To cover the slight trembling of her hands, she kept moving. She washed up and gave Danny a new muffin.

“Thanks.” He went back to his stool, as if he knew she needed the space, but he didn’t touch the coffee or pastry. Instead, he just looked at her with those striking eyes that seemed to see everything she was hiding.

She reached for her risen dough. A quick punch deflated the spongy lump. She floured her marble board and dumped the bowl onto it.

Danny leaned both elbows on the counter. “Has the detective been in touch?”

“He stopped in a few weeks ago.” She divided the dough into quarters and reached for her rolling pin. The familiar motions settled her. “There aren’t any leads. The case is going nowhere. They think Nathan is probably dead.”

“Does it bother you not to know for sure?”

Mandy hesitated. “There’s nothing I can do about it. Frankly, I just want to put the whole thing behind me.” That, at least, was the truth. She rolled the dough into a rectangle.

“He tried to abduct you. He stabbed your friend. He killed people. Aren’t you afraid he’ll come back?”

Yes. Mandy’s fingers tightened on the wooden handles. The .38 pressed against her back. “It’s been four months. If he’s still around and interested in me, what’s he waiting for?”

He let her question go, but his mouth tightened into a line as flat as the edge of her cleaver. “I’m meeting with Detective Rossi tomorrow.”

“Why?” For Mandy, digging into the case would be like poking a hibernating bear with a stick. She’d had more than enough of State Police Detective Rossi, with his sharp eyes and I-don’t-miss-anything demeanor.

“My sister doesn’t sleep at night. Do you?”

Mandy paused. Exhaustion washed through her. Damn him. Why did he have to rehash everything? She was having enough trouble maintaining her staying-vigilant-but-trying-not-to-think-about-it balancing act. She pounded the dough flat, formed a loaf, and shoved it into a greased pan. “Detective Rossi said we might never know what happened to Nathan. I have to live with that.”

“But can you?”

“You make it sound like it’s a choice. It’s not.” She slapped another quarter of dough onto her board and attacked it with the wooden pin. “Do you know how many people have tried to find him? What makes you think you can make a difference?”

“Because for me, this is personal. I have to try.”

Mandy stared at her abused bread dough. It was personal for her, too. Her family was just as much at risk, maybe even more so, than Danny’s sister, who was now hundreds of miles away.

If he only knew…