“The police aren’t the enemy, J.D.” They crossed the parking lot and she wanted to throttle him. Who was he to play the role of concerned father? “Besides, you have no right”—she stopped at her car and whirled, thrusting a finger into his chest—“no right, to come barging in there.”

“I thought you might need a little help and all I did was to encourage him to tell the truth without falling into any traps. Stephen did fine.” His eyes when they found hers stopped her cold. An awareness of something dangerous and primal slid through her and she had trouble finding her tongue.

“I think I already told you that I . . . we . . . are doing fine on our own.”

“Are you?” He gestured to Stephen as the boy slid into the passenger seat of her car. “He looks like he just came out of a war zone and he’s getting into more than his share of trouble.”

“I’m working on it, Jay.”

“Then what about Christina? I’ve heard her scream in the middle of the night.”

“I don’t think this is the time or place,” she said. The conversation was twisting in directions that she couldn’t control.

“When?”

“What?”

“When would be the time and place?” he asked. “Whether you know it or not, we need to talk.”

She shot a glance at Stephen and saw him staring at her with wary eyes. “Later.”

“How much later?”

“I don’t know—”

“Tonight,” he said.

“No, the kids—”

“They can stay alone for a couple of hours.”

He waved to Stephen as he made his way across the parking lot to his rig. Stephen lifted his hand halfheartedly and J.D. nodded. Without a backward glance he climbed into his Jeep and drove away, leaving Tiffany to simmer and stew. Angry and confused, she slid into the sun-baked interior of her car and quickly started it.

“What was that all about?” Stephen demanded. He fiddled with the buttons of the radio, changing from station to station.

“Who knows?” Checking her rearview mirror, she backed out of the parking lot.

“I don’t remember him hanging out with Dad a lot.”

“He didn’t.”

“So why’s he here now?” Stephen settled on a station that Tiffany didn’t recognize, then slumped in his seat and stared glumly through the window.

“I don’t know. He’s just concerned, I guess.”

“Is he really a lawyer?” Stephen asked, chewing on his lower lip and rubbing his elbow nervously.

“Yes.” She felt a needle of fear prick her scalp. “Why?”

“Just wonderin’,” Stephen said, but Tiffany read more into the question and her heart sank. “Stephen,” she said softly. “Do you need an attorney?”

“No,” he answered quickly. Too quickly.

Careful, Tiffany, she cautioned herself. Tread lightly. “You’re sure?”