I wrapped my arms around my stomach, a meager substitute for what I really wanted. Michael had been strong for me when I hadn’t been able to stand up for myself, but I could now. I had stood up to Aimee. Maybe I hadn’t persuaded her, but I’d been strong enough to try. And if Lena wasn’t here, if Aimee wasn’t at risk, that meant the police were right to protect Michael. He was the only eyewitness against Brady. It was my turn to give him strength, but I was too many miles away.

Here on the front stoop, I could admit how scared I was, how much I wanted to cry, how hard it was to act normal when terror fluttered around my lungs with razor-edged wings.

My head was bowed when a pickup truck pulled up right in front of me. Before the engine stopped, I was on my feet, backing up, my hands raised to ward off whatever was coming.

An older man in a flannel shirt and a green cap got out of the cab, hesitating when he saw me. Then the door behind me opened and my dad shouted, “Jim! You found us.”

I turned to look at my father and then back at this new arrival, my body still tensed for flight.

The man, Jim, grinned at my father. “No problem at all, Bill. Enjoying that grandbaby?” He had a sheaf of mail and a newspaper in one hand and a cardboard box in the other. Now I could see the NJ Osprey Project decal on the back of his truck and the rod holder on the rack. This must be one of my dad’s fishing buddies.

“Sure am. And this is my daughter, Kacy.” Dad put a hand on my shoulder and maneuvered us both off the steps.

“Nice to meet you.” Jim handed Dad the mail and stood for a minute, looking at us both. “I can see the resemblance. You fish, Kacy?”

“Not if I can help it.” My response was automatic, and both men laughed.

Dad held up the box. “Well, I appreciate this, Jim. New phone. My old one just doesn’t hold a charge, so Charlotte ordered me this one. I was hoping it would come early yesterday, but you know, the minute you’re waiting for something …”

“That’s how it always is. Like I said, no problem. On my way. Sure you can’t play hooky? I’ve got an extra rod.”

“Next time.” Dad didn’t even hesitate.

“All right then. Just one more thing.” Jim went back to the truck and pulled something out, a glass jar with a big black bow. “This was sitting on your front stoop, so I brought it along.” He passed it to me. “Take care.”

But I didn’t hear Dad answer. I was holding a mason jar, filled with something like paste. Turning it my hands, I found the label.