Ten minutes later I rang the doorbell, pacing the patio that Mackenzie had spent hours decorating. She always went a little overboard with her outdoor motifs, but her current hummingbird theme full of purples and teals was quite eye-catching. A hummingbird feeder dangled from the awning, along with hanging baskets of fuchsia petunias and violet geraniums. A rustic bistro set inlaid with colorful tile had given us many spring mornings enjoying coffee and chitchat over the years. I wondered where she had purchased the décor, and if I could pull off a similar look on my own back porch.

When Owen answered the door, I couldn’t remember all the curse words and threats I had practiced on the drive over. I couldn’t speak. I glared up at him in fist-clenched, sizzling wrath, our eyes dueling.

“Come to thank me for setting your son straight?” His face was so eerily expressionless that I struggled to hold myself back. Then his lips curled in a nasty smirk. “Don’t worry. Becoming some thug’s girlfriend in jail will make him think twice about raping another innocent girl.”

I slapped him across the cheek with every ounce of strength in me. His head swung back, and when he turned to face me again, his hazel eyes smoldered.

“Tell your son he’s going to need a damn good lawyer, you bitch.”

That was a choice word coming from Owen, the man who never swore.

“Never come near my family again or you’ll be fertilizing the new lilac I just planted.” I stormed down the walkway to my car, a mixture of satisfaction and adrenaline pulsing through me. I’d had the last word, and I meant it. Owen could swing his big gun around, hiding behind empty threats and violent words. I didn’t need the fanfare, though, because I was the sniper who would pull the trigger.

When I got home I found Grant in bed reading and Lucas gone. The rose petals had been cleaned up, the candles blown out, bathtub drained.

“I put Fizz to bed,” Grant mumbled.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” I said. “But something happened that I had to take care of.”

He barely looked up at me, then returned to his book. “It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t.

“Owen punched Ryan in the face. I had to confront him, Grant. I couldn’t let it go.”

That got a reaction. Grant closed the book and looked at me hard. “He did what?”

“He attacked Ryan.”

“Why would he ever hit Ryan? I don’t understand.”

I didn’t know how to explain it. Ryan had enough to worry about; he didn’t need a lecture from Grant on top of everything else. “Ryan and Aria had sex, and they had been drinking. Owen thinks Ryan forced himself on Aria, but I talked to Ryan and it doesn’t sound like that’s what happened.”