handsome?”
Jessica snatched the card from her. “I think he thinks he’s handsome.” She sniffed the card, remembering the musky scent of Andrew’s aftershave. “What I know is he has no idea what the women we counsel endure and no desire to learn. He didn’t want Sarah to stay. He still thinks he can handle this all himself.”
“Well he was right about one thing—you placed yourself in a dangerous situation...again. I wish you’d let me teach you to shoot.”
Margo was always pushing her to buy a gun, but each time Jessica considered it, she flashed back to that terrible night five years earlier. Dean had spent hours with her at the gun range, but all the training in the world hadn’t done her any good at the moment it really mattered. “Margo, I appreciate the self-defense lessons, but I’m just not comfortable around guns.”
“You deal with dangerous men. You need to do a better job of protecting yourself.”
“I take all the precautions I can.”
“You should stay at the shelter.”
Jessica gave a weary sigh. “If it were up to you, I’d live at the shelter.”
“You’d be safer.”
Safety, she’d learned, too often became a prison. That was something Margo didn’t yet understand. She was still too tied up in her own pain and fear.
Margo gave her a piercing look, obviously realizing she wasn’t going to get anywhere. She stood to leave. “I should go. I had a rookie follow me here. He’s waiting in the car. Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I’m always careful.” She closed and locked the door behind her friend then reset the alarm.
She sniffed the postcard, relieved this was the origination of the scent. Why hadn’t she thrown that away yesterday with the rest of her junk mail? She had no desire to purchase men’s cologne.
She had no one to purchase it for.
* * *
Jessica had a busy morning ahead of her. She couldn’t afford the headache that insisted on hanging on overnight. She swallowed two pain relievers then tossed the bottle into her purse. She had a feeling she would be needing it again to get through the day.
She called the shelter to check on things. Mia updated her on the goings-on including heated words between two of their residents—Joan Ratliff, a pregnant mother with a two-year-old, and Amber Wade, a mother of three who’d fled her alcoholic husband for the third time. “What happened there?”
“Just rising tension. Danielle stepped in and calmed them down.”
Jessica was glad for the assistance of Danielle Manchester, a young college-aged girl whose boyfriend had beaten and stalked her. Danielle was always quick to help care for Joan’s baby or occupy Amber’s kids. Still, four children under eight years old confined to a small area was bound to grate on everyone’s nerves. Tensions were certain to rise. “Maybe it would be a good idea to take the kids to the park today. Just don’t forget to take your cell phone in case there’s trouble.”
“There’s one more thing,” Mia said.
Jessica heard the hesitation in her voice. “What is it?”
“It’s Sarah. She’s determined she’s not going to press charges against her husband. She’s worried about him going to jail.”
Jessica sighed, disappointed but not really surprised. It wasn’t uncommon for a battered wife to refuse to press charges.
“Reassure her that she doesn’t have to press charges to stay at the shelter. I’ll try to talk to her too when I get there.”
“She wanted me to ask if you would be the one to tell her brother.”
This wasn’t the first time she’d been asked to step between families, but it was the first time she’d hesitated. She knew from their conversation the night before that Sarah was right—Andrew would not be happy with her decision. He probably wouldn’t be too happy with Jessica, either. But he wasn’t the one she’d promised to protect. Sarah was her client and she had to do the best she could for her.
“I’ll talk to him,” she promised, already knowing how she would regret that conversation.
She hung up then tossed her phone into her purse, slid on her coat and grabbed her laptop and a stack of papers she had to attend to today. She locked the door behind her. Her car was in the driveway, and she said a silent prayer of thanks to Margo for taking care of getting it home to her.
A layer of frost covered the lawn and a bitter wind tousled her hair. She pulled her jacket tight and stepped off the porch, scanning the yard and street for anything out of the ordinary. She quickened her pace as she headed toward her car.
She stopped before she reached it, noticing the line of footprints in the frosty grass.
She glanced around again but saw nothing and no one unusual in the area. But someone had been in her yard, near her car. The footprints followed the line of the driveway, stopping at the end of the porch.
Someone had been here.
She cautiously approached her car, scanning for broken glass, slashed tires or anything out of the ordinary. It looked fine. She tried the door but found it locked as it should have been. A quick glance into the backseat revealed no one crouched behind the seat. She hated that her mind automatically went in that direction, but the footprints did seem to indicate an intruder in her yard.
“Good morning, Jessica.”
She startled at her name and her heart raced. It was only Mr. Percy, her elderly neighbor from two houses down, out for his morning stroll.
“Mr. Percy, how are you today?”
“I can’t complain. I’m surprised to see you out and about. You should tell your friend to park your car in the garage next time. A pretty young girl like you doesn’t need to be coming and going late at night like you sometimes do without taking precautions.”
Trepidation filled her. “You watch me?”
“Well, I don’t sleep all that well so I pay attention to any car that comes down this street at night. We can’t be too careful these days, can we?”
That explained the feeling she’d had lately of being observed. It had only been the watchful eyes of sweet old Mr. Percy. Why didn’t that soothe her nerves? “You haven’t noticed anyone in my yard, have you?” She pointed out the footprints. “Have you seen anything odd lately? Anyone around the neighborhood that doesn’t belong?”
“No, can’t say I have. You know I did see Mrs. Cowart’s son out walking the dog this morning. It’s possible the little guy got away from him and he chased him into your yard.”
Jessica stared at the footprints. They didn’t look as if they’d been made by a fourteen-year-old’s foot. But how big did a teenage boy’s feet get? She didn’t know.
“I’ll let you get going,” he said. “Have a blessed day.”
“You,
