Duty To Defend. Jill Elizabeth Nelson

many times, I’ve prayed to God, begging for normal to somehow find me. It never has.” She broke eye contact. “Thanks for the lunch offer, but I’ve changed my mind. If you’ll excuse me, I don’t think I can eat anything. I’d better get back to my desk. See you tomorrow at the day care.”

      She chewed out those last two words as she hurried away. If this first day of the rest of her life diverged any more radically from all she had confidently expected, she might simply implode into a splat on the sidewalk.

      An hour later, she sat at her desk, staring at her computer screen, a half-eaten candy bar and a mug of cold coffee at her elbow. That incident in the street today puzzled her. Had the driver been impaired by drugs or alcohol to the point where he had been unaware of pedestrians? But his driving had seemed anything but erratic as he shot toward Jax and her like an arrow off a bowstring.

      She’d tried running through the system the scrap of license-plate identification she’d remembered. However, following up on the number of RAV4s that popped up was beyond her ability, even factoring in the color of the vehicle. Red was highly popular. If she wanted to identify the driver, she’d have to approach this from a different angle. She came back to the same question: Who had been the driver’s target?

      Jax may have made enemies during his days in the Marshals Service, maybe even more enemies during his dealings with volatile family court situations. Or could the target be her? She wanted to believe that the idea was ridiculous. Unless the attempted hit-and-run was connected to that stupid prank with the basket of rotten baby paraphernalia. What if the disgusting housewarming gift was not a brotherly prank, but a taunt with evil intent? The advice in the note to “enjoy” her life suddenly took on sinister overtones.

      No use indulging needless paranoia. Chomping a bite out of her candy bar, she picked up her cell phone from the desk. A quick text to Nate, thanking him for his “thoughtfulness,” would settle the matter one way or another. He’d either acknowledge his twisted gift or have no idea what she was talking about. If she scored zero with Nate, she’d check with her other siblings. One of them had to be the culprit. The alternative was too creepy, if not downright scary.

      Daci shot off a tongue-in-cheek thank-you, then turned her attention back to the research she was conducting on therapy for fetal alcohol syndrome babies. Virtually raising her siblings almost from her earliest memory had prepared her well for normal day care duties. Her boss was right about her mad skills in that area, but she’d never cared for a FAS infant.

      That opportunity, which many would have considered a burden, had been denied her. Daci’s parents claimed her newborn baby brother Niall died at the hospital, but with no funeral being held for him, she’d never fully had closure. Where was he buried? Her parents wouldn’t tell, and to this day, she didn’t know and likely never would. As yet, she hadn’t found a way to make peace with that blank spot in her history.

      At least tomorrow she’d have an opportunity to make peace with Jax for her abrupt abandonment of their lunch plans. He hadn’t meant anything insulting in his remark that she wasn’t normal, but the whole overload of the day had gotten to her in that moment.

      She’d have to step up her game if she didn’t want him to write her off as a flake, which would be so unfair, since she’d never flaked on anything in her life. This case was extremely important on a society-impacting scale, even though parts of the assignment were a disappointment to her personally. Like Reynolds had told her: Suck it up, Marlowe.

      While they were studying the files on Farnam and Naylor this morning, Jax had explained that he visited the day care frequently because many of the children were his clients. When he walked in tomorrow, she’d be ready for him with a friendly smile and, if they had a private moment, an apology.

      By the time her shift ended, Daci was more than ready to leave the office. But even though she was done with her work for the day, another matter needed to be resolved before she could really relax. She had some thinking and research to do on her basket mystery.

      During the drive to her apartment, her tired brain sorted through the results so far. Nate, who was swamped with starting a dentistry practice in Worcester, Massachusetts, and planning a wedding with his fiancé, had responded to her “thank you” text with a question mark and puzzlement emoji. She received a similar response during her afternoon break when she texted Noah, who was on a journalism assignment in London. She could cross them both off her list. If either brother had been behind the prank in person or by arrangement, he would have been proud to take credit and laugh at her scolding.

      She pulled into the carport of a large Victorian home converted to side-by-side apartments in the quiet Pine Point neighborhood. A chorus of greetings from the porch of the Victorian house next door met her ears as she exited her little VW. Daci waved at three mixed-age women, members of a group home for mentally challenged adults, who resided there.

      She’d been intrigued by the place when she’d moved in a week ago, and had gone over to meet the residents. In addition to rotating shifts of house mothers, there were six residents—two with Down syndrome, two with autism, one with fragile X syndrome and one with FASD. Their intellectual capacities varied from gifted in areas to slow across the board, but poor emotional and social skills guaranteed their need for a supervised environment for the rest of their lives. Once her life settled down a little, she might find time to go over and volunteer, but not today.

      “Have a good evening,” she called to her welcoming committee and trod up the three steps onto the porch. At least there were no more weird gifts awaiting her.

      Inside, she changed into comfy jeans and T-shirt, then picked up her phone to call her sisters, Amalie and Ava. She was about to peck the speed-dial button for Amalie when her screen lit up and her ringtone began. Am had beaten her to the call. Most likely Ava was present, too, since they shared an apartment near Dartmouth University in Hanover, New Hampshire. Only two years apart in age, the sisters enjoyed a close relationship, despite or maybe because of their differing personalities. Amalie, the elder, was on the serious side, introverted and cautious, while Ava was bubbly and outgoing.

      Daci answered and greeted her sister.

      “How was your day, Mamasis?” Amalie lilted.

      Warmth filled Daci at the familiar, affectionate nickname—though her sibs had sometimes changed it to “Nemesis” if they were at odds with her over some sort of growing pains.

      “I’m here, too,” Ava chimed in.

      “Can’t tell you the details,” Daci answered, “but I’ve been assigned a small role in a high-profile case.”

      Feminine squeals blended.

      “Awesome,” Ava said.

      “Does it involve danger?” Amalie’s tone went cautious.

      “No more than any law-enforcement assignment. Risk is part of the job.”

      Ava chuckled. “Our mamasis, the adventurer. I suppose you couldn’t bear any sort of mundane career after the supreme challenge of raising us.”

      They all laughed.

      “Which of you sent me the ‘welcome to your new life’ basket I found outside my door this morning?”

      For a beat, stone silence answered.

      “Must have been the neighborhood welcoming committee,” Amalie said.

      “Yeah, neither of us thought of doing anything that nice. Wish we had.”

      “What was in it?” Amalie was ever practical.

      “Small stuff. Pretty much useless for my current lifestyle.” If her sisters weren’t in on the joke, no way was she going to freak them out by detailing the basket’s contents.

      “Wasn’t there a card?” Am asked.

      “Nothing that identified the sender.”

      “Weird,” Ava said.

      The conversation veered off into other topics, like Amalie’s upcoming graduation with