"Even if that was an option,it’s not." His voice gentled, and that scared her more than anything else had. "Carly, I saw what happened to you in there. In the chapel. That was real, wasn't it?"
She touched the silver cross.A year ago, she'd hit bottom hard enough to leave a crater. Twenty-three months into her sentence, finally realizing her boyfriend had set her up to take the fall while he disappeared with the millions they'd stolen. She'd gone to the prison chapel planning to hide from her cellmate's endless chatter about her upcoming parole.
She'd stayedbecause for the first time in her life, someone was offering forgiveness without a catch. No angle. No con. Just: You're loved anyway.
It had wrecked her.In the best possible way.
"Yeah,"she whispered. "It's real."
"Good.Hold onto it. You're going to need it." He moved toward the door, then paused. "One more thing."
"What?"
"I'm proud of you, kid."
The words hither like a physical blow. The only father figure she'd ever had. The only person who'd seen past the con artist to find someone worth saving.
Her throat burned."Dom?—"
"Don't."He opened the door. "Get to Oregon. Become Cara Sweet. Bake terrible bread. Live a boring life. Stay alive. I'll be in touch once it's safe." He attempted a smile. It slid right off his face like oil on water. "Might be a while. A long while."
"What if they find me?"
This timehis grin was genuine. "You're too good for that. You've been lying since you could talk. Time to put those skills to good use—lie yourself into an honest life."
Then he was gone.The door clicked shut with the finality of a cell door.
Except this time,she was on the outside.
Sort of.
Lord,she prayed, the word unfamiliar and heavy in her mind.I don’t know how to ask You for anything. I don’t know if I’m allowed to.
I’ve donethings I can’t justify. Things I still don’t know how to repent of.
But if mercy is real—ifgrace reaches this far—I need it now.
The prayer sat awkwardlyin her chest, unfinished and uncertain, like a language she didn’t yet know how to speak.
She grabbedthe backpack and took one last look at her apartment.
"Cara Sweet," she said to the empty apartment. "Baker. Small-town nobody. Person who definitely doesn't have a criminal record or know seventeen ways to pick a lock."
Outside, a siren wailed past. Inside, the radiator hissed like it was laughing at her.
Time to become someone else.
Again.
1
Six monthslater
The salty breeze carried autumn's first whisper as Cara stepped onto the back deck of Sugar & Salt Bakery in Haven Cove, Oregon. Population: 2,000 on a good day. Churches: 3. Stoplights: 0. Crime: Also 0, unless you counted the occasional tourists speeding into town or downing far too many drinks after a successful fishing charter.
The perfect place to hide.
She inhaled deeply, letting the sea air fill her lungs. No sirens. No car alarms. No angry neighbors screaming about their cheating exes at 3 AM through paper-thin walls. Just the sound of waves and the occasional homicidal seagull fighting over fish scraps.
