Winslet’s hands shook as she fumbled for her burner phone to contact her Uncle Sergei. The encrypted messaging app took precious seconds to load—seconds that felt like hours with Viktor lurking close by. Once it finally loaded, she typed quickly, her thumb stumbling over the keys.
Bracken found me. Need new location tonight.
The response came within moments like she knew it would. Her Uncle Sergei had told her six months ago to contact him again only when she needed a new escape plan.
I’m sorry again for all this trouble, little bird. Bracken wasn’t the man I thought he was when I introduced you to him. And now his behavior is escalating beyond what I anticipated. You’re in real danger now.
Winslet’s chest tightened. Her uncle’s guilt bled through the digital words, and she could picture him in his stark office, jaw clenched with self-recrimination. He’d helped her flee to Seattle six months ago, set her up with the country club job, and created a new life for her. She should’ve changed her full name like her uncle insisted but she thought a new last name and a new location was foolishly enough. And that foolishness cost her because Bracken had managed to find her.
Another message from her uncle appeared.
I have a contact who specializes in unique situations. Her name is Gerri Wilder, and she owns the Paranormal Dating Agency. Meet her at Fairmont Olympic Hotel, suite 1247. Don’t question her business name—only your safety matters. Go now.
Winslet stared at the screen, her heart hammering in her chest.
What kind of contact is that?
I know how it sounds. But trust me. Go. Now.
Paranormal Dating Agency? What did this woman do—arrange dates for ghosts? The absurdity of the name clashed violently with the urgency in her uncle’s messages. Winslet didn’t have the luxury of investigation right now. Viktor’s presence at the club meant Bracken was too close for comfort, and hesitation could prove disastrous.
She pocketed the phone and slipped through the employee entrance, avoiding the main lobby where Viktor might spot her. She rushed down the side hall to the employee break roomand opened the door in a rush, almost knocking over Sarah in the process. She didn’t say anything and kept her head down because every second mattered and she couldn’t afford any conversations right now. Her locker yielded her purse and car keys, and she forced herself to walk calmly to the parking garage despite every instinct screaming at her to run.
Once she was safely settled into her compact car, she discreetly left the parking garage and her life behind her in the process. The drive through Seattle’s afternoon traffic felt like navigating a minefield. Every pedestrian could be Bracken’s watcher. Every car in her rearview mirror might contain his associates. Her knuckles ached from gripping the steering wheel, and she found herself taking random turns, doubling back, and checking for tails with the skillset she’d learned from eighteen months of surveillance disguised as devotion, and six months of being on the run from Bracken’s clutches.
Thirty minutes later, the Fairmont Olympic’s parking garage provided blessed anonymity. Winslet exited her car and took the elevator to the twelfth floor, her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her ribs. Suite 1247 sat at the end of a quiet hallway, and her knock sounded unnaturally loud in the hushed space.
The woman who opened the door defied every expectation. Petite—barely reaching Winslet’s shoulder—with snow-white hair styled in an immaculate bob and wearing a bright turquoise pantsuit that should have looked ridiculous but somehow commanded respect. Her eyes shifted between bright blue and something that glinted gold in the hallway’s soft lighting.
“Winslet Ward.” Not a question. “Come in, honey. We have work to do.”
The suite’s neutral décor provided a stark backdrop for this woman’s vibrant presence. She gestured to the sitting area with manicured fingers that somehow conveyed both authority and warmth.
“Gerri Wilder, I presume?” Winslet settled onto the edge of the sofa, every muscle coiled for flight.
“The one and only.” Gerri’s smile held secrets and mischief in equal measure. “Your uncle wasn’t exaggerating about the urgency. That brute Viktor has been circling your workplace all day trying to snatch you up, and your ex-fiancé’s patience is wearing thinner than his last victim’s breaths.”
The casual mention of victims sent ice down Winslet’s spine. “You know about Bracken’s business?”
“Honey, I know about lots of things that would curl your pretty brown hair.” Gerri moved with surprising grace for someone wearing four-inch heels, retrieving a suitcase from the suite’s bedroom. “What matters is getting you somewhere he can’t reach easily. Somewhere so remote and well-protected that even his particular brand of obsession will hit a wall if he finds it.”
Winslet watched this strange woman with growing fascination and unease. Gerri radiated competence that felt almost supernatural, as if she’d orchestrated escapes like this countless times before.
“The Arctic research station in Northland Bay, Alaska.” Gerri produced a boarding pass and a heavy winter coat from the suitcase. “You’ll be assisting Dr. Elinor Frost with logistics and general caretaking duties. The cover story is thin, but it’ll hold long enough for what we need.”
“What kind of research station?” Winslet examined the boarding pass—a military flight leaving in an hour.
“Climate monitoring, wildlife observation, the usual scientific pursuits.” Gerri’s tone suggested those details mattered less than the isolation they provided. “The town leader is quite protective of his territory. Doesn’t appreciate uninvited guests or unnecessary issues. But I’ll handle him when we get there.”
Something in Gerri’s phrasing sent warning bells through Winslet’s mind. The woman spoke of this mysterious town leader with a respect that bordered on wariness, and Winslet sensed layers of information being carefully withheld.
“And if I don’t fit in? If this protective leader decides I don’t belong?”
Gerri’s eyes flashed that strange gold again. “Trust me, sweetie. You’ll fit better than you think. Sometimes the places that seem most complicated turn out to be exactly where we need to be.”
The suitcase yielded more surprises—thermal underwear, insulated boots, and clothes that looked like they could withstand a blizzard. Everything in Winslet’s size, as if Gerri had known this moment would come to fruition someday.
“You can’t go back to your apartment. Bracken’s people are probably already there.” Gerri handed her another bag. “Everything you need for the first few weeks is packed. The rest can be sorted once you’re settled.”
