“She’s safe, boss,” Marco’s voice came through the cracked speaker, muffled by the wind. “We have her.”

The relief was a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.

Dominic let out a ragged breath, his forehead resting against the edge of the tablet for a single second.

“Bring her to the precinct,” Dominic said into his radio, his voice shaking. “We’re on our way.”

The drive to the Manhattan precinct was silent.

The rain smeared the streetlights into long, red ribbons across the asphalt.

Dominic sat beside me in the back of the SUV, his hands resting on his knees.

He did not try to touch me, but he kept his eyes on mine.

When we arrived, the lobby smelled of wet wool and floor wax.

Lucia was sitting on a vinyl bench in a back office, holding a paper cup of water.

She looked up when the door opened.

“Mama,” she said.

I crossed the room in three strides and pulled her into my arms, burying my face in her damp hair.

She smelled like rain and the sweet, dusty scent of the bookstore.