Clad in her purple unicorn pajamas, she checked the time: 7 a.m., so she’d been asleep for four hours. She shoved Star’s raggedy self out of sight under the covers and blearily made her way to the door. That demanding knock undoubtedly belonged to her father. When she’d awakened him with her phone call, he’d answered with an immediate “What’s wrong?” She rarely caught him off guard, so his uncalculated concern had been exactly the right way for him to respond. So much so that she’d burst into tears, releasing all the pent-up fear and strain, to her utter shame and embarrassment. Never much for displays of emotion in general, much less on the phone, her father had simply told her to cry herself out and that he was getting on a plane, no matter what she wanted. She hadn’t even argued. “No more running,” she muttered to herself, pasting a bright smile on her face and yanking open the door. “Good morning, gentlemen!” Carlton Davis stood at the top of the narrow stairs, flanked by the two officers who’d been kind enough to pick her up out on the road the previous night and bring her home.
