Chapter 17: Near Miss at the Bakery

Kaelen's POV

My boots struck the damp pavement with a steady and heavy beat. The three armed SUVs, fifty yards behind me, moved along the curb, their headlights slicing through the mist in the tunnel.

Marcus moved a little to my left, his hand tucked inside his jacket, his gaze directed over the dark storefronts and quiet alleys.

Marcus said in a quiet voice to me, "The harbourmaster confirmed a small trawler cleared the dock fifteen minutes ago; if she's on that boat…"

“She isn't on the boat,” I replied, speaking in a flat and cold tone.

“Hamish Croft had used the harbour report as a diversion to break our perimeter; Valkyrie knows how to navigate coastal waters, and she knows that a storm is approaching from the Bass Strait, so she wouldn't have put Lachlan on an open trawler in four-metre swells.”

“Then where is she?” Marcus asked, tightening down on his jaw.

"Devlin’s tracking array is completely dead. Whatever EMP pulse Croft triggered in that pump shed fried our short-range satellite telemetry.”

I didn't reply. I had no need for a satellite loop or an encrypted trace.

I knew how she moved whenever she was in a difficult situation. I was acquainted with the desperate and careful manner in which she tried to survive.

Four years ago, when she escaped from Melbourne at night, she didn't take the highway; instead, she passed through small rural towns, stopping in places where cash was given, where no digital cameras were keeping an eye on the counter, and where an exhausted mother could buy hot water and bread without drawing any additional attention.

In front of us, a small brass bell rang a clear and delicate sound that cut through the noise of the ocean.

I came to a halt, instinctively raising my hand to stop Marcus.

Warm yellow light seeped out from the glass front of the local bakery onto the wet asphalt. The wooden sign moved slightly in the cold coastal breeze: PORT CAMPBELL BAKEHOUSE.

My heart struck against my ribs, a jolt so sharp it felt like a physical strike.

"Kaelen?" Marcus whispered, tightening his grip on his holster. "What's the matter?"

I kept quiet and started moving.

I increased my speed into the wet street, even though the air had grown colder. As I got closer to the bakery's porch, the sharp, damp wind shifted, coming from the narrow alley beside the shop.

I could feel the air hitting my face.

I stayed absolutely still at the doorway of the bakery.

It was extremely subtle—so slight that anyone would have seen it as nothing more than the moisture in the morning or the effects of the local plants. But to me, it was a shock to my nervous system.

The salty air of the coast, the warm smell coming from the ovens, beneath all was the clear, unmistakable smell of crushed jasmine and wild rain.

Her scent.

The same fragrance used to coat the silk sheets of my penthouse. The smell always stayed on my skin after she slept on my chest, the one I had been looking for in every hotel room, every boardroom, and every nightmare over these four awful years.

“She was here,” I whispered, my voice taking on a harsh and dangerous tone.

I pushed open the door of the bakery so hard the brass bell rattled violently against the glass.

An elderly woman at the counter jumped, dropping a wooden bread paddle on the flour-dusted floor.

She looked up, her face paled at the sight of my tailored wool coat, my mud-spattered boots, and the fierce, terrifying anger in my eyes.

"Sir?" she stammered, backing towards the kitchen door.

"We... we won't actually be open until another ten minutes."

“The one who had just left," I asked, stepping close to the wooden counter, “where did she go?"

"I…I don't know what you're talking about," the woman stuttered, her hands shaking as she clutched her apron.

"Don't lie to me!" I snarled, my voice filled with fury, and the strength of it made the little shop feel like it shook. "A dark-haired woman with a little boy; silver eyes."

The baker took a deep breath, looking anxiously in the direction of the side door leading to the alley.

"She... she just bought two warm scones and a carton of milk; paid in cash. She didn't say a word, sir, I promise!"

I didn't wait to hear another word. I turned on my heel and pushed open the side door, stepping directly into the dark, narrow alley that lay between the bakery and the adjacent tackle shop.

The rain started falling again, heavy and freezing.

The alley was empty, just overturned plastic crates, damp cardboard boxes, and a puddle of black water reflecting the yellow streetlights.

"Valkyrie!" I shouted in the cold wind, my voice bouncing off the brick walls. “I know you can hear me!"

The noise present was the wind rushing in from the cliffs.

I descended the alley in three slow steps, taking a careful look at every shadow, each doorway, and each rusted fire escape.

Then, my boot touched a small object close to the entrance of the alley: a small wooden chess piece in the wet mud, a black rook.

I knelt down in the mud, picked up the small carved piece. It was still warm from the heat of a child's hand.

I tightened my jaw as I stood up, clenching the piece of wood firmly in my fist until the edges cut into my palm.

"She didn't take the main road, Marcus," I said in a calm tone, walking out of the alley onto the main street where Marcus was waiting with two armed guards. "She's going towards the old lighthouse trail on foot."

"Kaelen," Marcus cautioned, looking up at the dark clouds rolling in from the sea, "the storm front is crossing the bay and visibility on the cliffs has disappeared. If she tries to cross the footbridge in this wind…"

Before Marcus could finish his sentence, a loud, sharp distress siren began to wail along the Port Campbell coast, coming from the local coast guard tower.

Devlin ran up the street towards us, his tablet glowing in rain-soaked hands, his face devoid of color.

"Mr. Vance!" Devlin shouted over the wailing siren and the howling wind.

"The local emergency channel just broadcast a MAYDAY! The footbridge across Devil's Cauldron gorge has just collapsed under storm surge!"

My blood turned to pure ice.

"And Mr. Vance,” Devlin gasped, staring at his tablet with pure horror, “the coastal thermal camera had seen two people who were stuck on the collapsing central span right before the cable broke: a woman and a child."