The people at the school district knew he’d served in the Navy. A few knew he had commanded a special-operations team. Nobody cared much. They cared that he showed up on time and didn’t leave children sitting in classrooms without heat.

He preferred it that way.

Khloe knew more about his past than most adults did, but there were sections he had left closed. She knew he had a damaged left knee and an old scar along his ribs. She knew his hearing was worse in one ear. She knew he woke early and checked doors out of habit.

She didn’t know the names of the men he sometimes dreamed about.

She did know he hated raising his voice.

It was one of the things Sarah had loved about him.

“You can be angry without being cruel,” she used to say. “Most people don’t believe that until they meet you.”

Joseph had not always deserved the compliment. He had worked for years to earn it.

The trouble with the Harringtons began with a basketball.

Khloe was practicing free throws in the driveway when a black sports coupe swerved around the cul-de-sac and made her jump backward. The basketball rolled into the road. Trent Harrington leaned out of the driver’s window, laughing at the surprise on her face.

“Watch out, kid!”

Joseph had been replacing a porch light. He came down the steps and motioned for the car to stop.

“Slow down through here,” he said. “There are kids on the street.”

Trent looked him over, amused by the work pants and screwdriver in his hand.

“It’s a cul-de-sac, not a school zone.”

“You almost hit my daughter.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You don’t need to hit somebody for it to be a problem.”

Trent rolled his eyes. “Okay, Dad.”

Joseph didn’t rise to it. “Drive carefully.”

The engine revved as the boy pulled away.

Ten minutes later, Richard Harrington arrived at Joseph’s door.

Richard had the careful tan and clean hands of a man whose money came from other people performing difficult work. He owned Harrington Residential Group, a property-development company with contracts throughout the county, and he sat on the Oak Creek homeowners’ association board. His shirts were always ironed. His shoes never seemed to touch mud.