“No, why don’t you go home first? Take care of the bump on your head and clean up that scrape.” Taking hold of her hand, he turned it to examine her palm. The blood was already beginning to dry. “You can come down to the precinct later.” She flashed a small smile in response. Even that lit up her face. It was more like the Christa he was accustomed to. “Want me to drive you home?”

Home was a condo she had just leased last week. It was a little more than a mile down the road and still in a state of chaos, but right now, it was a haven.

She shook her head. “No, you go do what you have to do to earn your paycheck.” Christa saw the concern in his eyes. She placed a hand on his arm. “I told you, I’m fine.”

Tyler could only shake his head in response. “Stubborn as ever.”

Her eyes slanted toward the gas station. Malcolm Evans, if that was his name, was bending over the car he’d begun working on when she walked away. Its yawning hood was hanging open over him like the mouth of a shark that was getting ready to deliver a final bite.

“Yeah,” she answered, “I am.”

A deep, cleansing breath that helped her push aside the entire harrowing experience. She pulled open the door on the driver’s side of the van and climbed in. Robin sat dozing in her seat. Poor thing, she was exhausted.

That makes two of us.

Tyler shut the door behind her. “Buckle up or I’ll have to issue you a ticket.”

“Bully.” She slid the metal tongue into the clip. It clicked into place. “I’ll be by later this afternoon, all right?”

“Whenever you’re ready. Ask for Detective Harold. He’ll ease you through this.”

“Thanks.”

As she pulled out of the parking lot, she saw her brother in her rearview mirror. He was walking over to the gas station. She wondered if he was going to have any better luck with the solemn-eyed Good Samaritan than she had had.

The police station had grown a great deal since she’d wandered the small, narrow halls as a child. Those times, she had been ushered in by her mother to visit her father at work.

A sense of pride had always shimmied through her here, even though she’d been very young. The pride had multiplied as her brothers joined the force. Christa liked the idea of them being part of what made things right in the world, part of what kept the peace.

The halls weren’t narrow anymore. Renovated, the station seemed like something that belonged on the ground floor of a corporate building, not a police station. But it was a station nonetheless. A place where perpetrators were fingerprinted, where victims told their stories. It was a place where people came after bad things had happened to them.

People like her.

Christa shivered and wished she didn’t have to go through this.

It could have been a lot worse, she reminded herself as she squared her shoulders.

Detective Harold was a new name to her. She’d known many of the old-timers. Her father had always brpught his work home with him, cleaning up some of the coarser, uglier details as he went along. The men he worked with became a phantom part of the family.

The redheaded policewoman at the long reception desk looked up and waited expectantly as she asked, “May I help you?”

“I’m Christa Winslow. I’m here to see Detective Harold.”

The policewoman rose, nodding as if she’d been expecting her. “Wait right here.” She disappeared behind a wall that separated the long front reception area from the rest of the station.

Christa heard the automatic doors in the rear of the lobby open and close. Curious, she turned to see who had entered the precinct.

It was her reluctant Good Samaritan. He walked across the gleaming tiled floor, the heels of his scarred boots beating out a steady cadence, marking his approach. Even if the foyer had been crowded, she still would have singled him out. There was an aura about him.

A hundred or so years ago, people would have stopped to gawk at the stranger who rode into Dodge. He had an air of quiet power about him, power that wasn’t to be challenged. He was tall and straight like a doublebarreled shotgun and looked to be twice as lethal when crossed.

Something made her doubt that the appearance was deceiving.

Their eyes met at exactly the same moment, and she nodded at him. He slowly acknowledged the greeting.

She looked out of place here, Malcolm thought. She reminded him of a daisy pushing her way through a crack in the pavement.