Daddy
Unfortunately, Albert died before he could give it to her. Instead of honoring his wishes, Evelyn, who had always been jealous of the closeness between Donna and Albert, put the box and every single photo of Albert in the attic after he died and never told anyone they were there.
The clock had hung in Donna’s house until she gifted it and a couple of photos of Albert to Charlotte when she moved into her townhouse. Charlotte had hung it up immediately as a symbol of how much her grandfather—a man she’d never gotten the chance to meet—had loved and adored his little girl.
Charlotte quickly diverted her thoughts away from that topic—it waswaytoo much for her to deal with right now.
Her clapboard-sided townhouse had two floors, but it was taller than it was deep, so it wasn’t as big as it looked from the street. When you entered through the front door, you could look down a hallway and see the door to her small backyard.
Upstairs was her large bedroom with high ceilings and an attached bathroom that overlooked the street in front. Across from her bedroom were two smaller ones that shared a Jack and Jill bath and had a nice view of the small backyard with the large oak tree. There was also a massive, walk-in storage closet big enough for towels, extra blankets, sheets, and her growing Jim Shore Santa collection.
Thank goodness for that closet and the ones in the guest bedrooms, because they kept her from having to store stuff in the attic. The first and last time she went up there was when the Realtor first showed her the townhouse.
Charlotte shivered at the memory.
It was dark, creepy, and cobwebby, and she would’ve been totally okay with nailing the pull-down stairs shut and never going up there again. The home inspector strongly recommended against that idea—something about building code violations. Then he’d suggested she have an exterminator check it out, assured her there was nothing structurally to worry about up there, and took his clipboard and left.
She stared up at the handle dangling down from the pull-down stairs.
It would be the perfect place to hide,she thought.
“Ugh, don’t be such a wuss.” Charlotte got the step stool from the closet, positioned it beneath the stairs, and stepped up onto it.
She drew in a deep breath, blew it out, and reached up to grab the plastic handle. It took some effort, but she gave it a powerful tug and it swung down. She unfolded the stairs and stood at the bottom, staring up at the dark opening, listening for any strange sounds. When there were none, she was forced to quit stalling.
“Here goes nothin’.” She turned on her phone’s flashlight and made her way up the narrow stairs until her head cleared the opening.
She shined the light from one side to the other, and was relieved there was no one waiting to pounce on her. After a last look around, she made her way back down the stairs, folded them up, and closed the access door.
Good thing there wasn’t anyone up there, because Charlotte hadn’t given any thought to what she would’ve done if there had been.
On the first floor, off the main hallway, was a decent-size coat closet, a full bathroom, and her kitchen, which she loved. There were two high-ceilinged rooms at the front of the house with large windows that faced the street. Her home office was to the left, behind a set of pocket doors that she kept closed. Her workspace wasn’t terribly neat, but she knew where everything was and didn’t want anyone messing with hersystem.
The room on the right was where she watched television or crashed out on her couch with a cup of tea and one of her favorite romance novels. Charlotte loved books with strong heroines and was a sucker for tough, alpha heroes who loved them completely.
She liked to fantasize about finding her own alpha hero someday.
Someone like Patrick Nakai, perhaps?
Charlotte scoffed at the notion that a man as fascinating as Hawk would be interested in someone like her. Seriously, the times she’d been close to him, the man’s body positively pulsed with innate alpha maleness. As if that wasn’t enough, he was drop-dead gorgeous, with these dark eyes that looked at you in a sort of intense, wisdom-of-the-ages kind of way. He also possessed skills unlike anyone she’d ever met and worked with the most adorable and smart dog.
Even his nickname—Hawk—was cool. But he’d had to coax her into calling him that. She’d always felt it would be too presumptuous to use his nickname. After all, their relationship was strictly professional. She wished it could be more, but the man was so far out of her league, it seemed like a ridiculous notion.
“A girl can dream, can’t she?” she muttered, lifted her bag strap over her head, and walked over to slide open the doors to her office.
Charlotte circled around behind her desk, set her bag on the chair, and opened the bottom drawer. She carefully removed the manila envelope and the plastic bag with the knife, set them in the drawer with a couple of case files on top of them, and locked it up.
Pepper spray in hand, she set about checking every room to ensure she had no uninvited and unwanted guests. She flipped on the kitchen light, and a shiver ran through her when she confirmed there was a knife missing from the knife block and that the extra key fob for her car was gone, too.
Someonehadbeen in her house.
“How in the hell did I not notice they were gone?” She slapped the light switch off and verified the back door was locked. Just for good measure, she slid a chair from her kitchen table over and wedged it beneath the doorknob.
Charlotte made her way upstairs, checked the other rooms, and by the time she ended her search in her bedroom, she was ready to collapse.
She would try to get a few hours of sleep, pack a bag, then go to Every Last Child’s headquarters and drop off the envelope with the knife. Dulce’s husband would know what to do with them. Her original plan had been to mail the documents to her friend to avoid a conversation she wasn’t ready to have yet.
Four flat tires and finding the knife in her car had changed everything.
