Stack heard the implication. “Go on.”

“I think she knows you, dude. Sounded that way to me. She didn’t really talk about you the way someone would a stranger.”

Suspicions gelled. “Can you describe her again?”

“Even though it was still dark, I took a better look this time. Light blue eyes. Brown hair with a little bit of a reddish tint, at least that’s how it looked under the street lamp. She had it down this time, a little past her shoulders. She’s shapely, with a big rack.”

Whitney. “Around twenty-five or so?”

“That’d be my guess.”

“Thanks, Leese.” A knock sounded on Vanity’s front door. Stack held her back when she started to leave the bed. To Leese he said, “I owe you one.”

“Or two, but who’s keeping count? I hope the info helps. If there’s anything you need...”

He left that open-ended, maybe because Stack had been so resistant to Leese’s friendship with Vanity. Now, with the possibility of real danger, he’d as soon every fighter keep an eye on her.

“Thanks, man. If I do, I’ll be in touch.” Stack disconnected the call and pulled on his jeans, saying to Vanity, “I’ll get the door while you get dressed.”

“Okay, but be careful!”

She couldn’t know the specifics of the conversation, but Vanity was good at picking up on cues. Another of her endearing qualities.

The minute he left the bedroom, Norwood and Maggie fell into step beside him. Extra cautious with Vanity nearby, Stack lifted a side curtain and saw his sister standing on the porch.

He jerked the door open. “Tabby?”

She looked surprised to see him.

Given the tear tracks marring her cheeks, he was more surprised. “What’s wrong?”

“Stack!” She threw herself against him.

Automatically he gathered her close. Many times, in many ways, his sister made him nuts. But he loved her, and to this day he couldn’t be immune to her tears, common as they might be. “Are you okay?”

“I thought you’d be gone already.”

So she’d brought the drama to Vanity? Through long practice, he understood what it took to get the answers he needed. He held her back. “Mom’s okay?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not physically hurt?”

“No.” She hiccupped, absently patted the anxious dogs, then faced him with trumped-up bravado. “I want to talk to Vanity.”

When he said nothing, the tears started flowing again.

From behind them, Vanity said, “What’s going on? Tabby?”

To Stack’s annoyance, Tabby abandoned him and ran to Vanity.

Worse, Vanity opened her arms and offered comfort. “Shh. It’s okay now. I’m here.”

Stack resisted the urge to growl.

“I need to...to...talk to you.” She cast Stack a glance. “A...alone.”

Vanity gazed at Stack with silent apology.

Amazing how fast a day could go to hell. “Come on.” Stack pulled his sister away and got them all started for the kitchen. “First, no, I’m not leaving you here alone with Vanity.”

Her face crumpled again.

Stack ignored it. “Take a seat. The dogs need to go out, and I need coffee.”

“I’ll get the coffee going,” Vanity offered. She seemed anxious to have something to do. Not that he could blame her. Anything was preferable to being the recipient of Tabby’s tears.

Stack pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and pressed his sister into it, then handed her two napkins so she could clean her face. Next he opened the back door and whistled for the dogs. As soon as Norwood and Maggie ran out to the yard, he went to Vanity, kissed her cheek and whispered, “Sorry.”

She sent him a soft smile—as if she was proud of him for something. Had she expected him to close the door on his own sister? To deny her? No, he didn’t like Tabby’s theatrics, but she was his sister through the good and the bad.

Feeling as if he faced the gallows, Stack joined Tabby at the table. She looked marginally composed now—but also capable of letting loose again if he said the wrong thing. “Better?”

She sniffled. “Yes.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

She clutched the wadded napkins in her hands and looked to Vanity for support.

“Go on,” Vanity urged her. “It’ll be okay.”

Tabby nodded, drew a breath and blurted, “I’ve left Phil.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN