“Christopher?” Charlie’s voice came through clear and alert despite the late hour. “Is everything alright?”
“Isabella needs your help,” Christopher said without preamble. “Legal help. She’s got an ex-husband making threats, and he’s demanding a meeting tomorrow.”
“I’ll be right there,” Charlie said immediately.
“No,” Christopher said, glancing toward the hallway where the girls’ voices could still be heard faintly. “The girls don’t need to know about this yet. But I’m putting you on speaker. Isabella’s here.”
“Isabella,” Charlie’s voice warmed. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out, no matter how small it seems.”
Christopher squeezed Isabella’s hand gently, then moved toward the hallway. “I’m going to check on the girls, make sure they’re okay. You talk to Charlie. Tell her everything you told me.”
He disappeared down the hall, giving her privacy but staying close enough that she could hear his voice mixing with the girls’ laughter. The sound was oddly comforting, normal life continuing even in the midst of crisis.
Isabella took a breath and began talking, telling Charlie about Todd, about the calls, about the meeting demand. Charlie listened without interrupting, occasionally making small sounds of understanding or asking clarifying questions.
“He’s definitely been planning this,” Charlie said when Isabella finished. “The car sabotage, the surveillance, the careful timing. Christopher’s plan is good, but we need to be smarter. We need to record the conversation tomorrow. Florida is a two-party consent state for recording, but if you fear for your safety, which you clearly have reason to, we can work with that.”
“Record it how?” Isabella asked, hermind spinning.
“I’ll handle the technical aspects,” Charlie said with confidence. “Christopher and I will figure it out. But Isabella, I need you to think about something. What does Todd want? Men like him don’t resurface after twelve years without a reason. You have something he needs.”
“I don’t have anything,” Isabella protested. “Just the cottage, Maddy, my job...”
“The cottage,” Charlie said thoughtfully. “Beachfront property on Anastasia Island. Do you own it outright?”
“Yes,” Isabella said slowly. “My grandmother left it to me. It’s been in our family for three generations.”
“That property is worth a fortune now,” Charlie said. “With the development boom in the area, developers would pay millions for that location. Todd might be working with someone, or he might have debts. Either way, I’d bet money he’s after your property.”
Isabella felt sick at the thought. That cottage was her grandmother’s legacy, Maddy’s inheritance, their home. “He can’t take it. He has no claim to it.”
“Legally, no,” Charlie agreed. “But men like Todd don’t always play by legal rules. That’s why we need to be smart about this. Christopher will keep you safe physically, and I’ll handle the legal angles. You’re not alone in this, Isabella.”
There was a pause, then Charlie’s voice turned slightly amused. “You should know that Christopher is probably planning to stay outside your house tonight.”
“What?” Isabella’s heart skipped.
“He won’t come inside unless invited; he’s too much of a gentleman for that, but he’ll keep watch. Make sure Todd doesn’t try anything during the night. It’s what he does, Isabella. He protects people. And right now, that means protecting you and Maddy.”
Isabella’s throat felt tight with emotion. “Oh,” was all she could manage, but her heart was pounding at the thought of Christopher standing guard over them, keeping them safe through the dark hours of the night.
They ended the call with a promise that Charlie would be there to fetch her in the morning. Isabella reminded her that Christopher had her car, and she laughed, saying that she’d borrow her sister’s car to fetch Isabella.
She stood in the kitchen for a few minutes before leaving the room, everything feeling a little surreal. She walked toward the sound of giggles coming from down the hallway. She found Maddy’s room, the door open, and stopped in the doorway. The scene before her made everything inside go soft.
Christopher sat on the floor with his back against Maddy’s bed. The girls knelt on either side of him, and they had put bright, sparkly clips in his short hair. They were painting his fingernails, all different colors spread out on the carpet around them.
“What about this one, Uncle Christopher?” Trinity held up a bottle of purple polish. “Do youlike purple?”
“Purple’s great,” Christopher said seriously, like they were discussing military strategy instead of nail polish colors.
“And what about green?” Maddy asked, holding up another bottle. “For your other hand?”
“Green works too,” Christopher agreed without hesitation.
He didn’t look embarrassed. He didn’t look put-upon or as if he were merely tolerating their attention. He just sat there, engaging with them completely, letting himself be made over by twelve-year-olds without being the least bit fussed about it.
Right then and there, standing in the doorway, watching that big hero serve as a live model for tweens, Isabella knew. She’d already lost whatever fight she’d been putting up against the feelings developing for him.
