Page 46 of Tracking Safety

But they were.

Jenna went still at Wes’s words. Vito was thought to be suffering from dementia. It was all an act. It actually appears he’s in his right mind . . . and he’s been calling all the shots this whole time.

“Vito has been secretly running the organization, using his mental health as an excuse so no one would look at him.” Wes looked at her. “And apparently, he’s been searching for you for a long time. He blames you for everything—sending his son to prison, tearing apart his crime syndicate, Roderick’s death.”

She rubbed the edge of the fork near her plate. “Connelly told me it was over.”

His jaw tightened. “I know.”

“He told me I was safe to come back.”

“I know that too. I don’t think he intentionally lied to you. I think he made an assessment based on incomplete information and got it wrong.”

She looked at the fire as the low flames moved in an unseen draft. “So the shooter this morning . . . ? The SUV that almost hit us . . . ?”

“Almost certainly Barone-connected. Professional, stolen vehicle, in and out fast.” Wes nodded. “That’s not a local grievance. That’s contracted work.”

She pressed her eyes closed. When she opened them, the fire was still flickering. “I led them here.”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

She barely heard him. “I should have been more careful.”

“Jenna.”

“I walked straight back into my own life and brought this with me.” She kept her voice low and even. “My children are here. I came back thinking it was safe, but it wasn’t. And now⁠—”

“Stop it.” Wes’s words were firm but gentle. “You can’t think that way right now. What you need to do right now is think about what comes next.”

She looked at him but said nothing.

His gaze locked on hers. “You can fall apart later. I’ll even give you privacy for it. But right now, we have a problem that needs solving, and I need you thinking clearly.”

She breathed in through her nose. Out through her mouth. Once, twice, three times.

Wes was right. She had to keep her emotions guarded. Falling apart would do no good.

She straightened with determination. “All right. What do we do?”

“In the meantime, even though I’m not officially a marshal anymore, I’d like to keep an eye on this situation. Since I left, I’ve been doing private security. Plus, if there’s a leak, I don’t feel comfortable with you reaching out to them.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you.”

“We also wait for Luke.” He glanced toward the window and back. “When he gets here, the three of us figure this out together.”

Together.

She turned the word over. She wasn’t sure she remembered how to do things together. She’d been doing everything alone for so long that the concept felt almost foreign, like a word in a language she used to speak.

Jenna excused herself to go to the bathroom. Really she just needed a moment to compose herself.

A server met her near the kitchen pass, a young woman with a dark braid over one shoulder and a smear of flour on her apron. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.

“Restroom’s just past the end of the bar.” She nodded toward the back hallway, then hesitated, her eyes flicking over Jenna’s face. “Can I bring you anything? Water, hot tea? You look like you could use a sit-down somewhere quieter than that table.”

The kindness caught Jenna off guard. After keeping her face blank in bus stations and diners, of being no one in particular to anyone, she’d forgotten what it was to be simply noticed by a person who meant her no harm.

“Tea would be wonderful,” she said. “Thank you.”