She leaned back to stare at him, waiting for an answer.
Because his little girl believed he had the answers to all life’s questions.
But this one he wasn’t so sure.
“I think so,” Lachlan hedged. He had no reason to doubt his daughter after he’d gotten caught in seeing visions of Britt himself a few days ago. He’d always wanted Paloma to know everything about her mom. To make sure that Britt was real to her, but maybe he’d gone too far … for both of them. Maybe moving on from Britt was what they both needed.
“Angels do come from heaven to help us when we’re in trouble,” Lachlan said, stopping short of confirming that the angel was Britt. If his daughter’s visions were like his own, then there had likely been an actual person in the park trying to help her get away from the knife-wielding man. Possibly one of the camp leaders or volunteers. The traumatic experience caused his little girl to replace the person’s face with someone who helped her feel calm in the chaos—her mother.
A much better excuse than he had when he’d fantasized Stacy was Britt while her mouth was on his cock. A fact that still made him feel like the worst person in the world.
Paloma smiled, then leaned back against his chest. “That’s what I thought.” She seemed pleased with his response. “She told me the bad man was coming. She told me to hide in the slide to be safe, and she was right. Then, when people stoppedscreaming, I heard my teacher calling my name, and she was with a police officer. I knew it was safe to come out.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Lachlan said. “And I’m happy that you’re okay.”
“Me too, Daddy,” Paloma said, twisting in his arms to stare at the television. “Can we watch a movie?”
Lachlan kissed her temple. “You want popcorn and cotton candy, too?”
“We can’t watch a movie without snacks, Daddy!” Paloma said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“And which movie do you want to watch?” He asked, walking to the television stand and grabbing the remote.
Paloma stared at the ceiling as if contemplating her options, but he figured she already knew what she wanted to watch.
After a few more seconds, she smiled brightly and said, “Raya!”
“The warrior princess,” Lachlan said, not surprised. “Raya it is.”
Chapter 12
Pushing the sunglasses onto her eyes, Britt sat on the middle row of the jitney near the window next to a grandfather and his two grandsons headed to Shell Bay for fishing. The fishing rods leaned across her knees as he struggled to hold the tackle box and keep the rambunctious boys from bothering the other locals crammed into the island’s most popular form of public transportation.
After leaving the clinic, she’d left the touristy part of Conrad along the waterfront and checked into a bed and breakfast. The chase had been blasted on the local news with several grainy cell phone videos of her. She’d watched the coverage on the small television in her room, satisfied that none of the footage showed a clear picture of her face.
But that didn’t mean the police didn’t have her image.
The police chief, a pretty woman with an American accent, held a press conference and emphasized that finding the menace who’d brazenly chased a woman through the streets of Conrad was their top priority. They’d found evidence the man had been shot, but it was not clear by whom. He was still at large and considered armed and dangerous. They also wanted to questionthe victim, who may have shot the pursuer in self-defense. They implored the public to call in with tips.
Britt made sure no one would recognize her.
Pulling her hair back into a tight bun, she’d gone to a boutique and purchased a floral skirt, shell shirt, and a crossbody purse, blending in with the typical attire of working Palmchatter women.
The exact opposite of the wild-haired woman in leggings and a t-shirt who’d been chased through the streets the day before. As harrowing and terrifying as the man hunting her had been, she knew one thing was true—she’d saved the little girl.
You look like my mommy. She’s in heaven.
Britt’s heart broke for the little girl who’d lost her mother. She couldn’t imagine what the child must be going through. It was hard to imagine when she didn’t remember her own life, family, parents. All she had were the stories of Brittany Freeman tattooed on her brain. Memorized despite her efforts to resist taking over that woman’s life.
Britt dragged her hand down her face, then reached into the pocket of her crossbody purse. She pulled out the dark red metal card. Her fingers traced over the edges of the stingray etched into the surface.
Dr. Rocco Forrester had stepped up and helped her out of a tight situation without demanding anything in return. Like it was something he did regularly for people like her … people who needed help and had nowhere to turn.
But Britt wasn’t sure that was true about her life.
Her family and all the answers she needed could be at 67 Nova Lane.
The jitney slowed at the next stop. The grandfather and his grandsons grabbed their boxes and rods and exited. Two women boarded together, and quickly took the vacated seats.
