He gestured to a cut on her arm from the rocks, a small bit of blood beginning to form.

“Sit tight for one second. I’ll grab a first aid kit.”

“That’s not necessary. I don’t need it,” she said.

He hesitated, still kneeling beside her. “You don’t understand what it was like. I can’t go through this. Not again. If you don’t go, I’ll have no choice but to—”

“Call the cops? I work for the LAPD. They’ll send me away with a warning and I’ll come back here. I’ll keep coming back until you talk to me.”

Becca held his gaze, wanting him to see she wasn’t giving up. Hell, she would set up camp in this goddam garden if she had to. Paul sighed heavily and placed his hand in hers, lifting her up off the ground. Becca took it and he gestured to the small garden table tucked in the corner. She took a seat in one of the wrought-iron chairs.

“The last thing I want is to upset you. I came here today because I believe your wife was responsible for assaulting my daughter, and I need answers.”

She reached into her pocket and held out her phone, Ash’s face appearing on the home screen. “Ash is in the ICU. She was beaten and stabbed and left for dead on a street in downtown LA. It’s not just Ash. There have been a series of murders, and we believe she orchestrated them. Right now we can’t prove it. I’m here because if she goes free, she will hurt other people.”

“Jesus Christ, it never ends,” Paul said, his shoulders slumping, the posture of a defeated man. He looked away from Ash’s picture as though the image physically pained him. She tucked her phone back into her pocket, and waited for him to speak.

“Aidan just turned thirteen. Your daughter, how old is she?” Paul asked.

“Sixteen and a half. Ash is… she’s my foster daughter. The things she’s been through in her life, the things she’s overcome. She’s a remarkable person.” Becca’s voice broke. She paused. “I promised would protect her.”

“I made my son the same promise,” Paul said.

They sat in silence. Becca could sense he was waging a war with himself. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault,” Becca said.

“That’s in the shrink handbook. My own therapist used to say it once a session before I fired him.”

Becca didn’t disagree. It was in the shrink handbook. In all her years as a clinician, she never found a more appropriate phrase. “Afraid it’s all I’ve got right now. I’m all tapped out on forgiveness and understanding when it comes to what’s happened these last few days. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you and your son.”