Page 5 of Taken from Her
Lavender's smile was slight but genuine. "It looks like understanding that badges can create distance, even when they're meant to provide safety. It looks like meeting people where they are instead of expecting them to come to you."
Diana studied the room again, analyzing how every element served dual purposes—beauty and function, comfort and security. Like Lavender herself, who seemed to operate naturally in multiple worlds.
"I'll need community cooperation," Diana said. "Information sharing, intelligence that doesn't fit normal channels."
"And I'll need assurance that cooperation won't become surveillance," Lavender replied. "This community has learned to protect itself. That instinct doesn't disappear just because we're scared."
Diana nodded, recognizing the negotiation taking place and what was on the table. Trust as currency and information in exchange.
"We work together," Diana said, the words feeling both obvious and revolutionary. "Your networks, my resources, and we find these women before..."
She didn't finish the sentence. Both women understood the stakes.
Lavender reached for a tablet hidden among the crystals, fingers moving across the screen with practiced efficiency. "I can provide a background that the official interviews missed. Community dynamics, relationship patterns, who each woman trusted most, information like that."
"I can offer protection," Diana said. "Enhanced patrols, security consultation, and resources to keep the community safer while we work."
"Deal." Lavender extended her hand.
Diana clasped it, feeling the strength in Lavender's grip and the calluses that spoke of physical work alongside emotional labor. For a moment, they held the connection.
When Lavender released her hand, Diana felt something shift—not just in the investigation's trajectory, but in her own understanding of what community policing could mean.
"I should get back," Diana said, standing with more steadiness than she'd felt since entering the café.
"Chief?" Lavender's voice stopped her at the door.
Diana turned back.
"They're still alive," Lavender said with quiet certainty. "All three of them. I can feel it."
Diana nodded, carrying that conviction with her as she walked back through the café, past conversations that didn’t feel as foreign anymore, toward a patrol car that suddenly seemed like a bridge between worlds rather than a barrier.
The investigation had found its missing piece. Now she had to learn how to use it.
2
Everything was still in the hour before dawn at the harbor.
Lavender woke to the gentle rocking that had lulled her to sleep for fifteen years, but this morning the houseboat's rhythm felt restless against the dock lines. Mist clung to the water, muffling the sounds that usually comforted her—distant fog horns, the lap of waves against hulls, and seabirds calling their daily chorus to the brightening sky.
Saffron materialized beside her pillow, green eyes reflecting concern that cats seemed to carry for their humans' unspoken troubles. Basil paced the narrow hallway between the bedroom and galley, his gray form ghosting past windows where harbor lights blurred into watercolor smudges.
They knew. Animals always knew when the world had tilted sideways.
Lavender pulled herself from the tangle of quilts—handmade by community members over the years, each one carrying stories and love—and padded barefoot across worn wooden floors that creaked familiar morning greetings. The boat swayed gently as she moved, a dance she'd learned so thoroughly it had become unconscious.
In the galley, her hands moved through the familiar ritual of tea-making. Chamomile and lavender, honey from the community garden's hives, water heated in the copper kettle that caught morning light through salt-stained windows. But her fingers trembled slightly as she measured herbs, muscle memory disrupted by the weight pressing against her chest.
Three women were missing. Three faces that should be settling into their usual café routines this morning, ordering their favorite drinks, and sharing the small victories and daily struggles that wove this community together.
Steam rose from her mug, carrying scents that usually grounded her but today felt insufficient against the tide of helplessness threatening to pull her under. Tara, who brought her rescue dog every evening after school, both of them seeking comfort after long days. Isabel, who'd started coming in March, laptop open but attention focused on conversations with other women navigating career changes. Joanna, who stopped by after pool sessions, chlorine still clinging to her hair while she planned swim lessons for kids who needed to feel strong.
She could picture the empty spaces they'd left behind at the café: Tara's corner table where she graded papers, Isabel's spot by the window, and Joanna's usual seat at the counter. All the networks she'd built and safe spaces she'd created, they hadn't been enough to protect them.
Lavender lit candles with steady hands that belied her inner trembling—white votives arranged on the small altar where photos of community members mixed with crystals and dried herbs. The ritual created hope as light flickered across familiar faces, women who'd celebrated birthdays and small victories at her café.
The first phone call came easier than expected. Corinne Vernalis answered on the second ring, voice thick with sleep and worry.
