Then gets worried.

“Janie, please let me know you’re okay in there. I’m worried. Just say something, anything, so I—”

“I’m okay in here,” she says.

“Will you come out?”

“Will you stop yelling at me?”

“Yes,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re driving me crazy,” she says, coming out. “And you scared me.”

He nods.

“Don’t do that.”

“Okay.”

7:45 p.m.

Cabel turns the burner on low under the chicken, hoping to salvage it.

Janie’s in the computer room, writing up her notes.

He comes in and sits opposite her, at the other computer. Does some surfing. Some typing. Hits Send. Janie’s computer binks. When she finishes her notes, she checks her Gmail. Clicks on the link. Watches the screen.

It’s a Flash e-card.

Simple and beautiful.

I love you, and I’m sorry I’m an asshole.

Happy birthday.

Love,

Cabe

She looks down at the keys. Composes her thoughts. Hits Reply.

Dear Cabe,

Thank you for the card.

It means a lot to me.

I haven’t received a birthday card since I turned nine. I just realized that was half my life ago.

I’m sorry I’m an asshole too. I know it frustrates you when I don’t take care of myself—that’s why you were mad the other day, isn’t it? I’ll try harder to work on the dreams, so they don’t mess me up so badly. And I’ll keep supplies in my backpack from now on. I should have been doing that all along, so you don’t have to worry so much. Thing is, I like it when you are there to help me. It makes me feel like somebody cares, you know? So maybe I’ve neglected some things on purpose, just so you notice. It’s stupid. I’ll stop with that. Why are you so upset about this case? All I know is that I really miss you.

Love, J.

She reads it over and hits Send.

Cabel’s computer binks.

He reads the e-mail.

Hits Reply.

Dear J.,

I want to explain something.

After my dad set me on fire…Well…He died in jail while I was still in the hospital getting skin grafts. And I never got to tell him how much he hurt me. Not just physically, but inside, you know? So I took it out on other things for a while. I’m better now. I got counseling for it, and I’m really better. But I’m not perfect. And I’m still fighting it. See…

You’re, like, the only person I have in my life that I really care about.

I’m selfish about that. I don’t want anybody to touch you. I want to keep you safe. That’s why I hate this assignment so much. Now that I have you, I’m afraid to see you get hurt or messed up, like I was. I’m afraid I’ll lose you, I guess.

I wish you could always be safe. I worry a lot. If you weren’t so damned independent…Ah, well. *smile* As much as we have been through in the past few months, we still don’t know each other very well, do we? I want to change that about us. Do you? I want to know you better. Know what makes you happy and what scares you. And I want you to know that about me, too.

I love you.

I will try to never hurt you again.

I know I’ll screw up. But I’ll keep trying, as long as you let me.

Love,

Cabe

Send.

Janie reads.

Swallows hard.

Turns toward him. “I want that too,” she says. She stands up and scoots over onto his lap. Holds him around the neck. His arms circle her waist, and he closes his eyes.

January 10, 2006, 4:00 p.m.

Janie slips into the police station, goes through the metal detector, and heads downstairs.

“Hey, new girl,” says a thirtysomething man when she gets to Captain Komisky’s door and knocks. “Hannagan, right? Captain said to tell you to go on in. She left you some stuff. I’m Jason Baker. Worked with Cabel on the drug bust.”

Janie smiles. “Pleased to meet you.” She shakes his hand. “Thanks,” she adds, and opens the office door. On the corner of the desk is the tiniest cell phone she’s ever seen, and next to it is a medium-size box and an envelope. The box has a bow on it. She grins and takes the items, then slips back out. When she gets to the car, she examines the gift box and the envelope, savoring it.

Decides to wait.

4:35 p.m.

Sitting on her bed, she opens the envelope first. It’s a traditional birthday card with a simple signature on the bottom—“Fran Komisky.” Inside the card is a gift certificate to Mario’s Martial Arts for a self-defense class. Cool.

And inside the box is every kind of pampering item that Janie would never buy for herself. Relaxation votives, stress massage oils, aromatherapy bath salts, and a plethora of scented lotions in tiny adorable bottles. Janie squeals. Best present ever.

She calls Mario’s and signs up for a class that starts the next day. And then, she goes to the phone book and looks up optometrists. Finds a vision shop that’s open evenings and calls for an appointment. The receptionist says there’s a cancellation for a five thirty p.m.

appointment today, and can she make it?

She can.

And does.

She raids her college fund.

Walks out an hour later, four hundred bucks poorer but wearing new, funky, sexy glasses. She loves them, actually.

And she can see.

She had no idea how poorly she was seeing before.

Can’t believe the difference.