Page 89 of Fighting For You

"Thorne identified two of the riders as members of a crew that's been expanding east since the summer. They're not connected to Wayne's people. They're the replacement." She looked at me. "What happened to you was a message. If they wanted to hurt you, they would have run you into traffic instead of boxing you in. They wanted you to know they could reach you."

"A message for who?" Nora asked. "Knox or Ian?"

"Both. Knox because he's visible, easy to find, and connected to Ian. Ian because he's a known associate of the old crew. Even with a no-contact order, even with probation, even if Ian never speaks to anyone from Rudy's again, the new crew doesn't know that and doesn't care. To them, he's still connected."

Nora's hand found my knee. I covered it with mine.

"What can we do?" Nora's voice was steady, but I could feel her fingers pressing harder. "What do we do to keep him safe?"

Andy sat back. "You're already doing the most important things. He's in a different neighborhood. He's in a different school. He's not in contact with anyone from the old crew. Distance is the best protection you have. The further he stays from the old territory, the less interesting he becomes to the people moving into it."

"What about Thorne?" I asked.

"I talked to him this morning. He's flagged Ian's name in his case file, which means if Ian's name comes up in any investigation, any stop, any report, Thorne gets a notification. That's as close to a safety net as LVMPD can offer without assigning protection, and they're not going to assign protection for a juvenile witness on a property crime."

"So we just wait?" Nora said.

"You stay vigilant. You keep his routine tight. School, home, nothing in between that isn't accounted for. If anything changes, if he gets a call from a number you don't recognize, if someone shows up at the school, if he starts acting different, you call Thorne and you call me." She held Nora's gaze. "And you don't tell Ian about Tropicana."

"We didn't," I said.

"Keep it that way. If he finds out Knox was targeted because of his connection to Wayne's crew, he'll feel responsible. And a seventeen-year-old boy who feels responsible will try to fix it himself."

The room was quiet.

"There's something else you need to hear," Andy said. Her voice was gentler now, but her eyes were direct. "You can do everything right. You can keep him in school, keep him away from the old neighborhood, keep his schedule locked down. But Ian is seventeen. He walks out that door every morning and he makes his own choices until he walks back through it. There's a limit to what you can control."

Nora didn't say anything. Her hand went still under mine.

"That's not a reason to stop trying," Andy said. "It's a reason to make sure Thorne has everything he needs to work the case, and to keep doing exactly what you're doing. Ian is in a good place right now. He's got stability, he's got structure, he's got people who are paying attention. That matters more than you think."

Wyatt reached over and put his hand on Nora's shoulder. She covered it with hers for a second, then let go.

"Thank you, Andy," Nora said.

Andy nodded. She looked at me. "Anything changes, you call."

"I will."

Wyatt looked at me. I looked back. Neither of us said anything, but he put his hand on my shoulder on his way out, and that was enough.

Nora left before six the next morning. I heard her moving through the house in the dark, quiet on early shifts as always, pulling the front door shut behind her with barely a click. I rolled over and stared at the ceiling until the house went still.

By seven I was on the couch with my ankle propped on a pillow, flipping through channels. A home renovation show. A cooking competition. Local news I didn't want to watch. I settled on a baseball replay and let it run.

Ian came down the hallway around seven-thirty. He went straight to the kitchen, dropped two slices of bread in the toaster, and opened the fridge for the jam. I listened to the familiar routine from the couch: the toaster clicking, the butter knife against glass, the faucet running for half a second.

He came into the living room eating the toast, his backpack over one shoulder. He looked at the clock on the wall.

"I'll be back after school."

"Have a good day."

He nodded and headed for the door. It closed behind him at seven forty-five, and the house was quiet again.

I watched the rest of the baseball game without tracking the score. Thought about getting up to make more coffee and decided it wasn't worth the trip on the ankle. Thought about calling the station to ask about the schedule and decided Captain Thompson didn't need to hear from me on a day off.

My phone rang a little after ten. The screen said Mom.