Page 1

Part I

No longer in the heart of flesh

but in the heart of your people

Carved by love

to endure forevermore.

Chapter One

Minneapolis, Minnesota

April 2017

Linnea

His criminal record made it easy for Linnea to locate him.

She gripped her purse that contained the information about Peter Johansson from the private investigator she’d hired, along with a copy of an old transaction involving a Swedish heirloom. Seeing Peter face-to-face, even after three decades, nauseated Linnea as much as her most recent dose of chemotherapy. She sat rigid in the heated passenger seat of her SUV outside his sprawling brick apartment complex in suburban Minneapolis.

Her son, Taylor, killed the ignition, silencing the blasting heat. Spring snow splat on the windshield in fat, wet flakes and smeared down. “Can you finally tell me why we’re here?” he asked.

Linnea met his eyes. Eyes that had left her spellbound since the day she became his mother at eighteen. Their green color would spark with his determination, his gumption. Everything she never possessed. She gave him a slight shake of her head.

He sighed.

She had pondered calling Peter to arrange this visit, but he might have hung up. Or she’d have been the one to hang up, unable to speak from the nerves strangling her. A late Sunday morning seemed the best chance to corner him, unless he was religious now.

Thank God he was still alive.

“Mom.” Taylor’s voice was curt, interrupting her tangled thoughts. Her son wasn’t supposed to be here. They were both surprised when he’d appeared unannounced this morning on her doorstep while she awaited the Lyft. Usually a quick text reply placated his distressed check-ins over her health status. Had her son read the duplicity in her response? Was it her uncharacteristic exclamation mark on Fine! that sent him investigating? He asked questions. She said, “No time to answer” and relented to his chauffeuring.

Linnea relaxed her clutch on the purse, ready to make a move, until her guts rebelled again. She felt Taylor’s gaze zero in on her mittened fists, and his tone was softer when he said, “Please⁠—”

His hospital pager cut him off. He cursed and unclipped it from his scrub pants.

“I’m sorry, Tay, this won’t take long.”

He rubbed his bleary eyes and read the message.

“You said you had the day off?” she inquired.

“Yes,” he grumbled, “I forgot to forward my pages.” He took out his phone and tapped the numbers. That brief pause with his phone irritated her. She’d wasted decades of her now-weakened life, comfortably letting other people take charge. No more.

Linnea sucked a breath, opened the door, and stepped out.

“Wait.” He brought the cell to his ear. “Whatever you’re doing, you’re not doing it alone.”

“I have to,” she whispered, the snow dissolving her words.

“Would you just—” he protested as he unclicked his seat belt, then abruptly shifted to his doctor tone. “It’s Barnes. I got paged?”

Linnea seized her chance and closed the door. Her black rain boots slopped along the concrete. Cold flakes licked her face. She framed the furry hood of her parka around her white cheeks and trekked toward the building.

Taylor scurried after her, talking on his phone. She tripped on the curb of the pathway. He grabbed and straightened her. “Mom, is this really necessary? Hold on—” He swerved the phone away from his mouth.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Linnea said, though she wanted to puke, and not just from the chemo nausea. She was heading to a threshold she had no confidence she could cross.