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Jenna had been first to volunteer when Dylan announced the afternoon excursion. Renata and Alex had also offered to ride along, everyone eager to see if Claire Reichen’s sketches of the captive Breedmates would bear fruit.

Now, as the four women drove into Gloucester in a black Rover from the Order’s fleet, all they had to hope for was a few moments of mental clarity from the aging sister.

Even Lucan had agreed that if they could get just so much as one female’s name, it would make the entire mission worthwhile.

Brock hadn’t been thrilled about the prospect of Jenna leaving the compound, particularly so soon after the violence perpetrated on Lazaro Archer and his kin. He worried, as always, and where it used to rankle, now his concern warmed her.

He cared about her, and she had to admit, it felt very good to know that she had someone guarding her back. More than that, she believed Brock was a man who would guard her heart every bit as carefully as he did her safety and well-being.

She hoped he would, because over the past few days—and incredible nights—she had laid her heart openly in his hands.

“Here we are,” Dylan said from the front passenger seat of the Rover as Renata turned into the retirement home driveway. “The administrator told me that Sister Margaret takes her afternoon tea around this time in the library. She said we could just go on in.”

“There it is.” Alex pointed toward a bronze sign sticking out of a snowbank in front of a modest little clapboard cottage.

Renata parked in the half-empty lot and killed the engine. “Here goes nothing, eh? Jenna, will you grab that leather tote bag from the back?”

She pivoted to pull the collection of file folders and notepads out of the cargo area, then climbed out of the vehicle with her friends.

As Jenna came around the front of the Rover, Dylan took the tote bag from her and held it against her chest. Pursing her lips, she blew out a heavy sigh.

Alex paused next to her. “What’s wrong?”

“All my research the past few months is coming down to this moment. If this turns out to be a dead end, you guys, then I don’t have a clue where to begin to looking next.”

“Relax,” Renata said, taking Dylan’s shoulders in a sisterly hold. “You’ve been busting your ass on this investigation. We wouldn’t even be this far without you. You and Claire both.”

Dylan nodded, although not quite buoyed by the pep talk. “We just really need a decent lead. I don’t think I could handle it if we end up back at square one.”

“If we have to start all over,” Jenna said, “then we just work harder. Together.”

Renata smiled, her pale green eyes twinkling as she buttoned up her leather duster to conceal the blades and gun belt that studded her fatigues-clad hips. “Come on. Let’s go have tea with the nice old ladies.”

Jenna thought it wise to zip up her own coat, too, since Brock insisted she carry a weapon whenever she left the compound. It felt strange to wear a firearm again, but it was a different kind of strange from the way she’d felt back in Alaska.

Everything about her felt different now.

She was different, and she liked the person she was becoming.

More important, she was learning to forgive the person she’d been in Alaska.

She’d left a part of herself back in Harmony, a part she could never get back, but as she stepped into the warm cottage library with Renata and Dylan and Alex, she couldn’t imagine returning to the woman she’d been before. She had friends here now, and important work that needed to be done.

Best of all, she had Brock.

It was that thought that made her smile a little brighter as Dylan brought them over to a frail elderly woman who sat quietly on a rose-patterned sofa near the library’s fireplace. Cloudy blue eyes blinked a couple of times from beneath a fluffy crown of white curly hair. Jenna could still see the kind expression of the nun in the shelter photograph in the lined face that peered up at the Order’s women.

“Sister Margaret?” Dylan said, holding out her hand. “I’m Sharon Alexander’s daughter, Dylan. And these are my friends.