Page 95 of Tracking Safety

She’d seen her several times now—on the porch with Cora, a brown shape at the edge of the yard, there and gone since the night Jenna arrived. There’d been too much else crowding her mind to give the animal much thought.

The dog sat at the corner of the house where the porch met the yard, half in the long shadow of the eaves.

She wasn’t playing with the children. She wasn’t begging at the door. She only sat at the edge of everything and watched, her amber eyes moving over the group on the porch with a wariness Jenna felt echo somewhere beneath her own ribs.

Then the dog’s gaze found hers.

And held.

Freya didn’t wag her tail, didn’t rise, didn’t so much as shift her weight. She only looked at Jenna across the gold evening light, steady and measuring, as though she were deciding something.

Jenna stood where she was and let her decide.

She, of all people, knew better than to rush a decision like that.

Then Luke’s phone buzzed.

He pulled it out, read the screen, and went still in the way that meant the news wasn’t small.

“It’s Micah,” he said. “Emily’s awake.”

Jenna’s breath caught. She turned toward him.

“She’s talking.” His eyes came up to meet hers, and something in them made her chest go tight. “She told them the man who attacked her was asking questions about a patron who’d been in the restaurant that afternoon. A woman.” He paused. “Dark hair. Hazel eyes. Came in with a man and a dog.”

The porch went quiet around them. Cora’s arms were still around her waist. The evening light still lay gold across the yard. Freya still watched from the shadow of the eaves.

None of it felt the same as it had thirty seconds ago.

Jenna had sat at that table. She’d ordered French dip and answered Wes’s questions and let a kind young woman bring her chamomile tea. She’d smiled at her. Thanked her by name.

And someone had been watching the whole time.

“She’s going to be okay,” Luke said. Quiet. Careful.

Jenna nodded. She was glad. She was so glad.

But Emily had ended up in a hospital bed for no reason except that she’d been kind to the wrong person on the wrong afternoon.

Jenna knew how that worked. She’d spent two years knowing exactly how that worked.

She pressed her hand against Cora’s hair and held on.

Jenna slipped out onto the porch for a minute of air while everyone else was occupied.

The house was full and warm, and she’d needed one clean breath before she went back to face any more of it.

Freya still sat at the far end of the porch with her head on her paws. She lifted it when the screen door clicked but didn’t get up. She only watched Jenna cross to the railing.

Jenna didn’t reach for the dog. She’d learned a long time ago that the surest way to lose a frightened thing was to grab for it.

The screen door opened behind her, and Ruby came out with two mugs of decaf, handing one over without asking. “I see Freya likes you.”

“What’s her story?” Jenna glanced down at the dog.

“She belonged to a woman who stayed with us.” Ruby’s voice softened. “She named the dog after a warrior goddess. One who rode into battle and was the goddess of love, both at once. I think the dog was the only protector she had for a while, so she gave her the biggest name she could find.”

Jenna’s throat tightened. “What happened to her? The woman?”