So Tessa Leoni had shot Tommy Howe once in the leg. If D.D. pictured the scene in her mind, the choreography made sense. Tessa, sixteen years old, terrified, pressed down into the sofa cushions by the weight of a bigger, stronger male. Her right hand fumbling beside her, feeling the lump of her purse digging into her hip. Fishing for her father’s twenty-two, finally getting her hand around the grip, wedging it between their bodies …

Walthers had been right—damned unlucky for Tommy that he’d died from such a wound. All things considered, unlucky for Tessa, too, as she’d lost her father and her best friend over it.

It sounded like justifiable homicide, given the number of other women willing to corroborate Tommy’s history of sexual assault. And yet, for one woman to have now been involved in two fatal shootings … First one involving an aggressive teenage boy. Second one involving an abusive husband. First incident a single shot to the leg that just happened to prove fatal. Second incident three shots to the chest, center of the kill zone.

Two shootings. Two incidents of self-defense. Bad luck, D.D. mused, taking a second small sip of orange juice. Or learning curve?

Walthers and Bobby finished up their meals. Bobby grabbed the check, Walthers grunted his thanks. They exchanged cards, then Walthers went his way, leaving Bobby and D.D. standing alone on the sidewalk.

Bobby turned to her the second Walthers disappeared around the corner. “Something you want to tell me, D.D.?”

“No.”

He clenched his jaw, looked like he might press the matter, then didn’t. He turned away, studying the front awning of the diner. If D.D. didn’t know better, she’d think his feelings were hurt.

“Got a question for you,” D.D. said, to change the subject and ease the tension. “I keep coming back to Tessa Leoni, forced to kill two men in two separate incidents of self-defense. I’m wondering, is she that unlucky, or is she that smart?”

That caught Bobby’s attention. He turned back to her, expression intent.

“Think about it,” D.D. continued. “Tessa’s hung out to dry at sixteen, ends up pregnant and alone at twenty-one. But then, in her own words, she rebuilds her life. Sobers up. Gives birth to a beautiful daughter, becomes a respectable police officer, even meets a great guy. Until the first time he drinks too much and whacks her. Now what does she do?”

“Cops don’t confide in other cops,” Bobby said stiffly.