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Lauren, despite the money she sent to his mother every month.
    Ben’s mother never wrote to Lauren. Never acknowledged her checks or her existence, never forgave Lauren for getting rich off the story of their ordeal while Ben rotted in jail.
    Breathe.
    “Travis, please,” Jane said. “I can’t talk to you now.”
    “Then I’ll come by later. To the house.”
    “No
.
”
    Lauren looked up, nerves skittering over her skin.
    “I have a right to see him,” Scruffy Blond Guy said.
    “You left him.”
    “That don’t change my rights.”
    Lauren’s heart beat faster. She didn’t like his tone of voice. She
really
didn’t like his grip on Jane’s arm or the sudden tension in Jane’s body. She’d seen that same body language too many times in clinical settings, in controlling men and battered women. She knew how suddenly a situation could turn and go south.
    Jane pressed her lips together. “We’ve been through all this before. There’s nothing else to say.”
    “I’m not leaving you, darlin’.”
    “Bit late for that. Darling,” Jane said with unexpected spirit, tugging her arm free.
    Lauren forced herself to relax. Not every confrontation was a crisis. She was not involved, it was none of her business, Jane had the situation under control . . .
    “Come on, Janey, don’t be like that.” His tone turned wheedling. “I’m not asking for much. You want to have this discussion in front of Aidan and your daddy? Or we settle things now.”
    “Fine.” Jane yanked her apron over her head. “Thalia, I have to go to the bank. Can you keep an eye on the shop for a minute?”
    The teenager put down her book. “Sure, Jane.”
    “I won’t be long.”
    The girl glanced curiously from Jane to the waiting man. “Yeah, no problem. It’s pretty quiet anyway.”
    In the doorway, Scruffy Blond Guy tried to take Jane’s arm again. She averted her face.
    The teenager—Thalia—watched them stalk out, a little pleat between her eyebrows.
    Not your clients
, Lauren told herself.
Not your responsibility
. She was not the girl in charge anymore, the one who stepped in to quiet the screaming kid at the grocery store, who organized every department birthday party. Who talked three gunmen into laying down their weapons and got one of them killed.
    Keep your mouth shut and your nose out of it.
    And heard herself ask, “Who was that guy?”
    The teen met her gaze, unconsciously seeking reassurance from the only adult around. Lauren had volunteered as a youth leader in a homeless shelter. She knew that look.
    Thalia opened her mouth. Shut it. Shrugged.
    Because, yeah, dishing about your boss’s love life with total strangers was not cool at any age.
    Lauren waited. Nature abhorred a vacuum. Silence was one of a therapist’s most effective tools for getting clients to talk.
    After a minute, Thalia said, “I don’t know. He came in once before, I think.”
    Lauren nodded encouragingly. When that didn’t provoke a response, she tried again. “He and Jane seemed . . .” She searched for a word. Not
friendly
. “Close.”
    “Yeah.” Thalia hesitated and then added, “I don’t think he’s from around here, though.”
    Lauren smiled. “Well, you would know.” On an island with a year-round population that hovered around two thousand, everybody must know everybody else. “Maybe he’s here on vacation.”
    The dirty clothes, the scruffy beard . . . He looked like he might be camping. Sleeping out. Living rough.
    “I guess.” Thalia’s eyes behind her Smart Girl glasses were wide and troubled. “It’s not like she has a lot of options.”
    “There are always options,” Lauren said, slipping automatically into therapist mode.
    Thalia’s slightly round face set. “Maybe if you live someplace else. It’s bad enough when you’re my age. But Jane is
twenty-nine
.” From the tone of her voice, this was ancient.
    Lauren winced. She was thirty-one. “Twenty-nine isn’t old.”
    “It is on Dare