“How are you going to do that?”

“I’ll call Gabby, see if he can ask around. Someone has to know something.”

“Gabby?”

“If anyone can find out, he can.”

“That’s your solution?”

“Whoever’s doing this, we can find them. We can end it with one phone call.”

She shakes her head then turns away and runs her fingers under her eyes, wiping away tears. “Just let the police handle it, okay? Don’t get involved.”

“I’m already involved.”

“You’re also still alive.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t know anything about these people or what they’re capable of doing. You’re in way over your head, even with Gabby.”

“I’m not scared.”

“I am, Jake. I’m fucking terrified.”

I start to argue, but she stops me.

“I can’t stand by and watch you get hurt again, I can’t do it.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m not helpless, Diane. I can handle myself.”

She hesitates, and the way she looks at me makes me feel like a boasting child. I want to argue, but then I think about how hard all of this has been hard on her, and I don’t say anything. Instead, I reach out and put my arm around her shoulder.

She resists at first, then leans into me and whispers something I can’t hear.

I ask her to tell me again.

She sits up and touches my bandaged hand. “What kind of person would do something like this?”

I can think of a few people who wouldn’t blink at doing things like this, or worse, but I keep that to myself and say, “I don’t know.”

Diane folds into me, and a moment later the tears begin again. We sit like that for a while, and neither of us says anything for a long time.

The field tech arrives ten minutes after the detective. He comes in wearing jeans and sandals and carrying a large black case over his shoulder. The detective, whose name is Nolan, motions him toward the kitchen.