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Cass just shrugs with his cheeks full, less cautious than Will, it seems.

The door swings open, and she gives me a giant, enthusiastic grin before leaping across the threshold and crushing me in a hug.

“Girl! Liberty Jane! You’re alive!”

“Only for a few more minutes until you crack my spine,” I grunt, barely.

She sets me down gingerly, plucking a strand of hair off my forehead while giving me a motherly once-over. Her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Are you skinny? Have you been eating? You look different.”

“I assure you that I have been eating. In fact, I baked cookies! Come on inside.”

“Well, yeah, sweetie!” she coos affectionately. “Why don’t you show me around your witness relo—”

She steps into the living room, then pulls up short.

“Oh, hello, I didn’t see you there,” she explains, pushing her hair back with her palms nervously.

“Mona, this is Will.”

Will walks forward, extending a hand in a brief, polite handshake.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says in that formal, sexy voice of his.

I’ve heard it a thousand times, but it still thrills me to my core.

“Oh, please do call me Mona,” she titters in her polite, Southern way.

“And this is Cass,” I continue.

Cass crosses the room from the other direction, also shaking her hand.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” he murmurs.

“Well, my goodness!” she exclaims, literally fanning herself with her fingers.

She shakes his hand, but turns to me in confusion and a little bit of alarm. Then she turns back to the guys and give them each a terse once-over, then turns back to me.

“This is where you’ve been,” she declares.

It’s not a question. It is the opening remarks of her personal style of investigative reporting. Cass, Will, and I stand still as she begins to walk a path around the perimeter of the room, her eyes darting from surface to surface as she assembles the evidence into a narrative on the fly.

“This is a nice place,” she announces.

Will begins to thank her, but I stop him with the palm of my hand. She will get to him soon enough.

“Nice place… Books. Sofa. No art. No band posters.”

“What is she doing?” Cass whispers theatrically.

“Reading the room,” I answer simply.

Her hips sway as she saunters into the kitchen, pausing to open drawers and cabinet doors, finally the refrigerator where she stands for a full fifteen seconds.

“You guys are military.”

“Big deal. She got that from the military-issue lettuce crisper,” Will jokes nervously.