“Yeah.” Of course, he’d always had that. His parents were good people. They’d supported his wish to become a cop, even though it hadn’t been what they’d wanted for him. Now he had Jennifer. Even though she wasn’t making him dinner anymore, she still took time to text or call him every couple of days. “You’ve been alone a lot, haven’t you?”
Her nod was almost imperceptible, but he saw it. “I didn’t grow up like Shannon. I was in foster care and then a group home.”
He knew enough about those to know that a lot of situations weren’t safe or loving environments. “How bad was it?”
“Huh? Oh, not too bad.”
“Really?” He didn’t know why he pressed.
But instead of looking uncomfortable, she kind of half shrugged. “Ms. Henderson was real strict, but fair. And, she only kept five girls at a time. We had space, too. We only had to share a room with one other girl. Then, when I was the oldest I got a room to myself.”
“Do you still keep in touch with her?”
“No.” She inhaled, then murmured, “She ran a tight ship, but it wasn’t like we became buddies or anything.” She ran a fingertip around the rim of the glass. “Some girls got along better than me. I can see them writing to her.”
“What about the other girls? Do you keep in touch with any of them?”
“I did for a while . . . but it was hard, you know? I had real good grades in high school, and I always knew I wanted to be a cop. I got a full ride to the community college and to the police academy. So, I had somewhere to go. Everyone else wasn’t that lucky.”
Dylan knew that the system didn’t offer many choices for an eighteen-year-old. There were too many needy kids to take care of. “I’m glad you girls found each other.”
She smiled faintly. “You mean Shannon found us. If not for her, I’d still be exhausted in Cleveland.” Pulling a ten out of a pocket, she tossed it on the bar. “And speaking of not being alone, I’m going to head on home.” She winked. “I heard Jennifer was cooking tonight.”
“Don’t tell me that.”
“Do you want to come over? I’m sure no one would mind.”
“Thanks, but I’m not quite ready to see my sister yet.”
Her expression turned guarded. “If she asks about Lance, what do you want me to say?”
“I’m not going to tell you what to tell her, Traci. Say what you want.”
“But—”
He smiled tiredly. “But if she asks, let her know that I’ll stop by to see her in the morning.”
“I’ll do that. Have a good night.”
He watched her leave, realizing that she was walking home. Also that she’d lifted her badge back out over her shirt so it was visible. He wondered why until he saw that she was talking with a group of teenagers on the corner.
He grinned to himself. And that was definitely what she was doing, too. Just talking with them. Being friendly. A person to know in the community. The sight made his day a little better. She was going to be just fine in Bridgeport.
“Anything else, Dylan?” the bartender asked.
He was about to tell her no until he remembered that he had an empty refrigerator at home. “Get me a menu, would you? I need an order to go.”
* * *
The next morning, not even a carefully insulated bag of lasagna was making the conversation easier. It turned out that Jennifer had gone out for ice cream with Jack, so she hadn’t talked to Traci at all.
Which meant he got to share the news that Lance still wasn’t behind bars, was probably cockier than ever, and that he didn’t think she should cater the murder-mystery party at Camille’s bookstore.
Jennifer had stayed silent while he’d talked, obviously doing her best to take in all the bad news as calmly as she was able. He’d given her that space, knowing that he’d had almost twenty hours to come to terms with what happened.
But then, she’d shaken her head. “I’m not going to do that.”
“You’re not going to cater the event?”
“No, I mean I’m not going to hide anymore,” Jennifer said, her voice firm. “I’m doing it, Dylan.”
“But it’s not safe.” He wasn’t exaggerating, either. He could feel in his bones that something was about to happen.
“It’s also not safe for me to stay home and be afraid.”
“Jennifer, this is a lot to take in. I think as soon as you think about it, you’ll agree with me.”
“This is a lot, but I’m not going to change my mind. I need to do this event, Dylan.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“And I don’t want to get hurt. But I also really don’t want to go back to where I was.”
“Jen . . .”
“Why don’t we all go?” Shannon said from the doorway.
She joined them in the loft’s kitchenette. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but well, there aren’t a lot of walls in here. Private conversations are hard to keep private.”
He stood up. “Hey.”
“Listen, I know you don’t agree with Jennifer, but how about if Traci and you are there? That’s two cops keeping a close eye out, right?”
He nodded but immediately had a flash of what could happen—what if Shannon got hurt, too? “I don’t want anything to happen to you. To any of you.”
“Dylan, I’m going to be in the kitchen. Jack will be there, too. And all of you. That’s enough.” Jennifer’s voice was firm, her expression resolved.
He knew his sister was right. He knew Shannon’s idea was a good one. Unfortunately, he knew that bad guys were good at screwing up even the best plans.
“All right,” he said. “You ladies are right.”
“Thanks, Dylan,” Jennifer said, giving him a hug before leaving the room.
“I’m proud of you,” Shannon said. “I know that wasn’t easy.”
“I’m starting to realize that I want to keep everyone I love in a cocoon. I’ll try to not do that.”
She looked at him with wonder. “Did you mean that?”
He realized what she was asking. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I did. I love you, Shannon.”
Her smile was brilliant right before she reached up and kissed him.