Chapter 156
Chapter 156
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until the clinic doors shut behind us and the cold air rushes into my lungs like a slap. The sound is sharp—glass on glass—as the door snicks closed, and for a moment I stand there on the crumbling concrete walkway staring at nothing. Just trying to feel real.
Beck’s hand brushes mine, gentle but steady.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
The question makes something in me wobble. I nod—automatically, stupidly—even though I’m anything but okay. My fingers are fisted around the ultrasound picture tucked in the pocket of my jacket, the paper warm from being clutched too tightly. I don’t dare look at it. If I look at it, I’ll lose the thin thread holding me together.
The sky overhead is low and gray, swollen with rain. The parking lot is slick, puddles reflecting the neon OPEN sign buzzing in the clinic window. Cars pass on the main road; their headlights smear across the wet pavement like a watercolor painting left in the rain.
I’m shaking. Maybe from the cold. Maybe from everything else.
Beck keeps the truck running and opens my door for me. The cabin smells like old pine air freshener and his flannel jacket. Safe. Familiar. Completely at odds with the panic fluttering under my ribs.
Once I’m inside, he closes the door quietly, like he’s afraid to make a sound that might shatter me.
We pull out of the lot without speaking.
The silence is thick—so thick it feels like another passenger in the truck. I rest my forehead against the window, watching trees blur past. Small brick businesses. A church. A playground with a crooked swing.
I can’t stop hearing the doctor’s voice.
How far along did you say you were? Any complications? Do you have support at home?
Support at home.
I almost laughed. Or cried. Or both.
Instead I mumbled something safe. Something nonspecific. Something that wouldn’t alert anyone that the father of this child might kill me if he knew the baby existed.
My fingers curl tighter around the ultrasound photo.
Beck glances over at me. His jaw is tight, the muscle ticking. “Izzy,” he whispers, “we’ll figure this out. You and me. Okay?”
I swallow, nod, blink hard. “Okay.”
But the lie tastes bitter.
Because nothing is okay. Nothing has been okay since the moment I realized Dick Dane wasn’t the loving, grieving widower he pretended to be—but something else entirely. Something colder. Something calculating. Something capable of violence so sudden it left no room for screams.
I open my mouth to tell Beck that I’m scared—really scared—but the words never get out.
Because that’s when it happens.
Blue lights explode behind us.
Flashing. Spinning. A shock of color slicing through the murky afternoon.
I freeze. Every muscle in my body locks. Breath lodges in my throat like a stone.
“No,” I whisper. “No—no—no, Beck—”
“I know,” he mutters, his grip tightening on the wheel. “Just stay calm. It’s probably nothing.”
But we both know that’s a lie.
My pulse is hammering so loud I can hear it in my ears. The lights reflect across the windshield, painting Beck’s face blue, then red, then blue again. The truck slows, tires crunching over gravel as he pulls onto the shoulder.
My entire body is trembling now.
“It’s him,” I breathe. “He found me.”
“Hey—” Beck reaches for my hand, squeezing hard. “Look at me. You’re safe. I’m right here. I won’t let anyone take you. Understand?”
But I’m spiraling too fast to hear him.
What if the officer recognizes me? What if Dick put out a missing person alert? What if he claimed I was mentally unstable? Pregnant and fragile? What if he said anything he needed to say to get me back?
And God—God, I know people would believe him.
He’s charming. Polished. With money and influence dripping off him like expensive cologne.
I pull my hood up instinctively, like fabric can make me invisible.
The officer approaches slowly, the gravel under his boots crackling like static. A flashlight beam slices across Beck’s window and then sweeps over me. I flinch at the brightness.
“Afternoon,” the officer says in a clipped Maine accent. “You folks headed out of town?”
Beck nods. “Yes, sir. Just leaving the clinic.”
The officer peers closer, his flashlight lingering on my face a moment too long. “Ma’am? You okay?”
I force a nod. My heart is going to shake itself apart.
Then he says the words that make the world tilt sideways:
“We got a call earlier today. Missing pregnant woman. Fits your description.”
My lungs collapse.
Beck stiffens. “A call from who?”
“Fiancé, apparently,” the officer says. “Claims she may be experiencing stress-induced confusion. Wants to ensure she’s safe.”
For a minute, everything goes silent. Completely silent.
Then a thin, broken sound slips out of me. “He’s looking for me.”
I don’t even realize I said it aloud.
The officer’s expression shifts—concern mixed with suspicion. “Ma’am, are you traveling willingly? Do you need help?”
My mouth opens. No sound comes out.
If I say yes, I’m safe now…but I’ll be hunted harder.
If I say no, they might call him.
Beck speaks before I can fall apart. “She’s overwhelmed. It’s been a long appointment, and she hasn’t been sleeping well.”
The officer looks at him like he’s weighing the truth.
His flashlight lands on my trembling hands.
“Ma’am,” he repeats, “are you choosing to be here?”
Beck squeezes my hand so tightly it anchors me. I inhale sharply—a trembling, shaky breath—and whisper, “I’m not going back. Please don’t make me go back.”
For a moment, the officer’s face softens. Really softens. Something human flickers in his eyes.
Then he nods slowly.
“Alright,” he says. “Alright. Just making sure.”
I almost collapse with relief.
He gives Beck a warning about a defective taillight, and then…
He leaves.
Just like that.
We sit there, silent. Frozen.
The sound of his cruiser pulling away is the loudest sound in the world.
When Beck finally drives forward again, my breath breaks. A sob rips out of me so forcefully it folds me in half.
Beck swears softly and steers off the main road, pulling into a small, empty parking lot behind a deserted bait shop. The truck idles loudly in the quiet air.
He unbuckles his seatbelt, reaches across the console, and pulls me into his chest.
“Izzy—hey—hey, look at me,” he whispers, brushing tears off my cheeks with rough thumbs. “It’s over. You hear me? He didn’t find you.”
I cling to his shirt like a lifeline, shaking so hard my teeth chatter.
“He’s everywhere,” I choke. “I can’t outrun him, Beck— I can’t—he’s got money and people and influence—he’s going to find me—”
“No.” Beck cups my jaw gently, forcing me to meet his eyes. They’re burning. Fierce. “You listen to me, Izzy Clarke. I will not let him take you. I will not let him hurt you. Do you understand? I don’t care what he has—I’m not letting you go.”
I sob into his chest. His arms wrap around me—warm, solid, shaking slightly himself.
“I’m so scared,” I whisper. “I don’t know what to do.”
He presses his forehead to mine. “We keep going. We keep moving. We stay ahead of him. He will not win.”
“But the baby,” I whisper, breaking apart. “What if—what if he finds out—”
“He won’t,” Beck says instantly, voice trembling with conviction. “I promise you, Izzy. I swear on my life.”
I lean into him, breathing in the warmth of his flannel, the familiar pine scent I’ve missed so desperately. His heartbeat thuds against my cheek—steady, grounding.
The fear slowly loosens its grip, just enough for me to breathe again.
Beck pulls back only when my sobs fade to hiccups. He wipes my cheeks with his thumb and kisses my hair.
“We keep going,” he repeats softly. “As long as you want me with you…I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
A lump rises in my throat. Emotion thick, blinding.
“I want you with me,” I whisper.
Beck closes his eyes like the words knock the wind out of him. “Thank God.”
He starts the truck again, pulling back onto the highway. The road stretches out ahead—dark, uncertain, dangerous.
In the rearview mirror…
Blue lights flash again.
Not behind us.
Not following.
Just crossing an intersection two blocks back.
But my blood runs cold.
Because it’s a reminder:
The net is tightening.
And Dick Dane is getting closer.