Day two of needing to punch the neighbor in the face and failing to find the right opportunity left Kaylin with more adrenaline than ideal. She did turn her back on the neighbor, on the off chance he’d try to push her or trip her, but Jamal—she assumed it was Jamal—had killed the mood entirely.

He’d also broken a mug, by the look of the ceramic shards at the foot of the stairs. Kaylin stopped to pick up the larger pieces, and then went into the house to find a broom.

“You don’t have to do that,” Mrs. Erickson began.

“I’ll let you talk to Jamal first. I’ll clean up the shards while you do.”

“You shouldn’t antagonize him.”

Kaylin smiled; she knew him referred to the neighbor. “I should be more adept at it, yes. He’s clearly a coward, and I wasn’t acting intimidated or terrified enough.”

“She’s right,” Jamal said, coming into view. He was, no surprise, ferocious in his youthful rage.

“That doesn’t mean,” Kaylin then said, “that you throwing things out the window is helping anything.”

“He ran away,” was the sullen reply.

“Before I could hit him back, yes.”

“Why don’t you just hit him first?”

“I’m an officer of the law,” she replied. “Hitting him first is assault. Hitting him back isn’t.”

“You’re mad.”

“I am. Did you see what happened to Mrs. Erickson this morning?”

Jamal shook his head, grim now. “Esmeralda says he slapped her. He’s afraid of us.”

“Maybe we should invite him in.”

“Corporal,” Mrs. Erickson said, the word an admonition.

Kaylin tried to remember she was talking to a child, and grudgingly relented. “What exactly is his problem? Was he always like this?”

“Not until he lost his wife. He started to drink.”

“Was that recent?”

Mrs. Erickson said yes. Jamal said no. The latter was far, far angrier than Kaylin, and Kaylin was pretty angry. She took a breath and fell back on the training that had allowed her, in the end, to be a Hawk. “When did he start to harass you?”

Mrs. Erickson was silent.

Jamal was not. “Two years ago, give or take a few months. We’re not great at keeping track of living time. He hammered on the door and forced himself into the house—not that she was trying to keep him out.”

“What did he do?”

“He wanted to look for something. He accused her of stealing it. From him.”

“Did he say what it was?”

“No. Mrs. Erickson doesn’t steal. She’s probably never been anywhere near his house!”