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The officer who came inside was young, with close-cut hair and a pen already in his hand. He asked my name first.

“Hazel Piper.”

His pen stopped.

“Buck’s daughter?” he asked.

I nodded.

He looked toward the window, where another patrol car had arrived.

Then he took out his phone.

“I’m going to call your dad.”

There wasn’t much point telling him not to. I didn’t want him not to.

I wanted Dad.

That was irritating to discover after all the trouble I’d taken to prove I could manage without anybody.

The officer stepped a little way down the counter. I could hear his side of the conversation.

“She’s safe. I’m with her now. Couple of marks on her arms. We’re at the gas station on the corner—”

He listened, then handed me the phone.

“Dad?”

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

His voice was very calm.

I knew better than to trust that.

“Nothing bad. I’m inside with the employee. She helped me.”

“I’m on my way,” he said. “Stay there.”

I promised I would.

For once, staying exactly where somebody put me seemed like an excellent idea.

By the time Dad came through the door, a medic had looked at my arms and shoulder, and the man was sitting in the back of a patrol car.

I could see the edge of his cap through the window.

He had stopped smiling.

Dad came straight to me. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his badge clipped at his belt. He put a hand against the back of my neck and bent until he could see my face.

“Any missing time?” he asked quietly.

“No. Nothing like Monday.”

He held my eyes for another second.

Then he pulled me against him.