“Bibi, please tell us what happened.” I wanted her to explain in her own words.
“Why did you hit that boy?” Haze wanted to get straight to it.
Bibi shrugged. “You said it was okay to hit if they were hurting someone.”
I breathed out. “Who was he hitting?”
“No one.”
Haze and I looked at each other.
I spluttered “Then why—?”
“He was looking at Savannah funny.”
I turned to Haze and hissed, “I told you four was too young to understand the intricacies of when it’s acceptable to hurt someone.”
“For all we know she has excellent instincts, and he was about to hit Savannah.”
Bibi started kicking a small stone around the car park, humming to herself.
“Or she wanted to hit him and came up with that as a cover for whacking him,” I said quietly.
Haze turned back to face Bibi. “You’re not old enough to know if someone is going to be bad before they’ve been bad, so how about you don’t hit someone unless you can prove to an adult there’s a good reason for it?”
“Okay.” Bibi carried on humming.
“Maybe the karate lessons were a mistake.” My motorbike was parked next to Haze’s car. I walked up to it.
“Maybe they’re what’s stopping her from hitting more!” Haze unlocked the car. “If she’s anything like her parents, she needs an outlet.”
I pulled on my helmet as Bibi got into the back of the car. She looked between my bike and me. “Cool dada!”
At least one of the women in my life was impressed by my new purchase.
—
Parenting on the same page was not easy. Trying to bring up your daughter so she was strong enough to protect herself, but not so strong she was picking fights, was not easy.
“In here!” shouted Jenny from the kitchen when we arrived back home. We’d driven in convoy. I could’ve raced ahead but it was all part of showing Haze that I could be responsible on my new toy.
Haze plonked Bibi in the sitting room in front of a documentary on regenerative farming. We needed to talk without her being around, but seeing as she was only home because she’d punched someone, we couldn’t let her watch television she might actually enjoy.
I picked up the envelope that had been waiting for us on thedoormat. Inside was a party invitation to the charity event at Balgray Hall. “Haze and Fox” was written in neat print in the top-left corner. The “only admits two” at the bottom was circled. The dress code was “masquerade.” What a wonderfully glamorous way to make sure we couldn’t even see the enemy approaching us.
I chucked it on the kitchen table. “I get the feeling our attendance is nonnegotiable.”
Jenny was staring at the “only admits two.” “They’re making it clear you’re not to get any help.” She turned to Haze. “What else did he say in his messages?”
Haze took out her phone and placed it on the table. We scanned them together.
“This is good!” Jenny smiled. “You’re building a rapport with him and reminding him that he’s just The Corporation’s errand boy.”
“How is this good?” I shook my head. “He’s enjoying toying with you.” If Interpol’s intel that The Chameleon was doing one final job before retiring from the killing game was correct, everything seemed to be leading toward us being a part of his grand finish.
If we could find him before the party, we had a chance of ruining whatever surprise he had planned for us. The only way to beat the threat was to get ahead of it. Come for him when he least expected it.
Haze tapped her chin. “He’s not going to expect us having the party guest list.”
