Three news alerts pop up on my screen at once.

EBEN CAPE COP MISTRIAL

JOE CAUSEY WALKS FREE

I don’t read the third one. The first two have date stamps of ninety minutes ago, and two hours ago. Two hours ago.

“Fuck.”

“Sir?”

“Forget it.” I reach across the counter and take my card out of her hands. Shove my phone in my pocket. How did I miss this? Why did the alerts take so damn long to get to me?

Why did I ever leave Jane by herself?

The café’s not far, but I can’t force myself to walk. I’m at a dead sprint by the time I reach the front door.

It’s not right in here. One of the girls behind the counter is sobbing. People are staring toward the back door. A couple pushes past me. They’re hurrying to get out.

“Jane.” Heads turn, but none of them is hers. She said she’d be out back. At the patio.

I’m there in seconds.

She’s not.

There’s a group of college kids huddled around a table. Two of them fight near the back gate. “It’s not enough,” a girl with purple hair shouts. “They’re not going to get here soon enough. Kevin. Kevin. The cops aren’t going to be here in time. We have to go out there.”

“He has a gun. He could shoot us.” His hands are flying over his phone. “I’m going to call again. But I’m not letting you go out there.”

“You can’t stop me,” she fires back.

“Where is she?”

The girl’s eyes open wide, and she points through the gate of the fence. It’s busted open.

Beyond her, at the opposite end of the parking lot, I can see them.

Joe.

Jane.

He’s got his hands on her.

Everything tinges red. I storm across the parking lot without looking for cars. He’s trying to get her into the back seat. Jane’s resisting. Digging her heels in. She’s maybe a foot from the open door, and Joe’s swinging her body.

He puts his arm around her neck for leverage.

“No,” I shout at him. “Get your goddamn hands off her.”

Joe whirls around, bringing Jane with him. He puts his gun to her head, his arm tightening around her neck. I’m made of adrenaline and anger. Nobody’s going to touch her like this. Nobody’s going to hurt her.

“I don’t think so,” says Joe. “I don’t fucking think so. I’m taking her with me. I’m finishing this.”

“Let her go.”

“No. Maybe I’d like to see what’s got you so pussy-whipped.” I’m fucking sure he would. Joe’s a goddamn nightmare. No one wants that.

“You and I both know she has nothing to do with this.”