A little girl is sprawled across a small bed under a yellow blanket, one stuffed rabbit tucked under her arm.Blond hair everywhere.Dead asleep.
Didn’t hear a thing.
Good.
I step just inside, careful not to let the floor creak.My size doesn’t lend itself to stealth, but I manage.I crouch enough to see her face better.Relaxed.Safe.Dreaming whatever five-year-olds dream when the world hasn’t managed to take too much from them yet.
Something in my chest shifts.
Lucy was right to be scared.A man on her porch is one thing.A drunk, angry man on her porch while her child sleeps down the hall?That’s something else entirely.
I back out quietly and pull the door nearly closed again before heading to the living room.
Lucy is where I left her, standing in the middle of the room with both arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to keep from coming undone.Her robe is pale pink.Hair loose around her shoulders.Bare feet on the wood floor.She looks soft and exhausted and scared half to death.
And somehow still beautiful.
That thought annoys me on principle.“She slept through it,” I tell her quietly.“Didn’t even move.”
Relief rushes over her face so fast it hurts to watch.“Okay,” she whispers.“Okay.”
I nod toward the couch.“Sit down.”
She hesitates, probably because I’m not exactly making requests right now.Then she crosses the room and sinks onto the far end of the couch, still clutching her robe shut.I stay standing for a second, listening.
A low murmur of voices outside.Roger’s pissed, but he’s not making a scene loud enough to wake the neighborhood.Good.The prospect knows how to keep a lid on things.
Lucy follows my gaze toward the door.
“Who is that?”
I look back at her.“The other guy?”
She nods.“Yeah.Who is he?”
“One of ours.”She stares at me confused but I don’t elaborate.
“One of yours.”She reiterates.
“Yeah.”
Her jaw tightens just slightly.“How did he know to come here?”
There it is.The question I knew was coming.I drag a hand over my clean shaven face and stay where I am, weighing how honest to be and deciding real damn quick there’s only one smart answer.
Lucy’s eyes narrow a little.“Tucker.”
The way she says my name shouldn’t do anything to me.It does.I exhale.“Before I answer that, you need to know Roger’s done coming here like this.”
“How did your man know to come here?”
No avoiding it now.I move to the chair across from the couch and sit, leaning forward with my forearms braced on my knees.Better this way.Less looming.Less like an interrogation.
“I saw his behavior at the diner,” I explain.“The way he talked to you.The way you kept looking at the door after he left.”She doesn’t say anything.So I keep going.“As Vice President in the Kings, when I think there might be trouble coming to one of ours—or around one of ours—I make arrangements.”
Her brows knit.“One of yours?”
“Not in the way that sounds.”
