Several of the group were. Desmond had admitted he possessed a concealed weapons permit, Roger was big into the NRA, and Milo dressed in camouflage from head to toe. They all were quiet types, who listened more than shared, and Brianna had suspected that, if they didn’t open up to the group one of these days, they would probably drop out. More than once she had wondered about those three. She had caught Milo looking at her when he didn’t think she could see him. She had seen Roger grow red in the face at something Tanisha had said about women not needing a man. She thought that, if prodded, Roger might explode like a pimple under the skin. As for Desmond, she suspected that he’d been in or was currently in some kind of emotionally abusive relationship. Similar to Elise, who seemed to cower at the mention of her ghost of a domineering boyfriend, Ashton. The signs of victimization were there.

“Give me a sec,” she said to Tanisha, then pushed the button on the coffee grinder. It screamed for half a minute as the blades whirled and chewed up the whole beans.

“Holy shit! What’s that?”

“My next pot of coffee. I grind my own, you know.”

“And wake the whole damned neighborhood in the process. You about blew out my eardrum, girl!”

“Never the one for melodrama,” Brianna teased.

Tanisha chuckled.

“How was Selma after she left the restaurant?”

“The same, but kind of disappointed, you know. I think she half-expected the girls to be there at the house. But they weren’t, and their car was still parked where they’d left it.”

Brianna was not surprised by that.

“I figured Enrique would have phoned you.”

“He knows how I feel about any kind of violence.”

“Yeah, but he knows how you feel about finding Selma’s twins. Huh. And get this, I got another call, too. From Elise. Can you believe that?”

“It is a support group.”

“I know, but I haven’t exactly been quiet about what I think about that loser of a boyfriend she has. Ashton. Humph.”

Tanisha was rarely quiet about anything; she put her opinions out there. And when it came to men who lacked respect for women, she did not hold back. A result of her horrid track record with boyfriends. “But she called,” Brianna prodded, filling the coffeepot from the tap, then pouring water into the coffeemaker’s reservoir.

“Yeah, yeah. Worried, you know. Wanted to help.”

“Why didn’t she call me or Selma?”

“I don’t think she wanted to be too nosy or have Selma think she was intruding. You know, give Selma her space.”

“Okay. And me?”

“I think she finds you intimidating.”

“Me?” Brianna turned on the coffeemaker as St. Ives returned and threaded his way in figure eights between her legs. “What about you?”