I walk her downstairs. Three guards near the foyer straighten as soon as we appear, their attention snapping toward me while carefully avoiding looking directly at Maggie.
Smart men.
I walk her all the way to the SUV waiting outside, unwilling to let her out of my sight, even for a few seconds.
Before she climbs into the back seat, Maggie turns toward me again. Emotion moves visibly across her face. Fear still sits beneath the surface, mixed with exhaustion and an affection neither of us fully knows how to handle yet.
“Be careful,” she whispers.
I touch her cheek lightly. “Always.”
Then I lower my forehead against hers. “I will protect you with my life, Maggie.” It’s not a promise, it’s a fact.
Her hand lifts unexpectedly, her palm resting briefly against my cheek before she finally slips into the SUV. I stand there watching the taillights disappear beyond the gates. Only then do I turn and head back inside.
Luka waits near my office. One look at his expression tells me the night isn’t finished.
“What is it?” I ask.
He’s holding a thin folder. “We found additional communication tied to Clara.”
My entire body goes rigid instantly. “Explain.”
Luka opens the folder slowly. “The intermediary received photographs periodically.”
He hands me a photograph. Clara sits on the beach holding Ivy as a baby while sunlight catches in both their hair. Clara smiles toward the camera, completely unaware she’s being photographed.
Beautiful. Alive. Hiding secrets.
“There’s more,” he says carefully. “One message referenced keeping Ivy hidden.”
The room seems to tilt beneath me. “Hidden from who?”
“We don't know yet.”
I stare down at the photograph again while a sick realization slowly works its way through me. Clara knew. Maybe not everything, maybe not the full reach of it, but enough to understand there was danger connected to Ivy long before I ever suspected it.
Which means this was never only about shipping routes or business pressure. And whoever is coming after my family now may have been watching us from the shadows for far longer than I ever imagined.
19
MAGGIE
The entire shelter smells like kettle corn and lemonade. Which means the adoption event is going great.
I dodge around a volunteer carrying folding chairs while trying to untangle three leashes currently wrapped around my legs.
“Jake,” I warn the oversized shepherd mix attempting to drag me toward the refreshment table, “if you knock over another tray of cupcakes, I’m puttin’ you on an all kibble probation diet.”
Jake ignores me completely.
Second Chance Savannah is overflowing. The parking lot outside is packed, shoulder to shoulder, with cars, while families stream through the front gates carrying balloons, iced drinks, and paper adoption applications. Pop-up tents line the side yard beside rows of portable kennels decorated with handmade signs and bright ribbons. Volunteers hurry everywhere, wearing matching blue shelter shirts while dogs bark from every direction inside the building.
The entire place hums with noise and movement as kids laugh near the puppy pens, local vendors hand out samples near theentrance, and someone drops a metal food bowl hard enough in the back hallway to start another round of canine chaos.
Country music plays from portable speakers near the donation tables while Jules argues with a volunteer about missing extension cords.
Sunlight pours through the open bay doors at the front of the shelter, bringing in thick Georgia humidity that already has my ponytail sticking to the back of my neck.
