Present Day
BEFORE I’D HIJACKED her life and turned her into a full-time nanny, Mama had been one hell of a makeup artist. As a kid, I used to follow her around to weddings and other important events, watching as she transformed faces until they were barely recognizable.
I didn’t tell Mama shit about my past—my demons were mine, and mine alone—but she was observant and pieced together enough clues to know we were in hiding. She was the wisest woman I knew. I’d once made the mistake of asking her how she’d learned so much without a college education, and she launched into one of her infamous lectures about listening.
“You wanna learn something, boy, you listen. I spent years listening to the gossips while I was painting their faces, staying so quiet they’d forget I was there. Listening’s a lost art. These days, people only listen to argue, not to hear.”
Years later, I joined the service, and the first thing they taught me in intelligence was how to listen: to what was said as well as what wasn’t. I realized that Mama had worked in her own version of intelligence, siphoning information about clothing sales, life hacks, schools, and even stock market advice from women who had no idea they were sharing it with her. But Mama had been so hung up on teaching me the value of listening she neglected to warn me about the danger of hearing too much.
I’d heard the deepest, darkest secrets of the world’s most dangerous psychopaths, and that shit was impossible to forget. I feared that the secrets I’d heard would someday come back to bite me in the ass, but with Mama’s help, hopefully they wouldn’t recognize me.
“What do you need, Alex,” she asked, sitting me down at her bathroom vanity where the lighting was the best. “Anything specific?”
“No. Do your worst.”
She nodded and went to work. Since joining up with me, she’d watched endless hours of tutorials, learning how to turn her talent into something more useful for our new life in hiding. Now, her specialty was stage makeup, and she made me up as Hailey played with blocks on the floor.
“What are you building there, baby girl?” I asked.
“My mom’s howse,” she replied, adding on another block. “Do you know whewe she wives?”
My heart dropped out of my chest, landing somewhere around my ankles. I wasn’t ready for mom questions yet. I expected to have more time to figure out how to field them. Wondering where Hailey had even heard about moms, I looked to my own.
She frowned at me, plugging in an electric razor. “We went to the park today and some little girl kept asking Hailey about her mom. Hailey came running to me, all confused and firing off questions.”
“What did you tell her?” I whispered.
“What can I tell her? You haven’t told me a thing about the mother of my grandbaby, Alex. I pretended like I got a phone call and then distracted her with a trip to the ice cream shop. But sooner or later, you’re gonna have to tell us both the truth. You can’t keep her mom from her forever.”
“I know.” I dropped my gaze back to my daughter.
Hailey met my gaze. “Whewe is she, Daddy?”
I didn’t want to lie to Hailey, but the truth would only put her in danger. “I’ll tell you after this weekend. When you and Mama get back from Wolf Water Park.” By then, I’d come up with something to keep her curiosity at bay. I had to.
Hailey eyed me. “Pwomise?”
I held up my hand. “Pinky swear.”
Grinning, she stood and locked her digit with mine before going back to her blocks.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Alex,” Mama said.
I blew out a breath. “That makes two of us.” This parenting gig was no joke, and most days I felt like I was out of my depth.
Mama was at it for a little over an hour, but when she tapped me on the shoulder and told me to look in the mirror, I had to do a double take. My beard and mustache were gone, and she’d softened my jawline, narrowing my nose and forehead. My cheekbones and eyes both seemed smaller and less pronounced, while my eyebrows were darker and heavier, and my lips were narrower. I had no tattoos or distinguishing marks other than a scar over my left temple. She’d covered that up and added one across my right cheek.
With my light brown skin and new features, I looked more Middle Eastern than mulatto.
“Wow, Mama. You really outdid yourself. Hailey what do you think?” I asked, turning to show my daughter.
Her nose scrunched up as she studied me. “You wook ugwy, Daddy.”
Not ugly, but different. To a three-year-old who was used to my old mug, it was the same thing. “Why thank you,” I said with a chuckle.
“It’s not polite to tell people they look ugly young lady,” Mama chided.
Hailey dipped her head and apologized before picking up a plastic pony by the hair and swinging it as she twirled in circles making whinnying noises.
