Chapter 3: Dangerous Ground
By the end of my first week in Riverside, I'd almost convinced myself that we might actually be safe here. Emma was sleeping through the night for the first time in months.
And Jake... Jake kept showing up.
Not in an obvious way—he was too smart for that. But somehow he always seemed to be driving by when my shift ended, offering to walk us home. Or stopping in for coffee during the afternoon lull. He never pushed, never asked the questions I could see burning in his eyes.
It was that steadiness that scared me most. I'd learned not to trust it.
"He's sweet on you," Emma announced on Friday evening as we walked home from the diner. Jake had offered his usual escort, and I'd declined as usual, but Emma had waved at him through the patrol car window.
"Sheriff Miller is just being friendly, baby girl."
"He looks at you like Tommy's daddy looks at Miss Jenny."
I stumbled slightly. "What do you mean?"
"Like you're something special. Like he wants to take care of you."
Out of the mouths of babes. My five-year-old daughter had better romantic instincts than I did. But she hadn't learned to associate male attention with danger.
"Were you friends when you were kids?" Emma asked.
"We were... close friends. Very close."
"What happened?"
"Sometimes people grow up and go different places. It doesn't mean they stop caring about each other."
Emma was quiet for a moment. "Is that why Daddy isn't with us anymore?"
My chest tightened. Emma rarely asked about David anymore, How do you explain to a five-year-old that her father was a monster?
"Something like that, sweetheart."
"I don't remember him very much. Is that okay?"
Relief flooded through me. "That's perfectly okay."
"Good. I like Sheriff Miller better anyway. He has nice eyes."
That night, after Emma was asleep, I sat in our tiny kitchen with tea and tried to figure out what I was doing. For three years, my only goal had been survival—keep Emma safe, stay hidden, don't get attached. But Riverside was making me want things I'd convinced myself I could never have.
Like Jake Miller looking at me with those kind brown eyes.
A soft knock at the door made me freeze. It was almost ten o'clock—too late for casual visitors. My hand went automatically to the baseball bat beside the refrigerator.
"Lisa? It's Jake."
I sagged with relief, then immediately felt guilty. This was exactly the kind of thinking I needed to stop—assuming every unexpected sound meant David had found us.
I opened the door to find Jake still in uniform but looking uncertain.
"I'm sorry to bother you so late. I saw your light on. Can I come in?"
I hesitated. Letting him into our safe space felt like crossing a line I wasn't sure I was ready to cross.
"Is everything okay?"
"Can we talk? Please?"
I stepped aside. He looked around our small living room, taking in the sparse furniture,
"Lisa, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me." His expression was serious. "Are you in some kind of trouble? Are you and Emma running from something?"
The question hung between us like a loaded gun. I'd known this moment would come eventually—Jake was too observant to miss the signs.
"Why would you think that?"
"Three deadbolts on your door. Emma flinches when men raise their voices. You pay for everything in cash, and you watch every car that drives by like you're expecting trouble." He stepped closer. "And the way you reacted when I touched your hand that first day... Someone hurt you. Badly."
I wrapped my arms around myself. "It's complicated."
"Then help me understand."
The kindness in his voice almost undid me. It had been so long since someone had offered to help shoulder my burdens.
"I can't. If I tell you everything, you'll want to fix it. You'll want to arrest him or do something official. And that will just make it worse."
"Him?" Jake's jaw tightened. "Emma's father."
It wasn't a question, and I didn't deny it.
"Lisa, if he's threatening you—"
"He doesn't know where we are." The words came out too fast, too desperate. "We've been careful. We changed our names, paid cash for everything, never stayed anywhere too long."
Jake was quiet for a moment. "How long have you been running?"
"Three years."
"Jesus." He ran a hand through his hair. "Lisa, you can't keep living like this. Emma can't keep living like this."
"We're fine. We're safe here."
"For how long? You can't run forever."
"I can try."
The pain in my voice must have gotten through to him because his expression softened. "What did he do to you?"
The question was barely a whisper, but it hit like a shout. I closed my eyes, remembering hands around my throat, fists against my ribs, the cold terror of knowing that the person who was supposed to love me most wanted to destroy me.
"Everything," I whispered.
When I opened my eyes, Jake looked stricken.
"I'm sorry. God, Lisa, I'm so sorry."
"I tried to leave before. Twice. He found me both times. The last time..." I touched my ribs unconsciously. "That's when I knew I had to disappear completely."
"What's his name?"
"Jake—"
"I won't do anything official. I just need to know who I'm watching for."
I studied his face, seeing nothing but genuine concern and barely contained anger—not at me, but for me. "David Harper. He's a lawyer in Atlanta. Well-connected, charming, respected. No one would believe what he's really like."
"I believe you."
Those three words broke something open in my chest. When was the last time someone had simply believed me?
"You don't have to thank me for believing the truth." He looked around our apartment again. "I want to help you. Not as a cop, just as someone who cares about you and Emma."
"You can't fix this, Jake. Some things are too broken to fix."
"Maybe some things aren't broken—just bent. And maybe with enough support, they can straighten out again."
I wanted to believe him. God, how I wanted to believe that healing was possible.
"I don't know how to not be afraid," I admitted.
"Then let me be brave enough for both of us until you remember how."
The offer hung between us, beautiful and terrifying.
"If he finds us..."
"He won't. And if he does, he'll have to go through me first."
"I need time to think," I said finally.
"Of course." He moved toward the door, then paused. "Lisa? Whatever you decide, I'm not going anywhere. I ran away from you once, and I'll regret it for the rest of my life. I won't make that mistake again."
After he left, I sat in my dark kitchen for a long time, listening to Emma's peaceful breathing. For the first time in years, I let myself imagine a different kind of life. One where we stayed in one place long enough to call it home.
It was a dangerous dream. But maybe, just maybe, it wasn't impossible.