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“We agree,” said Nick. He punched Gabriel in the arm and got the same response.
“Besides,” said Gabriel. “You can’t be a pain in the ass from jail, so you’d better do this the legal way.”
“I didn’t agree yet,” said Michael. “I want to know where you plan to take them, first.”
“That’s easy,” said Marshal Faulkner. “I plan to take them to my house.”
CHAPTER 32
Hannah arrived home to find her mother carrying a stack of pillows and blankets into the basement.
She stopped short in the foyer. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Shh.” Her mother tilted her head at the kitchen. “Talk to your father.”
Like that’s what she wanted to do after the night she’d had. Hannah considered springing up the steps and locking herself in her bedroom, but she kept hearing Irish’s words. You are an adult. It’s okay to act like it.
Her father appeared in the kitchen doorway before she could decide what to do. The early morning sunlight filtering through the window was still weak, so she couldn’t make out his expression, but it sure didn’t feature a big ol’ jolly smile.
“Where’ve you been?” he said.
She wanted to snap at him, because it wasn’t any of his business, but maybe she could start working on that whole communication thing.
“Went for coffee with Irish.” She hesitated, thinking of all she’d learned, about Elementals and Guides and all the reasons Michael had hidden the truth from her. “I needed to unwind.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” he began.
“Oh yeah?”
He nodded. “Yeah.” He paused. “Do you want to come sit in the kitchen so we can talk?”
She opened her mouth to say not really, but now her father’s words were an echo in her head.
You’re impossible to talk to.
I’m not the only one.
She shut her mouth and headed for the kitchen. Instead of sitting, she leaned against the cooking island. “Don’t tell me. Mom found out about the shooting and you have to sleep in the basement.”
“No.” His eyebrows went up. “You haven’t talked to Michael?”
“No.” She shrugged but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Tonight . . . he kept a lot of secrets, Dad. I don’t . . . I don’t even understand all of it.”
But she understood some of it. Thanks to Irish.
She had no idea what to do. At least she’d been able to make a coherent statement to the cops.
She had no idea where things stood with Michael—or where she wanted them to stand. He had a second life. A secret life, full of magic and danger and mystery. In a movie or a book it would have made him sexy and desirable.
To a real live woman with a young child to raise, it made him terrifying.
Her father gave a heavy sigh. “I don’t understand much either.” He paused. “That’s not really what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Fine.” She turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Gatorade. “What, then?”
“I don’t hate that you’re a firefighter. And I don’t hate that you got pregnant.” A moment passed. “And I didn’t mean for you to think I was trying to pin anything on your mother.”
She stood there with the refrigerator door open, unsure how to respond. He was so direct. She kept her eyes on the bright white shelves and didn’t say anything.
