Page 8 of Taken from Her (Phoenix Ridge Police Department #4)

Diana's training kicked in automatically. "We're following all available leads. I can't discuss specific details of an ongoing investigation, but I want you to know?—"

"Following leads hasn't brought our girls home." Mrs. Holstead's voice carried authority. "What we want to know is when you're going to find them."

The question hung in the air like incense, heavy with expectation Diana couldn't meet. Around the circle, faces waited for reassurance she couldn't provide, for certainty that didn't exist, for the kind of emotional comfort that had never been part of her job description.

Diana felt her professional mask slipping under the weight of their collective need. These weren't witnesses or suspects or case files; they were people whose lives had been shattered by something she couldn't stop or solve or even understand.

"I know you're scared," she began, then stopped. The words sounded hollow even to her, the police training inadequate for the raw grief and terror facing her.

Lavender moved closer, not taking over but creating space for something different. "We're all scared," she said, her voice somehow both gentle and strong. "But Chief Marten is working with us now, trying to understand how our community operates so we can work together more effectively."

Diana watched Lavender navigate the room's emotional currents with unconscious skill, reading faces and body language, offering comfort while acknowledging pain. Where Diana saw problems to solve, Lavender saw people to care for.

"What does that look like?" asked Brianna, her girlfriend Rose's hand tight in hers. "Working together?"

Diana opened her mouth to give an answer about cooperation and information sharing, but found herself watching Lavender instead, the way her hands moved when she spoke and graceful gestures that somehow made difficult truths easier to bear.

Professional admiration shifted into something more dangerous as Diana recognized qualities she'd never developed, skills she'd never needed until now.

Lavender commanded this room not through authority but through authentic connection, the kind of leadership Diana had always dismissed as soft but was learning might be stronger than anything she'd ever possessed.

"It looks like honesty," Lavender said, glancing at Diana. "About what we know, what we don't know, and what we need from each other."

"We need answers." Corinne's voice cracked slightly. "We need Joanna home. We need to stop being afraid to walk alone after dark or meet for coffee or live our lives."

Diana felt the weight of thirty-plus gazes, people looking to her for solutions she didn't have and reassurance she couldn't provide. Her authority meant nothing here. Her badge was just a piece of metal. Her years of training felt inadequate against the simple human need for safety and connection.

"I can't promise you answers," Diana heard herself say, the words tumbling out before she'd consciously decided to abandon her prepared remarks. "I can promise you everything we have. Every resource, every hour, every possible lead."

It wasn't enough. She could see it in their faces and feel it in the way conversations resumed in careful whispers when the official portion of the meeting ended. Community members clustered together, processing what they'd heard and finding it wanting.

Diana stood near the memorial corner where the untouched drinks still sat beside fresh flowers, watching Lavender move between groups with natural grace.

She offered comfort here and gathered vital bits of information there, weaving connections that held the community together when everything else threatened to tear them apart.

Mrs. Holstead approached, her gray hair perfectly arranged despite the late hour. "You're different than I expected," she said, sharp eyes studying Diana's face.

"Different how?"

"You’re more human, less…badge." The observation carried neither approval nor criticism, just assessment. "Lavender's influence, I suspect."

Diana's gaze found Lavender across the room, deep in conversation with a group of younger women, her presence somehow making them sit straighter and speak more confidently.

"She's remarkable," Diana said, then caught herself. Too honest, too revealing, too soon.

Mrs. Holstead’s smile was brief but knowing. "Yes, she is. Question is whether you're worthy of what she's offering."

The words hit like ice water. Diana turned to face the elderly woman fully, but Mrs. Holstead was already walking away, leaving Diana alone with observations she wasn't ready to confront.

The meeting was ending and people were drifting toward the door in small groups, voices carrying plans for increased safety measures and mutual protection. Diana should have left with them and returned to her apartment and her case files and the familiar isolation of command.

Instead, she found herself lingering as the café emptied, drawn by an invisible thread toward a woman who made her question everything she thought she knew about strength, leadership, and the price of keeping people at arm's length.

The door closed behind the last community member, leaving Diana and Lavender alone in the candlelit space that felt charged with possibility and danger.

The café felt different without the weight of watching eyes.

Candlelight flickered across empty chairs stacked against tables, cleaning supplies appearing from behind the counter as Lavender began the ritual of closing down.

Diana stood awkwardly near the memorial corner, unsure whether to leave or stay, caught between professional duty and something unnamed that kept her rooted in place.

Lavender moved through her routine, gathering abandoned coffee cups and straightening cushions, but Diana caught her glancing over—not suspiciously, something softer. Curiosity, maybe. Or patience.

"You don't have to stay," Lavender said, wiping down a table that probably didn't need it. "I know you've had a long day."

"I could help. With the cleanup."

The offer surprised them both. Diana saw it in the way Lavender's hands stilled, in her own realization that she'd just volunteered for something that had nothing to do with police work and everything to do with not wanting to leave this space, this woman, or this feeling of almost belonging somewhere.

"All right," Lavender said, gesturing toward a stack of chairs. "Those need to come down from the tables."

Working together created an intimacy Diana hadn't expected. Their movements synchronized gradually—Diana lifting chairs while Lavender arranged them, reaching for cleaning supplies at the same time, their hands brushing briefly before Diana pulled back with careful control.

The ocean's distant sound grew more audible as the evening settled around them, streetlights through windows creating dramatic shadows that made the café feel removed from the everyday world.

The scent of cleaning products mixed with lingering coffee and the herbal sweetness that seemed to follow Lavender wherever she went.

"I don't know how you do it," Diana said, setting down the last chair harder than necessary. The words came out more forcefully than intended, three weeks of frustration bleeding into her voice.

Lavender looked up from wiping the counter. "Do what?"

"Make them feel heard when I can't give them what they need." Diana's hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. "I stood up there tonight and watched you navigate their emotions like…like you had some kind of map I can't read."

"You give them dedication," Lavender said, continuing her cleaning with steady hands. "Sometimes that matters more than answers."

"Does it?" Diana turned toward the memorial corner, staring at the untouched drinks. "Three women are still missing. Corinne goes home every night to Joanna's empty side of the bed, and all I can offer is 'the investigation continues.'"

She felt Lavender move closer and sensed her presence before seeing her in her peripheral vision. "And you haven't given up. That counts for something."

Diana's laugh was flat. "Mrs. Holstead doesn't think so. None of them do. Three weeks, and I'm no closer to finding them than I was the first day."

"You're here," Lavender said simply. "In a room full of emotions you clearly hate dealing with, asking questions you've never had to ask before. That's not the same person who handled this case three weeks ago."

The observation cut deeper than Diana expected. She turned to face Lavender fully, noting how the candlelight softened her features but couldn't hide the intelligence in her eyes, the way she seemed to see straight through Diana’s professional walls.

"I don't know if different is better," Diana said. "I don't know if any of this community outreach actually helps find missing women or just makes everyone feel better about being helpless."

Lavender set down her cleaning cloth with deliberate care. "You think what I do is just making people feel better?"

"I think—" Diana stopped, recognizing dangerous territory but unable to step back from it. "I think you create this sanctuary where people feel safe sharing feelings, but feelings don't find missing women. Facts do. Evidence does. Police work does."

"And your walls don't either." Lavender's voice remained steady, but something shifted in her posture, in the way she held herself. "When's the last time you actually connected with another human being without your badge as an intermediary?"

The question hit like a physical blow. Diana felt her professional mask cracking, years of careful control struggling against something that wanted to break free.

"I protect people by being objective," she said, the words coming out sharper than intended. "By not letting emotions cloud my judgment."

"Or by not letting yourself care enough to be hurt if you fail."