I sat in one of the Adirondack chairs on the front deck and watched Shay move from the chicken coop to the greenhouse. It had been hard for me to let her go this morning. But she’d looked at me with a stern expression and told me that this shift in our relationship couldn’t change her job. I understood that. She was holding onto a piece of normalcy she so desperately needed when the rest of her world was changing.

I’d give her that. So much of what she did was things she loved. The chickens, the gardening. I grinned as I thought about her cussing up a storm while trying to fix our generator. Maybe that wasn’t her favorite. But I knew she took immense pride in mastering it. So, things would stay as they were in that arena. And I would just have to trust in the security system I’d had installed. And in the other measures I was taking.

I pulled out my phone and hit a contact from my recent calls. The phone rang twice before someone answered. “Dante.”

“It’s Brody.”

“You’ve got good timing,” he said, the growl of an engine turning over sounding in the background.

“Why’s that?”

“I’m just leaving a meeting with the parole officer.”

I sat up straighter. “You’re in Seattle?” He was supposed to be booked up for at least another week.

“Finished up that job in Montana and something pulled at me to do another assessment of this guy.”

“And?”

“Everything’s good on paper.”

My hand tightened around my phone. “Why doesn’t that sound like a good thing?”

Dante chuckled, but it wasn’t a particularly pleasant sound. “You’ve been in what amounts to prison for ten years. You just turned twenty-one and have your first taste of freedom. What would your first stop be?”

I had to think about it for a minute. “A good meal. A beer. Seeing the people I care about.”

“He hasn’t done any of that. I mean, he eats, but he doesn’t go to bars. Doesn’t get laid. Doesn’t see anyone from his old life. As far as I can tell, he goes to work at this computer help desk place and then comes home to his shitty studio apartment. He doesn’t see a soul. No calls to or from his cell, other than to order takeout. I don’t like it.”

I scrubbed a hand over my jaw. “This guy isn’t exactly normal. From what his sister has told me, he doesn’t have it in him to care about other people.”

“I know what you said. And I’ve been doing a little reading on the subject—the condition this guy has. Something tells me this is all a show he’s putting on for anyone who might be watching.”