For a moment, my spirits had lifted at seeing Haven, my first thought that she had come to see me. Then the rational part of my brain had kicked in and realized that wasn’t likely. We were friendly acquaintances, nothing more. While it made perfect sense for me to stop in to her place of employment, the same couldn’t be said for her coming to mine.

Besides, I reminded myself, I didn’t do relationships.

Her presence at the precinct did raise a valid question, though. Most people didn’t drop in for anything good.

Immediately, my secret joy at seeing her unexpectedly had changed to concern.

A quick glance to her side had provided a strong clue. The scowling teen towered over her and looked vaguely familiar. Their features were similar enough that I immediately pegged them as family.

Her usual friendly smile had been absent, as was the sparkle in her eye as she had shuffled the kid out the door. Only afterward did I realize where I’d seen him before. He had been one of the kids hanging out behind the convenience store with Slash and his gang.

My jaw tightened. If that kid was involved with Slash, he was trouble ... or he was in trouble. And if that kid was related to Haven, he was bringing that trouble right to her doorstep. That was not something I was comfortable with.

I didn’t have all the facts, though, so before I started jumping to conclusions, I asked a few questions. That led me to Hannibal and Lecter, the detectives who had been speaking with them.

The detectives’ names weren’t really Hannibal and Lecter, of course, but that was what we called them around the station. Hannibal was actually Chase Fumanti, a natural charmer who drew suspicious persons of interest into his confidence. Terrence Kowalski, a.k.a. Lecter, was his karmic opposite, a guy whose approach was totally non-verbal. Lecter’s intensive glare was enough to make suspects piss their pants and spill their guts. The odd combo was highly effective. Those brought in for questioning by them usually responded to one or the other. They were also looking into the rash of local snatch-and-grabs, which didn’t make me feel any better about the kid being here.

“Who was that kid?” I asked.

“Joel McAlister,” said Hannibal, his brow furrowing. “Senior at Cecilton High. Had a dozen stolen iPads in his locker, along with a stash of expensive vape pens and a wad of cash. The serial numbers match some of the items reported stolen from the electronics store down on Fifth Street.”

That didn’t bode well, but I had just seen the kid walking out, so they weren’t pressing charges. Yet.

“You let him walk?”

“Kid says he was set up.” Hannibal smirked, letting me know he didn’t believe that any more than I did. “The kid’s involved, no doubt, but he’s not the ringleader.”

Lecter grunted at this, an expression of agreement.

“We let him walk, maybe he’ll save us some time and lead us to who is.”

I understood their reasoning, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. The thought of Haven being caught up in something like this made my chest tight.

For a brief moment, I considered not saying anything until I found out more about Haven’s situation. Beyond the conversations we shared a couple times a week at the diner, I had no connection with her. It wasn’t personal, though it sure as hell felt like it.

I had to remind myself that solving this case would benefit everyone, Haven included.

“He was hanging around Slash and his miscreants last night behind Manetti’s,” I volunteered.

Hannibal nodded as if that wasn’t a big reveal. “Not surprising. Slash targets kids like him.”

I stiffened. “What do you mean, kids like him?”

“Lost boys. Those on the fringes, without good parental role models. The ones looking to feel like they belong to something.”

“No parents in the picture?”

“Father’s MIA, and the mother’s a piece of work. According to the school, the sister petitioned for and obtained legal guardianship about six months ago.”

Which explained why Haven had been the one to come for her brother.

I must have scowled or given some other tell, because Hannibal narrowed his eyes and demonstrated what made him such a good detective. “You know the sister?”

“She’s a waitress at Lindelman’s. Works the night shift.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed, zeroing in on what I’d just inadvertently revealed. “So, the kid’s unsupervised from eleven to seven?”

Well, hell.

***

Later that night, I sat in my car, watching Haven’s apartment building. It hadn’t taken much to convince Hannibal and Lecter to let me do some off-duty surveillance before they filed an official request. None of us liked the extra paperwork that sort of thing entailed.

Haven’s neighborhood was part of my usual beat, and I wasn’t in any particular hurry to go back to my empty place. Besides, I liked Haven. Even if I hadn’t acted on my desire to ask her out, I valued her friendship. If there was some way to help her out within the law, I would.

I’d parked across the street and about halfway down the block. I was there in time to see Haven step out the front of the building and start walking toward Lindelman’s.

I frowned. Her head was down and her hands were in her pockets. She seemed preoccupied instead of alert, which was not how a woman was supposed to be when walking the streets alone at night. Muggers, and worse, looked for targets like her, women who were distracted and unlikely to put up a hassle. My brother Nick’s woman discovered that the hard way a couple of weeks earlier. I had found her knocked down in a puddle in an alley not too far from here and had taken her to the ER. Her attacker, unfortunately, was still on the loose and had mugged another woman just last week. I didn’t want his next victim to be Haven.

I warred with myself. Did I follow along behind her and ensure her safety as my conscience urged, or did I sit here and watch for the brother? It was a tough decision, but ultimately, I stayed in the car. Haven had gotten along fine this long without me hovering around behind her, playing guardian angel. She was no more my responsibility than any other citizen I’d sworn to serve and protect.

My inner voice called bullshit. Haven wasn’t just any other citizen. Right or wrong, I felt more protective of her than most. Denials wrapped in rationalizations wouldn’t help ease the guilt I would feel if something happened to her tonight.

I was still waging an internal debate when I saw the kid slip out a few minutes later. He was dressed in dark clothes, allowing him to blend right in with the shadows. After looking left and right, he took off in the opposite direction of Lindelman’s.

Suddenly, I was faced with another decision. Did I simply follow him and see what happened? If anything went down, I was duty-bound to report it. My other choice was to follow my gut and run an interception. Prevention was the better option, I reasoned.

Decision made, I drove around and parked a couple blocks down, then got out of my car and started walking north. When I saw him approaching, I moved into the shadows and waited.

“Nice night for a walk.” I stepped out and began walking beside him.

Startled, he flinched and moved away. His surprise then changed to annoyance when he recognized me.

“What do you want?”

“I want to know what brought you and your sister to my precinct today.”

He stopped dead and glared at me. “What do you know about my sister?”

“I know she deserves better than cleaning up her brother’s messes.”

“You don’t know jack shit.” He started walking again. So did I. We made it another block before he turned around and said, “What is your deal, man? Are you into harassment or something?”

“No, I’m hungry. What do you say you and I grab a bite to eat, and you can tell me what’s going on? Or, I can take you back to the station for breaking town curfew. We can call Haven to come get you ... again, and I can get the story from her instead of you.”

His eyes flashed. “You leave her out of it.”

I shrugged. “That’s up to you.”

“What do you care?”

That was a good question, and one I wasn’t sure I could answer.

“Haven’s a friend,” I said finally, “and I look out for my friends.”

“Yeah? Good for you, man.” His scowl deepened as he weighed his options. He wanted to tell me to get lost and go about his business, but he was smart enough to realize the odds of that happening were slim to none.

Part of me felt for the kid. He’d had a pretty lousy day, and I was adding to it. Another part of me didn’t care. If I could help him and his sister and catch a much-needed break on the case, I would do it. I’d like to think Haven would agree.

“I go with you, you don’t call my sister?”

“Not unless you give me a reason to.”

His shoulders slumped and he exhaled, resigning himself to the inevitable. “Fine.”

There weren’t many places open that time of night, which was one of the reasons Lindelman’s did such a good business. I didn’t want to take him there, for obvious reasons. Luckily, I knew just the place.

I walked him over to my car and told him to get in. He was hesitant at first, but he did.

He tensed up as we drove past Lindelman’s, but I was doing the cruise-by for my benefit, not his. I wanted to know that Haven had made it into work okay. She had.

Through the big, plate glass windows, I saw her behind the counter taking a guy’s order. A guy who was sitting in my usual seat.

Did she give him extra sausage links, too? My chest tightened and my jaw clenched at the thought. I ignored it.

A few minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Mama C’s and turned off the engine.

“What the hell is this?” Joel asked.

“Il ristorante della mia famiglia,” I answered. “My family’s restaurant.”

I walked him around the back and took him into the kitchen. Things were quiet. The restaurant was closed to the public, but was always open to family. My parents were used to us popping in any time, day or night.

I pointed the kid to the table in the corner, then went to the massive refrigerator where my mother always kept extra prepared meals for us. I grabbed two and popped them in the commercial microwave. While they heated up, I grabbed a couple of sodas, too.

I put the chicken parmigiana in front of him, keeping the pasta aglio, my personal favorite, for myself.

“Eat,” I commanded, waving my fork toward his plate. “Then we’ll talk.”

He glared at me.

I ignored him and happily tucked into my own meal. Eventually, he stabbed the chicken cutlet and took a bite. Then another, and another, until he had finished the whole thing.

I withheld my grin. No one could resist mia madre’s cooking. My siblings and I had crumbled more than once at this very table.

I grabbed my plate and took it to the sink to rinse it. After a minute or so, he did the same.

“So,” I said, now that our bellies were full, “let’s talk about how that stuff got in your locker.”