“Don’t repeat that. Not to anyone. You need to prove you’re not a threat or that you’re scared out of your mind and won’t say anything.”

“That killing me would be more complicated for them than keeping me alive,” I say. I’ve spent the last two years finding out everything I can about the Death Mob. Now everyone expects me to stop cold turkey like a chain-smoker who just found out she has cancer. It’s not that simple.

Ryan points to my necklace—the one my dad gave me a few weeks before he died. “I saw your dad the night he gave that to you.”

I reach for the silver pendant, tracing the imprinted four-leaf clover with my index finger.

“He said he didn’t believe in luck, but he’d do anything to protect you from the bad guys.”

A sting forms behind my eyes. I clench my stomach to keep from crying. My dad was well-connected. Made promises. Might have been able to protect Ryan if he really wanted out like he claims. But the sentimental way Ryan talks about my dad indicates he might have known a more personal side to him. The man I knew, who ate Lucky Charms and sat cross-legged with me on our living room floor when we ate our cereal, who taught me how to water ski and picnicked with me at the outdoor concerts in Grant Park.

Most people never got the chance to see that side of him.

“Your dad didn’t scare easily, but he was scared for you.”

I remember the night he came home and put a tiny brown box in front of me at the dinette table while I was studying. He stood across from me with his hands tucked into his pockets, waiting for me to acknowledge it. Deeply etched lines surrounded his eyes and the corners of his mouth. His hair seemed grayer, and I remember realizing how much of a toll this case was taking on him. He smiled and nodded at the box. “Just a little something.”

I opened it to find the necklace, its simple silver disk resting on a cotton square.

“For luck,” he said as I lifted it out of the box and let it twist around my fingers.

Instead of thanking him or telling him how perfect it was, I said, “You don’t believe in luck.”

He walked around the table, lifted the chain from my hands, and fastened it around my neck. “I’m pretty lucky to have you,” he said, kissing the crown of my head. Without another word, he went upstairs to change out of his suit.

I wore the necklace every day after that.

Ryan looks down at my leg touching his thigh as if noticing it for the first time. He and my dad might have been close, and Ryan might have saved my life because of it. But that doesn’t make Ryan innocent.