“Mugged? Are you honestly going to sit there and tell me this had nothing to do with one of the cases you’re working on? That this was some sort of coincidence?”

Violet thought about that, sagging deeper into the cushion. Technically, James Nua was never her case. Or Sara’s. She’d just run into him at the police station after she’d been caught in Antonia Cornett’s apartment. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Violet answered, trying not to choke on her own words. “The case we’re working on had nothing at all to do with this.”

Jay frowned at Violet over the top of her mom’s head, but Violet ignored him.

“Sara came as soon as she knew there was trouble,” Violet added.

Maggie Ambrose sighed, her shoulders drooping as she knelt down in front of her daughter. “Mugged, Violet? Come on. I don’t have to be ‘special’ to know you’re keeping something from me. Both of you.” And then she took both of Violet’s hands in her own. “You can’t blame us for being worried—or even upset. You’ve asked us to trust you and we have . . .” She met Violet’s gaze, but even though Violet didn’t want to hear what her mother had to say, it didn’t stop her from continuing. “At some point you have to trust us.”

“What . . . what are you trying to say?”

“I’m not saying anything yet. I’m just saying your dad and I need to talk things out. We need to think about what happened and what it means.”

Jerking her hands from her mother’s grip, Violet folded them tightly in her lap as she stubbornly blinked back tears. Her cheek ached, as did almost everything now. But nothing as much as the ache in her chest.

There was no way she could stop working with her team . . . not now that she’d finally found them.

Having Jay there with her was the best kind of medicine. Once they were alone, he was both sweet and attentive, and more gentle than Violet would have thought possible.

“I can’t believe this happened to you. When are you going to stop putting yourself in danger?” His voice was laced with outrage. He was furious that someone—anyone—had laid hands on her, had hurt her in that way. He sighed heavily. “I wish I’d’ve been there, Vi. I would’ve never let him hurt you like this.”

Violet didn’t tease him about his threats to stand up to a gang member; he was too serious, and she was still too dazed to make jokes about it. The only thing that made either of them feel better was that Violet was certain James Nua was dead.

Jay brought her a hand mirror from the bathroom, and together they curled up on her bed and began exploring her injuries, each of them running their fingers carefully over the bruise beneath her eye, testing the feel of her swollen skin, and examining each scraped finger.

When he was finished, he climbed down from the bed and sat on his knees, leaning over her. He gently unclasped the necklace Krystal had given her, and Violet was glad he didn’t ask her what it was or where she’d gotten it. She didn’t want to talk about her team right now.

She watched as he lifted the hem of her shirt so he could look for bruises beneath, and she smiled, doubting he wouldn’t find any, but was awed by the reverence she saw on his face. By the time his eyes lifted to hers, his expression was calm again, reassuring.

He flattened his hand lightly over the surface of her stomach, softly letting his palm glide over her skin in a feather-soft caress. He brushed lightly across a scrape along the side of her rib cage, from where Nua had dragged her while she’d struggled against him. Jay’s fingers just barely grazed it. And then he bent forward, letting lips touch the tender abrasions. He took his time, his mouth—and his warm breath—giving her goose bumps. Violet sifted her fingers through his soft hair, tugging him closer until she was torn between two very different kinds of agony—the kind just below her skin’s surface, and the one that came from deep within her.

When she realized she was only torturing herself, she released the soft waves of his hair. “Are you almost done?” she breathed raggedly.

Jay grinned, raising only his eyes to hers. His lips moved lower, until at last he found the faintest bruise at her hip. It was where James Nua’s foot had clipped her.

She felt his lips then, tenderly—so, so tenderly—press against it. His tongue flickered lightly over her skin’s surface. Heat surged through her, making her nearly forget there was any pain at all. Then he moved all the way up and kissed her lips, more firmly than she would have imagined she could bear, one final time.

“Now I’m done,” he retorted, one brow raised as he scrutinized her glazed expression with complacent satisfaction.

He stood and Violet felt a stab of panic. “You’re not leaving, are you? It’s barely five o’clock.”

“Is that your way of asking me to stay?” He was grinning again, and his hair was a wild, tangled mess. She hated how desperate she sounded.

“No. If you have to go . . .” She sulked, wrapping her arms defensively over her chest, pretending it wouldn’t bother her to see him walk out the door.

Jay half-frowned, half-smiled, a look that only he could manage and still be disarmingly handsome. “Of course I’m staying, Vi. I’m not sure I’m ever leaving you alone again.”

Violet sighed, a relieved sound that came from deep in the back of her throat. “Whatever. I’m pretty sure this is a one-time thing you’ve got goin’ on here. The only reason my parents gave you an all-access pass to my bedroom is because they’re pretty sure we can’t mess around. I mean . . . look at me. After tonight, it turns back into an isolation chamber.”