Paul Barrow? He was here? He was out of jail?

Those questions jockeyed for space, seeming to fill up Jasmine’s mind, soaking their way into each and every crevice. Raw-boned fear cratered her stomach, and a distinct sense of cold swept through her, reminiscent of that December evening that still haunted her.

How was he free? And why wasn’t she told? She worked in the DA’s office. She kept alerts on her email accounts and on all search engines. She should have been told, damn it.

She should have known.

Yet here he was. In a bar, within ten yards of her, both choices likely breaking any probation requirements he might have been under.

Cade was already marching through the bar, weaving his way through the crowd that had thickened in the last hour. As Jasmine watched his large frame bob and weave through the throng, Paul turned on his heel and hightailed it for the door. Cade’s shout was barely evident over the din, and she watched Paul slip through the door before Cade had even cleared the last cluster of tables.

“Jasmine?” Daphne came up beside her and pulled her close, her concern and Cade’s sudden departure beginning to register to their small party.

“What’s going on?” Landon spoke first, his dark brown eyes full of concern before they tracked Fender’s departure for the front door, directly behind Cade.

“It’s Barrow.” Daphne said, her voice low.

“The one who hurt Jasmine?”

So Daphne had shared some secrets. She might hold back in front of their new friends, but she’d obviously clued Landon in on the details.

“Yes, that was him.”

“Let me go talk to Hector and we’ll see if we can’t run him down.”

“Landon, no—” Daphne’s protests went ignored as Landon followed in after his brother.

“Well, shit.” Daphne gave Jasmine one final squeeze. “Even two margaritas in, I’m still the cop here. Let me call it in and see what we’re dealing with. Paul Barrow shouldn’t be in here, and the fact that he was—with witnesses—won’t reflect well.”

Daphne took off and Jasmine was left with Emma. The woman hesitated, a mix of emotions storming through her gaze, before she seemed to settle on something. “You’re entitled to your privacy, but if you need to talk about this, I can listen.”

“Thank you.” Jasmine nodded, touched by the sincerity. While she had no doubt Emma was interested in what had just happened, Jasmine also believed she would have been content to just sit there in solidarity and support.

It was that certainty that encouraged her to speak.

“Paul Barrow attacked me in my dance studio last December.”

The look of alarm quickly gave way to action, and Emma moved in to wrap her arm around Jasmine’s shoulders. The warmth and the hand that reached for hers added to the sweetness of the moment for Jasmine, and in the gestures, she realized the new friends she had gained over the past few months had progressed to confidantes. People who cared about her just for herself. Friends who wanted her to be happy and safe.

“You dance?” Emma asked.

“I did when I was younger. Ballet. I was pretty good, but didn’t have the interest or desire to fully pursue it. But it’s great exercise, and it’s been a great way to give back. I teach classes for underprivileged kids in the area. That man, the one who was in here, had a problem with me teaching his estranged daughter.”

“He was put in jail?” Emma asked.

“I thought so, until tonight.”

Emma’s hand tightened on Jasmine’s arm before she leaned in closer, pulling Jasmine into a tight hug. “Cade and Daphne will do something about this. I know they will.”

“Sure. Of course.”

Emma’s fervent belief was real, and Jasmine didn’t have the heart to argue with her. But she’d worked in the justice system long enough to know that not everyone got punished.

Even the ones who deserved it.

* * *

Cade covered ground swiftly, fumbling with his phone to call for backup as he ran. He kept missing the correct area of his screen to tap as his gaze stayed on the retreating back of his quarry, and eventually the phone was forgotten in his rush to keep Barrow in sight.

By the time he hit his eighth block with no sign of the man, he slowed down.

“Fuck.” Stabbing at the face of his phone, he called in the incident, barking orders at the dispatcher on the desk taking incoming calls.

He walked back toward the bar, the night air wrapping around him, stifling in its intensity. It would change soon, the cooler weather of September putting an end to the heat as summer gave way to fall. But for now . . .

It was still summer.

Which meant it was too damn soon for Paul Barrow to be roaming the streets of Park Heights.

Hector, Landon, Fender, and Daphne intercepted him as he turned the last corner to the End Zone.

“What happened? Where is he?” As he expected, Daphne spoke first. As he also expected, any trace of her margaritas had vanished, replaced with nothing but cop. “I called it in, and dispatch just called me back to confirm you called it in as well. You lose him?”

Where that same question would have irritated their brother Tony to no end, Cade let it roll off him. Daphne might make him crazy, but she was a good cop and she asked questions to assess a situation and understand as much as she could, not to belittle or demean.

“Bastard had too big a head start on me. He disappeared around Bank Street.”

“Damn, he was fast.” Daphne tapped her phone against her leg, the only outward sign of just how nervous and upset she was.

“Jaz okay?” He asked the question, not caring if it set off his sister’s radar. Jasmine needed their help, and he was damned if he was going to let whatever weirdness that had seemed to characterize their time together keep him from asking about her.

She needed help.

“I left her with Emma.” Daphne said, her hand on his arm. “Let’s go talk to her.”

Landon chose that moment to take over, his long strides eating up the distance to the entrance to the bar. As the door swung open under his hand, McGee’s focus was absolute. “We’re all going to look out for her. She’s one of us now.”

* * *

Frank and Giavanna Rossi’s home in Park Heights had been a central part of the neighborhood for as long as Jasmine could remember. As a kid, after she and Daphne had first met and become joined at the hip, she’d never considered the perpetually swinging front door and the people taking up spots at the kitchen table as anything but life at the Rossis’. It was different from her home, but Daphne had assured her early on it was because they were a big, loud Italian family, and that it was normal.

So Jasmine had assumed it was normal and moved on.

What had taken her far longer to understand was just how special it all was. While she’d been fortunate to grow up in a good home with loving parents, the Shane family didn’t have a bevy of extended relatives who numbered close to a hundred when all assembled together. Instead, she’d been fortunate to become one of the many, embraced into the Rossi family like one of their own.

Daphne had once referred to it as the Borg but Jasmine had just known how special it was to have not one family, but two.

With all this history—and two of the five Rossi siblings managing her evening—it was only natural they’d all end up at the Rossi kitchen table. It didn’t matter they’d arrived at close to midnight, nor did it matter there were seven of them with an eighth on the way as soon as Nick could escape the bar.

Giavanna Rossi had a pot of coffee on, a coffee cake already on the table, dispatched from where it had cooled earlier on the counter, and a big bowl of unshelled nuts taking up a place of prominence in the center of the checkered tablecloth.

“Your mother and I just had lunch on Monday. She didn’t mention any of these troubles.” Giavanna had pulled Jasmine aside the moment they’d walked in, distracting her from the din at the table while the cake was cut and passed around.

“There wasn’t any trouble. Or none that I knew of. It all started tonight when he showed up.”

“And no one told you he was out.”

“No.”

Jasmine had kept it together. Through their hasty departure at the bar, to the warm welcome when they’d walked in. Even when Giavanna had pulled her aside into the family room she’d maintained her composure.

But it was that look—the one of disgust and frustration that pulled Giavanna’s generous mouth into a tight line—that had the tears spilling forth.

If Giavanna Rossi was upset, it was time to worry.

Jasmine had kept it at bay for so long. She’d pushed aside the nightmares, forced herself back to her studio, and thrown herself into work. She would not be beaten by this, nor would she give petty, small-minded, violent Paul Barrow the satisfaction of cowing her.

But here. In the warmth of what had always been her second home, filled to the brim with cops, she finally opened the door and let the fear in. Dark and raw, it scraped at her and made her feel small and scared.

The words she’d fought so hard to ignore opened up in her mind, as vivid now as they were that cold night in December.

Can’t keep to your place.

Uppity black bitch, thinking you can teach my white little girl how to dance.

Cheap whore.

He’d said them all and so many more, searing them into her memory with all the pain of a brand as his hands had roamed over her body. Touching her breasts. Her waist. Dropping between her legs. Evil ugly words paired with evil ugly gestures that seethed with hate and a malevolence she’d never encountered before.

And then tonight, he’d stood across the bar, that same hate filling his eyes, a small, triumphant smile playing about his lips.

He’d sworn he’d get her that night. Had screamed it even as the police carted him away.

But she’d believed it couldn’t happen. That he was locked up and wouldn’t be able to get to her. God, how stupid she’d been. Why hadn’t she thrown in the towel after Cade had dropped her home, and just stayed in?

Why had she believed her night would get better?

Worse, now that she knew Barrow was out, why had she believed her life would get better? That it would go back to normal and allow her to, once again, be one of the oblivious lucky ones, unsoiled by crime.

Giavanna pulled her close, the gentle crooning and soft words comforting, even as Jasmine knew them for their emptiness. She didn’t live in a bubble, and there wasn’t anyone who could fix this. She was vulnerable, and she was a target. And now she had to accept that the one who had her in his sights hadn’t changed his mind. He was coming after her.

Hot tears raced down Jasmine’s face, and she closed her eyes and took the sweet comfort offered by Mama Rossi. Although Jasmine towered over the woman by at least five inches, what Giavanna lacked in size she made up for in grip. Her hugs were tight—fierce, even—and full of the message that no one had better touch her family.

Jasmine welcomed the warmth—knew she’d repeat the experience the next day with her own mother when she told her everything—and was determined to hang on just a bit longer, reveling in the comfort.

Without even knowing he was there, Cade moved in. Large hands covered her own, opening her arms and pulling her close into his embrace. Giavanna slipped away effortlessly, leaving Cade in her place.

“I’m sorry, Jaz. Sorry I didn’t get the bastard.”

While she’d never argue with the strength of a mother’s love, the warmth and sheer power of Cade’s hold vanquished the demons in her mind like nothing else could. He held her close, his voice soft as he whispered against her ear. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment she thought to slip away—to keep that shield of distance that was the only way she could survive around him. But something stopped her. Need? Want?

Or the very real fear that her life had been upended once again.

Whatever the reason, as his arms and that warm, wonderful, masculine scent of him wrapped around her, Jasmine gave in and accepted the comfort only Cade could give.

“I didn’t know he was out.”

“Neither did I, which is a problem.” Cade’s arms were as tight as his mother’s, only there was something else layered beneath. Solid strength, yes, but a tenderness that surprised her.

A tenderness she didn’t dare allow herself to take.

Pulling away, she forced a few steps between them, brushing away the tears that still lingered on her cheeks. “Thanks for your concern.”

“Thanks?” The subtle confusion that stamped his gaze faded as ire quickly rose up. “Thanks? Like I’m Officer Friendly, come to give you some news?”

“What are you getting upset about?”

He shook his head. “I really don’t believe you.”

The noise from the kitchen was hushed, in deference to the late hour, and Jasmine had no interest in being overheard. With a nod in that direction, she added, “Again, what are you getting upset about? Barrow’s out. I’ll figure it out and deal with it. He shouldn’t have showed up tonight. It won’t bode well for him and whatever probation he managed to get himself.”

“You’ll deal with it?” Cade’s shoulders hunched, spots of red creeping into his cheeks. It was a trait Daphne had often laughed at, but seeing him now, in full fluster, wasn’t funny at all.

“Yes, I will. Just like I’ve been dealing with it since the bastard stormed into my dance studio and called me a whore.” Checking the anger that forced the rise in her tone, she stilled, her voice quiet when she spoke again. “I’ll manage.”

“And in the meantime?”

“What meantime? I’ll start the process tomorrow. It’s not like I don’t know a few people to contact.”

“Tomorrow? You think he doesn’t know where you live? He made it his business to know where you’d be tonight.”

The fear that had kept her steady company since Paul Barrow’s arrival at the End Zone spiked, raking her stomach with sharp claws. “You think he was watching me?”

“You have a better idea? The man shows up out of the blue, deliberately taunting you, and then runs? Looks pretty planned to me.”

How had she missed this?

Even as she asked herself the question, Jasmine knew. The shock of seeing him again had clouded her ability to think clearly. Of course Barrow had followed her. He simply happened to know she’d be out with friends tonight? Especially when that hadn’t been her evening plan at all?

No way.

“I’ve got security.”

“Two locks on the door.” Cade snorted. “I’m impressed.”

The tears had vanished, a good streak of stubbornness rising in their place. “It’ll keep someone out until help can arrive.”

“I’ll stay with you. We’ll handle the rest in the morning.”

“You can’t stay with me.”

He nodded. “You’re right. That’s exactly where he’ll go to look for you. You’ll come to my place.”

“I can’t—” The protest died on her lips when Cade crossed the room, his long strides bringing him to the kitchen in moments. She heard his announcement to the assembled group that they were leaving.

And in a matter of moments, that’s exactly what they did.