter from Hank and balanced it on a hip as I extended a hand. “Beth Rivers. Pleased to meet you.” My fingers had gone cold, but I hoped Francis would think it was the weather. Were my fingers trembling? I couldn’t tell.

  “Yeah, you too,” Francis said, not letting go of my hand yet. “You okay?”

  “Sure, just getting my land legs,” I s
aid with a too-tight smile.

  He let go and he and Hank shared a quick look before he turned back to me. “All right. Well, welcome to Benedict. We’ve got someone coming to take you into town, but he’s not here yet. Want to step inside and have a cup of coffee, dry off a little?” He nodded toward the building on the other side of the tower. It reminded me of a metallic, giant-sized backyard shed. There were no other planes in sight.

  “Love to. Thanks,” I said.

  Though the journey had been fraught with and inaugurated by despair and fear, I was here. I’d made it to Alaska, a part that wasn’t easy to get to. I was finally safe, or at least temporarily safer. The relief that suddenly washed through me was surprising and tears pushed at the back of my eyes. I blinked and sniffed and avoided eye contact for a moment while I gathered my scattered emotions. I was glad for the rain.

  I knew I was keeping it together by only the thinnest of threads, but that was better than not keeping it together at all. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. I could do this.

  “Here, I got that.” Francis took the typewriter and turned toward the building. He tried to take the backpack too, but I slung it over my shoulder as I looked away from his eyes and toward the forest, so dark and thick. I wondered how Gladys made her way through the tight maze of trees.

  Hank and Francis shared another look before Hank excused himself to attend to the plane. I followed Francis and cleared away the tears. I took in the surrounding area as we made our way, but all I could see were the landing strip, the airport building, and the woods. No other people were boarding or deplaning—in fact, there were no other planes. The rainy weather was frigid like nothing I’d ever experienced in June before, but it was warm inside the building.

  It wasn’t fancy, with a baggage check counter to the right and a small lunch counter to the left, where several people sat around tables and looked at their laptops. Francis must have noticed my curiosity.