And both Eddie and Hank stood vigil, like I needed moral support, while I gave my statement to a young detective who told me to call him “Gav.”

Hank (incidentally, Ally’s brother and Indy’s brother-in-law, totally all in the family) pointed at Ally when we were leaving and asked, “You got her?”

Which received the little sister response of “Don’t be an ass.”

“I just asked a question,” Hank retorted.

Which gave Ally pause to say, “Is there something I need to know?”

Which I thought might be something I needed to know.

“Not yet,” Hank answered.

And this was a relief, kind of.

“Then don’t be an ass,” Ally repeated.

To which Hank moved his attention to Roxie and asked his wife, “Do you feel like moving back to Brownsburg yet?”

She did not respond except to shoot him a bright smile and blow him a kiss.

Wherever Brownsburg was, they weren’t moving there, I knew this even before Hank heaved a visible sigh and strolled away.

Roxie linked arms with me and guided me out, saying, “It’s part of the reason I love him. Lee and Ally were so wild, the big brother gene got so ingrained in him he can’t stop himself. If Lee was here, he’d ask the same question even knowing they both have their shit tight. I mean, Ally’s the second-best private investigator in the city, but only because she goes it alone and Lee has a team. Like, in most cases, Hawk calls her first if he needs added firepower.”

Added firepower.

Geez.

So, Ally was a PI, she sometimes worked with Mag’s boss, and this was why everyone acted like she was Rambette.

I could see this. She was trim and gorgeous and exuded competent badass.

I envied her.

Hell, I envied all of them.

After this, they took me to Fortnum’s.

I barely got through the doors before Tex was shoving a coffee drink in my hand (he was, I’d learned, the barista at Fortnum’s) and booming in my face, “I call that the ‘Textual.’ Because, first, you ain’t gonna be fuckin’ texting when you’re drinking that because you’ll be about nothin’ but drinkin’ that. And second, it’s my signature and it’s got the word Tex in it. Get it?”

“I get it,” I replied.

“So, take a hit and tell me what you think,” he ordered.

I would take a hit because I liked coffee (though I preferred tea). But I took that hit knowing I was going to tell him I loved it even if I loathed it mostly because he seemed kinda friendly, but he also seemed loony and proud of his coffee, and I didn’t want to see how friendly could turn in the way of Tex.

Then, after I took a sip of a latte flavored with almond, cherry and chocolate, my eyes rolled back into my head.

“I’ll take that as approval,” Tex semi-boomed, then strode away.

I was then seated in a couch that sat under the big windows that made up the front of the store and Ava shoved a pink book at me.

It had the big words ROCK CHICK on the front of it.

“Volume one,” she said. “There are ten, but two are novellas, so don’t panic.”

She then plonked down in an armchair across from me and shouted, “Tex! I need a skinny vanilla, stat.”

“I only do deliveries to women whose lives are in danger!” he bellowed what was clearly not a joke. “Get your ass up here, you want a coffee.”

She grinned at me and hauled her ass up to the counter.

Ally, Daisy and Shirleen all went to work, Roxie went shopping, and Jet and Indy worked at Fortnum’s (Indy owned it) so they got to work too, after introducing me to Duke, a long-gray-haired Harley dude who had a rolled bandana around his forehead.

All this while Lottie and Ava hung with me, sipping coffee.

That was the first time my phone rang.

The screen said DANIEL MAGNUSSON.

I’d have to change that to “Danny.”

Right before I deleted it.

I took the call on a “Hey.”

“Hey, comin’ to you for lunch. What do you want?”

He was coming to me for lunch?

That wasn’t part of Tex’s plan.

I wasn’t sure we should deviate from Tex’s plan.

“Um…”

“Culver’s?” he suggested.

“What?”

“Fried cheese curds and frozen custard?”

Gross.

“Together?” I asked.

I listened to him laugh in my ear.

God.

Beautiful.

“No, baby,” he murmured. “I’ll get you Culver’s. I’m in the vicinity. Make your week.”

My week was made meeting a protective hot guy who could kiss, didn’t forget to bring me a toothbrush and had a beautiful laugh I could convince myself I wanted to hear until my dying day.

His week included staking out late-night, clandestine meetings at storage units, me being a bitch to him, having to enter my ruined apartment armed and a sit-down with my brother.

Totally had to get my body with the program in order to save Mag from the disaster that was my life.

“I don’t own any workout clothes,” I told him.

“You’ll get set up again, Evie,” he assured.

“No, I mean, even before my belongings were decimated, I didn’t own any workout clothes. I took pride in that. If I keep eating like you eat, I’ll need workout clothes, and right now, I can’t afford them.”

He sounded appalled when he asked, “No yoga pants?”

That was when I started laughing.

And again, my body, most especially my mouth, was not getting with the program.

“So, how’d it go at the station?” he queried into my laughter.

“And he slips that in after promises of fried cheese curds and frozen custard and making me laugh,” I whispered.

“How’d it go, honey?” he whispered back.

How it went was, I took care of me by reporting a dangerous situation to the police, but I did it feeling like I was hammering nails into my brother’s coffin.

“It’s done.”

“It’s gonna be okay.”

His definition of okay, with a living, breathing Evie, and my definition of okay, with a living, breathing me and my brother were not the same.

Even so.

“Yeah,” I muttered.

“Ask around, text orders, and I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay.”

“Later, babe.”

No boyfriend in my life, or even a guy I dated, called me “babe.”

I said not a word, except, “Later, Danny.”

We hung up, I took orders, typed the longest text of my life to send them to Mag, and once it swooshed away, the bell over the door went, which happened so much, the staff had to tune it out or it’d drive them insane.

I’d heard of Fortnum’s and the coffee there (though, again, I was a tea person). I’d heard of the Rock Chick books, though never cracked one open, because even if I loved to read, I never had time for it. I even knew Lottie’s friends and family came to see her dance on occasion.

But they were there for Lottie, as well as Smithie, so none of the girls worked their table (because, first, swinging your ass in Lottie’s friends’ faces: gross, and second, because of that, it would be way weird to work for that tip).