Something gets equally tighter and easier when Tom sees her, the familiar short hair, expressive silence, semi-automatic strapped across her back. He smiled briefly, but looked away quickly, unable to handle the moment so easily as Mike.

She'd held the twins, played with there hair. They'd laughed together in the late, humid evening, watching Pinocchio be a father like he'd been born to it.

Now...now was too hard to imagine.

"Bosco's the trader," he said gruffly, talking to the sidewalk and looking at her over his shoulder. "Know anything about him?"