“No need,” Tess said. “I’ll come quietly. Rosie?”

Quinn’s daughter rolled her eyes but moved to stand beside Tess. “I’d better come, too. Dad wouldn’t want me to sit out here, unsupervised, all afternoon on account of you got sent to the principal’s office.”

AN HOUR LATER, Tess held the passenger-side door of her roadster open for Rosie. “Get in, kid.”

“Jeez,” Rosie said as she slid into the seat. “You’re such a-”

Tess slammed the door shut so she wouldn’t have to listen to the rest of the rant and stalked to the driver’s side. The afternoon had been a huge success, as far as she was concerned. She’d touched off a small but vocal rebellion in the office against the traffic brigade. She’d scored a fawning shoe compliment from the school secretary-a woman with fabulous taste, even if she hadn’t used it for her personal enhancement. And she’d escaped from the principal’s office without suspension.

“I could have kicked her liposuctioned ass,” Tess said after the first silent mile.

The kid pressed her lips together and stared out the window. “Whose ass?” she asked a couple of blocks later.

“Blondie’s.”

“That’s Mrs. Stanton.” Rosie looked worried. “She’s Missy Stanton’s mom.”

“Poor Missy.”

The kid’s lips twitched in a younger version of her father’s almost-but-not-quite-there smile. The Quinns probably rationed their amusement to make sure it would last into the next century.

“Is Missy as stuck-up as her mom?” Tess asked.

“Worse.”

“Gag.” Tess turned down a side street. “Is she in your class?”

“No. She’s in the fifth grade.”

“What grade are you in?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t, believe me,” Tess said. “Just making conversation. It’s something people do every once in a while. Your dad should give it a try.”

“Where are we going?” Rosie asked as Tess made another turn.

“To get some drive-through coffee.”

“You just had some coffee. At the school.”

“What-are you my mother?”

“Caffeine is addictive.”

“No kidding. Must be why I drink so much of it.”

Rosie slumped in her seat and resumed glaring through the glass, and Tess remembered, too late, how much this girl must resent adults with addictions. “I should probably quit,” she said. “Or switch to decaf.”

A skinny-shouldered shrug was the only response.

“Your dad was worried about you. That’s why he called while I was in the principal’s office. Omigod.” Tess groaned. “While I was in the principal’s office. It sounds like I’m twelve.”

The kid muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath.

“Look,” Tess said, “I don’t care about what happened to me. Or to you, for that matter. I was looking forward to a fight, ’cause I’m in that kind of a mood today. Okay, I’m in that kind of a mood most of the time,” she admitted, “but your dad is having a rough day, and we made it a little rougher.”

“He’ll get over it,” Rosie said with another shrug.

“So kind of you to care.”

“Whatever.”

“I can kick your skinny ass, too,” Tess warned.

“You’re not supposed to talk to me like that.”

“Really?” Tess maneuvered into the short line at Java Jive. “According to whose rules?”

“My dad’s.”

“You treat him like dirt and then expect him to fight your battles for you-is that how it works?”

“You don’t know anything about it.”

“I know more than you think.” Tess pulled even with the menu board. “Chocolate or vanilla shake?”

Rosie gave her a confused stare.

“What’ll it be, kid?”

“Vanilla.”

“Excellent choice.”

Tess gave her order and then inched ahead, next in line. “My mom is an alcoholic,” she said matter-of-factly. “She’s been in and out of rehab so many times I’ve lost count. On the good days, when I was still at home, she’d stay sober long enough to pick me up from school. On the bad days, she’d forget about me, and one of my teachers would call a cab and the maid would come out and take care of the fare when I got home. Most of the time, she’d pass out right before dinner, so I’d ask my brother to help me with my homework.”

Tess paid for their beverages and handed Rosie’s shake to her. “My dad drank, too,” she continued, “but not as much. I only found him passed out a couple of times, and then he made me feel worse when he tried to apologize. He died when I was ten years old. Drove off the side of the road and ran into a tree. For years, I thought he’d done it on purpose because of something I’d said.”

She glanced toward her passenger. “Ready to break out the violin yet?”

Rosie flicked a bland glance in her direction and then focused on sucking mush up her straw.

“Your dad made you miserable for a time,” Tess said, “and you probably felt guilty for hating him. You still feel that way sometimes, so you punish him for it. But punishing him just hurts you, too.”

“You don’t know-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tess said. “I don’t know anything about it.”

What she did know was that she should have kept her mouth shut. The last thing a kid like Rosie Quinn needed was one more adult giving her grief. Or pity. A delicate balance, one requiring more finesse than Tess cared to bother with.

Mémère had always struck that balance with Tess, during those long summers she’d taken her in and given her a place to find some peace. Geneva may have been unable to prevent her husband’s and daughter’s mistakes, but she’d never wavered in her love and support for her family. And if that love sometimes seemed overly stern and the support diamond-hard, well, maybe that was what it took to keep the Chandlers’ foundation from cracking.

Rosie Quinn could probably handle the tough stuff, too. Tess had a sneaking suspicion that beneath the hands-off attitude and slightly grungy exterior the kid was okay. Rosie’d probably clean up well at some point down the road, just like her dad.

They drove in silence for the remainder of the short trip and made the final turn around the corner of Quinn’s block. At a third-floor window, framed by the drab brown curtains of his apartment, stood a familiar silhouette.

“Shit,” Tess said. “Drink up fast, kid.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Your dad’s home early. And I just realized I’ve probably broken some parental rule about right-before-dinner snacks.”

“He’s not going to care about a bunch of milk. It’s got calcium.” Rosie slurped loudly. “He’ll probably be more upset about me ending up in the school office.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about-you were a mere bystander.” Tess maneuvered into a parking space. “I’m the one who blew it.”

“Jared Medvedev said you kicked Mrs. Stanton’s butt.”

“Yeah, I did-and it needed to be kicked-but it was still a waste of time.” She switched off the ignition, picked up her toffee-and-vanilla latte and sipped. “You’ve got to pick your battles. That’s what Mémère always says.”

“What’s a mémère?”

“A scary old lady. I’d tell you more about her, but you’re too young. I don’t want to give you nightmares. Come on, drink up,” Tess said as she leaned toward her window and peered at the third floor. “I think we’ve been spotted.”

“Is that what you do with my dad?” Rosie asked. “Pick your battles?”

“Your dad’s an exception to that rule.” Actually, Quinn was turning out to be an exception to every rule Tess had in her playbook. “I’ve decided dealing with him requires a different strategy.”

She shifted to face Quinn’s daughter. “With your dad, everything’s a battle. Everything we discuss-no matter how small, no matter how big-is something to hit him over the head with. Wear him down, that’s what I’m going to do. Grind him down to a little nub of no resistance.” She rubbed her thumb and fingers together. “That’s my strategy. This is an all-out war to get that building done the way I want it done, and I’m going to win.”