Shortly before midnight, they’d walked through Mayfair all the way to Maida Vale to find that London had been transformed into a winter wonderland with the snow on the ground glistening in the reflected holiday lights. The only thing missing was a reformed Ebenezer Scrooge racing down the street with a huge turkey earmarked for Bob Cratchit and Tiny Tim.

When Rachel told John she needed to spend at least one night under her father’s roof, he hadn’t protested—and it made her like him that much more.

“There will be plenty of time after all this madness is over,” he’d told her.

In that moment, she’d been brought back to the harsh reality of what had brought them together in the first place. “Do you think it will be soon?”

“It damn well better be.”

And Rachel knew he had come crashing back to murderous Earth as well.

This time when she let herself in the house, it wasn’t Everett waiting for her.

“It’s nice to see he walked you home.”

Her father was sitting by the window in the living room. He had the same notepad in his lap that she’d seen on his desk earlier that day.

“Mom used to wait in the exact same place,” she said sitting down beside him.

“Except for the times she waited upstairs for you to come up off the trellis.”

“She told you about that, huh?”

“There were very few secrets between me and your mother, Rach.”

She felt something pull inside of her and turned away slightly.

“I know that.”

“Rachel . . .”

She turned back to look at him. “I think he’s a good man, Daddy.”

“I know he’s a good policeman.”

“And I probably should have said something to you.”

“You’re a grown woman—you don’t need to explain everything you do.”

“Uh-huh.”

She watched as her father struggled with what he wanted to say next.

“But you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide things from me either.”

Rachel closed her eyes briefly. Oh, if you only knew.

When she opened them, she realized she had to say something.

“I’m trying, Dad. I really am.” She looked around the house she’d grown up in and, though she’d only been gone a few years, those days seemed a lifetime away. “It’s just, things are changing so quickly.”

“You can say that again.”

She indicated the notepad. “Still working on what you’re going to say?”

“It’s sort of one big mess.”

“Can I look?”

Grant hesitated.

“It’s a work in progress, I understand,” said Rachel. “Maybe I can make a suggestion or two. I didn’t know Sergeant Hawley as well as you, but he was in my life for a long time.”

Her father reluctantly handed the pad over. Rachel read through it and realized by the end that she was holding her breath.