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talk with Luke, time to assess the danger and risk, time to figure out if she was being prudent or paranoid.
    â€œWhy so mysterious?” he’d asked, and she’d promised to explain. She owed him that much, especially if he was going to brave this hornet’s nest with her. He already knew some of her history—that she came with baggage—but she hadn’t shared the worst of it.
    She tapped the steering wheel nervously, thinking of her plan for the night. Jane would impose on another parent to take Harper, and she would go to Luke’s place. The trick would be orchestrating this without arousing Harper’s suspicions.
    Jane lowered the volume on the radio.
    â€œHey! You said it was okay.”
    â€œI’m wondering if you might want to have a sleepover tonight. The summer is winding down fast.”
    â€œReally? Can I have two people over?”
    â€œI was thinking you could stay with Sydney or Emma. I’ve got an early morning meeting tomorrow.” It was a lie, but by morning it might be true. She could be meeting with the police. She might be meeting with her principal, warning Dr. G about her stalker.
    â€œEmma! No, she has Japanese school all day tomorrow. Sydney. Call her mom. Only I want to bring some microwave popcorn over. They’ve got that air popper, and it tastes like cardboard.”
    â€œOkay. You can grab your toothbrush and pj’s, and I’ll shoot you over to her house.”
    â€œI need to take a shower first.”
    â€œYou can do that there.” Jane wanted her daughter out of the house as quickly as possible.
    â€œGross! There’s a million little kids at her house.”
    Jane did not reply as she turned onto the cul-de-sac, checking for anything out of the ordinary. The Tiffany lamp inside their front window—the one on the timer—glowed in red and blue jewel tones. Luke’s Volvo was parked in front of the Japanese maple. The Tullys’ truck sat in their driveway. The Larsens had their spotlights on, illuminating the rock wall of their house and the fat trunk of the sequoia that filled their yard. Jane breathed in, trying to steady her rapid heartbeat. Okay, so far.
    â€œIs that Mr. Bandini’s car?” Harper’s fingers were already pressing the button to open the garage door.
    â€œIt is. He’s helping me with something.”
    For once, Harper didn’t tease or question her about Luke. Jane gave the exterior of the house one last look, then rolled into the garage.
    Jane popped the trunk so that Harper could retrieve her gear and then paused at the open garage bay. She wanted to run down the driveway and melt into Luke’s arms. Solid, dependable Luke. But with Harper watching, restraint was a necessity.
    â€œHey, there,” he said.
    â€œThanks for coming.” She blinked back tears and hurried back into the garage to check the house. Inside the laundry room, the alarm beeped steadily—a normal signal. The panel of solid green lights revealed that there had been no tampering with doors or windows. Relief began to seep in as she disarmed the alarm and ventured inside. Everything was in its place: the key rack, the Cat in the Hop poster, the bowl of apples on the counter. The cookie jar contained its small stack of cash. Phoenix was asleep on her big slab of pillow by the family room windows, another sign that all was well. The golden retriever was fiercely protective of their home, and she usually met Jane at the door when something out of the ordinary—from squirrel activity on the deck to a package delivery on the porch—had occurred while she was gone.
    Behind her, she heard the garage door rolling shut as Luke and Harper chatted. Harper stepped into the laundry room with her green-and-black-checkered backpack, recounting the game. Luke lugged in her heavy bat bag, and Harper showed him where to stow it in the laundry room closet.
    â€œMom? Did you call Mrs. Schiavone