“You need to talk to Dr. Rutledge,” Lacey Campbell stated. “He should know about this. I don’t think this is right.”

Gianna heard the uncertainty in the forensic odontologist’s tone. She and the dentist had hit it off when they worked together during Gianna’s visitation in the medical examiner’s office. She’d discovered a kindred spirit in the lively woman and they shared a point of view that only women shorter than five three could understand.

“I’ll tell him if anything comes out of it. I don’t want to make a big fuss if I’m wrong.”

“This is crazy.”

Gianna exhaled, knowing that was Lacey’s way of agreeing. “They’ll do it quickly?”

“I think so. Usually they ask for two days, but I have a favor to call in at this particular lab, so maybe I can get it sooner. I’ll warn you, the cost is pretty steep.”

“I don’t care. I need to find out, and I’m not doing anything illegal.”

“It’s not illegal, but I think you’re pushing ethical boundaries,” Lacey said. “Dr. Rutledge isn’t going to be happy. You understand you’re risking your job?”

“I do, and I’ll make sure no one finds out you helped me.”

“I can plead ignorance if it comes back to me.”

“It won’t. I promise,” swore Gianna. Her mind spun as she hung up the phone. What have I just done?

Gianna stood in the kitchen of her home, her words about not knowing if she could ever sleep in the house again echoing in her head. She was starting to feel back in control of her life. She had a cell phone and a rental car, and the police had released her home. Detective Sanchez had apologized for the black dust but hadn’t offered to send anyone to clean it up.

If there was a chance she was being targeted, she couldn’t stay under Michael’s roof. She wouldn’t lead a killer to his doorstep.

So I lead him to my own house? Where is the safest place for Violet?

Chris had neatly countered her arguments about removing Violet from under his brother’s wing. If what he claimed about his brother’s skills was true, then Violet was in good hands. But Gianna ached to be the one to protect her daughter. Being separated from Violet had increased her anxiety. She’d bitten the nails on her left hand down to the quick.

Questions bombarded her brain like birds attacking prey. Where could she find a safe place to sleep? A jail cell?

“Do you want to visit your uncle next?” Chris asked as he entered the kitchen. He’d insisted on following her home even though she had a vehicle, and she’d been grateful. She hadn’t wanted to enter her home alone. Her nerves had been on high alert since they’d left lunch with the detectives.

The thought of dealing with her uncle instantly exhausted her. She loved the man, but he was intense. She had enough on her mind. “Not yet.”

Chris was silent for a few seconds. “He’s not easy, is he?”

She exhaled. “Exactly. I love him, but sometimes he’s best in small doses. He means well, but he has a tendency to take over a situation when it’s not necessary. I feel like I lose a bit of myself every time he swoops in. He started it when I was a child, and I allowed it to continue as I became an adult. You could say I enabled him.”

“He loves you. He’s probably being the best parent he knows how to be.”

“I know. Which is why I let it go on for so long.”

“It must have been a shock for him when your parents died and he suddenly inherited a child.”

Gianna gave a sad smile. “I wish I’d been more aware back then. I really don’t remember much of a transition. By the time I was healed and functioning, he was in full parenting mode and determined to do it right. He’s not one to back down from a challenge.”

“What do you remember from the accident?” Chris asked softly.

She looked at him. In his eyes she saw curiosity, but she also saw someone who cared. She’d grown very comfortable with Chris since he’d led her and Violet back to his cabin. She’d become accustomed to turning and discovering his face close by. His scars had faded from her notice; now she simply saw him. “I’m not sure which are memories and which are dreams,” she admitted. Over the decades the images had jumbled in her mind, and she didn’t share them with others because she was uncertain of their reliability. Even when Violet asked, she put her daughter off, saying she couldn’t recall.

It’d become her mantra: I don’t remember anything.

But at night her mind raced with bits and pieces of memories. Or were they creations of a young girl’s imagination?

“I remember seeing a shocked man wearing a brown sweater standing in a doorway. This was at the house where I knocked on the door after the accident. He told everyone that I didn’t say a word but just stood there bleeding on his doorstep, looking like I was about to collapse. I had gashes all over my legs and a deep cut on my forehead. I remember wiping at the blood several times as it ran down my face.”

“He lived miles from the accident site,” Chris stated. His eyes were cautious, and she knew that he of all people would understand the blurs between facts and a child’s memory. “Do you remember walking there?”

She did. She remembered the pain in her feet and the dark trees against the darker sky. But she also remembered someone holding her hand. “I don’t think I was alone,” she said slowly. She’d never said it out loud before. The distinct feeling of someone gripping her hand had always been strong, but when she’d recovered enough to ask about it, she’d already been told a dozen times how she made the long trek alone. She’d doubted her memory and kept her mouth shut, choosing not to contradict the admirers of her survival skills.