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"What?"

"The firefighter. Does he treat you well?"

"Yes. Very well."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that." He looked at me. The softness didn't leave his face, but something settled underneath it. "So I'm sure he's told you everything about his past."

"What are you talking about?"

"So he hasn't told you everything then."

"About what?"

"Do you know why his wife left him?" He didn't wait for me to answer. "His father was involved in the same things I am, Janine. The exact same things you ran from. Ask him how his father died." He paused. "And if you really don't want our daughter growing up in that world, make sure the man you're sleeping with is exactly who he says he is."

"Get away from her."

Alex's voice came from behind us. He was walking toward us with a stride that covered ground, his face carrying the same absolute expression from the night Declan stood in our doorway. He moved beside me, half a step in front, his hand on my back.

"You're in violation of a restraining order. Leave now, or I'm calling the police myself."

Declan looked at Alex. A short breath came out of him, half a laugh, the kind that said he wasn't impressed. Then he looked past Alex's shoulder at me.

"I won't bother you anymore. Just ask him."

He turned and walked toward the exit with his hands in his pockets.

My legs were shaking. I locked my knees and pressed my hands together inside my coat pockets so Alex wouldn't see them tremble.

"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

Alex put his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him. His eyes searched mine, and I could see the fear underneath the anger, the part of him that was still catching up to the fact that Declan had been standing ten feet from me.

"No. I'm okay. He didn't touch me."

My voice sounded steady. I didn't know how my voice sounded steady.

He studied my face for a long moment. Then he pulled me close. I pressed my forehead against his chest, closed my eyes, and tried to make sense of everything Declan had just told me. His father. His wife. The same world.

Underneath all of it, the thing I couldn't shake: for one moment in that conversation, I'd pictured it. The life where I never saw the parking lot. Where Declan came home every night, where I never asked what he did during the day. Where we raised Hazel together in the house he would have bought us.

Hazel was still on the ice. I could hear the coach calling drills, the scrape of blades, the sound of a normal Saturday morning. I held on to Alex and said nothing.

Westbrook came to the apartment late that evening, after Hazel had gone to bed.

"Units responded within eight minutes of Alex's call. He wasn't in the parking lot, wasn't on the surrounding streets. He's gone." Westbrook set his notepad on the table. "But now we know he's still in the area. And now we know he's willing to violate the order."

"What happens next?" Alex asked.

"Warrant's been issued for the violation. When we find him, he'll be arrested." Westbrook looked at me. "In the meantime, I'm assigning plainclothes to your routine. The rink on Saturdays, school drop-off and pickup, periodic checks at the apartment. It won't be round-the-clock, and I can't promise the same officer every day, but there'll be a presence."

"For how long?" I asked.

"As long as the investigation is active. Gallagher approaching you isn't just a restraining order violation anymore. He's a person of interest in an ongoing organized crime case making contact with a protected witness. That gives me the resources to justify it."

Alex's hand closed on the table. "What about the coach? Hale?"

"We'll look into the connection. If Hale was feeding Gallagher information about your family's schedule, that's a whole other set of charges."