Page 17 of Taken from Her (Phoenix Ridge Police Department #4)

Diana’s pause was careful. “I think it’s someone who knows you. Whether that’s a personal acquaintance or through careful observation, we’re still determining that.”

“That’s terrifying,” Hazel whispered.

“It’s also useful,” Diana said. “Because intimate knowledge goes both ways. If they understand your community, your community understands them too. You’ve seen things, noticed changes, and observed behaviors that may not seem significant individually but could create a pattern when combined.”

Lavender felt something shift in her chest—pride, maybe, or recognition. This was what she’d hoped for when she invited Diana into her community space. Not just for her to be recognized as a police presence, but as a genuine partnership.

“That’s why we’re here,” Lavender said, finding her voice again. “To pool our resources and create better protection for everyone.”

Diana nodded, her attention never wavering from the group. “I want to hear everything. Things that seemed unimportant, moments that felt off, people who asked unusual questions. All of it matters.”

Georgia spoke up from her corner. “There was a man asking about local women’s organizations last month. Professional appearance, friendly enough. Said he was doing research for a nonprofit.”

“Where did this happen?” Diana’s pen moved across her notebook, capturing every word.

“Outside the community center. I was leaving my book club when he approached me.”

“Did he give you a name? Organization?”

“David something. I didn’t catch his full name. But he seemed to know quite a bit about local businesses. He asked specifically about Lavender’s Cafe and the swimming pool.”

Diana stopped writing. “He mentioned specific locations?”

“He asked about schedules, peak hours, and who the regular customers were.” Georgia’s voice carried the authority of someone who’d survived seven decades by paying attention. “At the time, it seemed like harmless research. Now, well…”

“Now, it looks like reconnaissance,” Diana finished.

The word hung in the air like a physical presence. Lavender felt the group’s energy tighten, fear mixing with determination in ways that made her proud of her community’s resilience.

“This is exactly what we need,” Diana said, looking around the circle. “Sharing information to identify patterns and coordinate protection.”

Elle raised her hand tentatively. "So what do we do with this? How do we stay safe without hiding?"

Diana's expression softened. "We work together. With your community knowledge and our investigative resources, we can create a real partnership instead of parallel efforts.”

Lavender caught Diana's eye across the circle, seeing something there that made her pulse quicken. Not just professional respect, but genuine appreciation for what they were building together.

"Let's start with current safety protocols," Lavender said, grateful her voice remained steady. "Then we'll develop communication systems that work for everyone."

The workshop was officially beginning, but Lavender could already feel that a core truth had been altered. They weren't just community members receiving a police briefing anymore. They were partners in keeping each other safe.

And Diana was no longer the distant authority figure who'd first entered their space. She was becoming part of what they were building together.

Twenty minutes into the workshop, Lavender realized she was in trouble.

Not the kind of trouble that came from hostile community members or unproductive meetings. This was worse; the slow-burning awareness that Diana’s presence was unraveling her usual competence one thread at a time.

“So the buddy system works best when”—Lavender paused, momentarily lost as Diana shifted in the chair, her uniform fabric catching the light—“when partners check in at predetermined times.”

Elle raised her hand. “How often should we be checking in?”

Lavender opened her mouth to answer, then caught sight of Diana taking notes, her fingers moving across the page with the same careful precision they’d used to trace patterns on Lavender’s skin only twelve hours ago.

“Every few hours,” she said finally, hoping no one noticed the delay.

Diana looked up from her notebook. “For higher risk activities like walking alone after dark or going to isolated locations, hourly check-ins might be more appropriate.”

The practical suggestion snapped Lavender back into focus.

“Exactly. And Chief Marten brings up an important point about risk assessment.” She moved toward the flip chart, grateful for something to do that didn’t involve looking directly at Diana.

“Let’s map out our community’s daily routines and find vulnerable points. ”

The group engaged readily with the exercise.

Corinne shared Joanna’s swimming schedule, her voice steady despite the pain underneath.

Sam talked about her early morning runs along the coastal trail.

Racquel and Jordan described their evening walks through downtown and how they started varying their routes since the disappearances began.

Diana contributed without dominating, asking questions that showed genuine interest in community dynamics, rather than just gathering evidence. When Hazel mentioned feeling nervous about walking to her car after evening shifts, Diana offered specific safety protocols instead of generic advice.

“The key is maintaining unpredictability while ensuring someone always knows your location,” Diana said. “Random timing, varied routes, but consistent communication.”

Lavender found herself staring at Diana’s hands again—the way she gestured while speaking, fingers that had been gentle and sure in the darkness of the houseboat.

She forced herself to look away, but not before Diana caught her watching.

Their eyes met for just a moment, and Lavender felt heat rise in her cheeks.

“Lavender?” Corinne’s voice sliced through her distraction. “You were saying something about safe meeting places?”

“Right.” Lavender turned back to the flip chart, buying herself time to remember what she’d actually been saying. “Safe spaces. We need to find locations where people can go if they feel threatened or need immediate help.”

“The cafe, obviously,” Sam said.

“My bookstore stays open until nine,” Elle offered. “Good visibility from the street.”

Diana added three official locations—the police station, fire department, and city hall—but also acknowledged that formal spaces didn’t always feel accessible to everyone.

“Community members might be more comfortable seeking help from informal networks,” Diana said, glancing at Lavender. “Places where they’re known and trusted.”

The observation was professional, but something in Diana’s tone suggested she understood the difference between official safety and genuine sanctuary. Another evolution from the woman who’d first entered their space.

As the discussion continued, Lavender found herself fighting a constant battle for focus.

When Diana leaned forward to examine a resource list, Lavender noticed the way her uniform pulled across her shoulders.

When Diana asked a clarifying question, Lavender caught herself explaining the concepts in excessive detail, as if trying to impress her instead of informing the group.

“The communication protocols Chief Marten described integrate well with our existing networks,” Lavender said, then realized she’d been looking at Diana while addressing the entire group. “Sorry, what I mean is that formal and informal systems can work well together.”

Georgia's knowing smile from the corner didn't help her composure.

The workshop was productive despite her distraction.

They developed concrete safety improvements: enhanced buddy systems, communication trees for emergency situations, and better coordination between community networks and official resources.

Diana shared updated emergency contact procedures while respecting community autonomy. Trust was building in real time.

But every small success felt overshadowed by Lavender's awareness that she was performing below her usual standard.

When Diana offered technical resources, Lavender found herself seeking her input more than other participants.

When Diana shifted position or spoke, Lavender lost track of conversations that should have commanded her full attention.

"One question about the reporting procedures," Racquel said. "If someone feels like they're being watched but can't prove it, what's the best way to document that?"

Diana considered the question seriously. "Gut instincts matter. Even if you can't identify specific threats, changes in your comfort level are worth noting. Write down the date, time, location, and what felt different. Patterns emerge from details that seem insignificant individually."

"Like a safety journal," Hazel suggested.

"Exactly. And share observations with trusted friends. Sometimes other people notice things you've normalized."

Lavender watched Diana navigate the question with both professional competence and genuine care for community concerns.

This wasn't the distant Chief Marten who'd approached them three weeks ago.

This was someone who'd learned to listen, to see community members as partners rather than sources of information.

The recognition made her chest tight with something that might have been pride or attraction or both.

"Let's talk about environmental awareness," Lavender said, forcing herself back into facilitation mode. "Identifying spaces and situations that might be riskier."

The discussion that followed was thorough and practical.

Community members shared knowledge about lighting conditions, visibility, and escape routes.

Diana contributed professional assessment of threat levels without undermining community judgment.

They created comprehensive safety maps that combined official and informal intelligence.