The doors of the first vehicle swung open.

Two men in dark, heavy overcoats stepped out onto the icy gravel.

They did not look like the tourists who occasionally wandered into our quiet town.

They stood flanking the path to the bakery door, their hands folded in front of them, eyes scanning the empty street.

Then the rear door of the second SUV opened.

A man stepped out into the biting wind.

He wore a tailored dark cashmere coat, unbuttoned, showing a charcoal gray suit beneath.

Even from behind the warped glass of the old window, I recognized the sharp angle of his shoulders.

Damon Vale.

He paused on the sidewalk, looking up at the wooden sign for *Marlene’s Sweet Treats*.

His face was pale from the cold, his jaw set in the same rigid line I had dreamed about in my worst nightmares.

“Go to the back, Marlene,” I said, my voice barely a breath. “Get Leo.”

“Is that him?” she asked, her eyes wide with sudden realization. “The man from the papers?”

“Please,” I said, my chest tightening. “Just lock the kitchen door behind you.”