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“It took me a good two hours to get this little man to settle.” Creek’s voice was a low growl. “I’m saddened your death will wake him, but unless you give me a reason sacrifices will have to be made.”
“Call is live, Creek,” Mike said, not lifting his hands or trying to move. Until the man understood his purpose and that he wasn’t a threat. This wasn’t the time or place to hope his reflexes were faster than his old brother in arms. No chance or time to try to snatch the gun pointed at his head away. “My daughter, Sydney, has a visual on me in the trees, she’s had a shit time and seeing daddy’s brains spraying out might be the nail in her coffin.”
“Hanover? What the ever loving fuck?” Creek questioned, the click of the safety back in place followed by the cold pressure no longer on the base of his skull.
“Can I turn?”
“I don’t know, I’m starting to feel a certain way about you and it ain’t good,” he replied. “You know they have these things called phones.”
“About that,” Mike said, turning slowly and faced the man who had saved his ass more than once standing with his gun at the side and infant in his left arm. “What the hell? Have you never heard of a bassinette?”
“I was rocking him on the back porch,” the man with dark eyes and tanned skin was leather clad, the visual a mix of death’s companion and new daddy. “Hoping the fresh air would help.”
Mike peered at the swaddled baby to see a full head of jet black hair, bow lips and a sated baby. “He’s cute, must take after his mother.”
“Phone?”
“I said the call is live,” Mike said, using the short hand for being in the middle of a shit storm.
“Right, you left that toddler of yours in the woods?” he questioned.
“She’s eight now.” Mike turned, put his index finger and thumb in his mouth to send a sharp whistle out toward Syd.
“You know I haven’t holstered my gun yet,” Creek groaned as the baby started fussing and he began rocking his arms.
“My bad,” Mike said, keeping his eye on the tree line as Sydney emerged meekly. Dragging her rolling luggage as she approached. “He looked milk drunk, I wasn’t thinking.”
“There a reason you didn’t use the front door?” Creek finally holstered his gun but was still on guard.
“It was more fun this way, don’t you think?” Mike joked as he helped Syd with the luggage.
“Nada, that would be a negative Ghost Rider.”
“Something tells me you’re more upset that I slipped past your security,” he countered.
“Uh, huh,” he said, his right eye squinting a bit before he glanced toward Sydney as she curled next to Mike’s hip. “You still like goldfish crackers munchkin?”
“Why do all your friends call me munchkin?” Sydney’s soft voice was barely audible as she brought her thumb back to her mouth.
“Habit,” Creek replied. “Your Dad was the first to have a kid in our unit. You were our mascot for a few years.”
“I do like goldfish,” Syd replied. “You have a boy baby don’t you?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said kneeling to let Sydney peek into the bundle he held. “A grumpy, sleepy boy, kinda like his Daddy. How about we head inside and I see if Matthew can sleep in his cradle.”
Walking into the home, only a few dim lights were lit. Over the stove, a lamp in the corner and another down a far hall. There was a small pack and play style bassinette in the living room and Creek softly laid the baby down and stepped back. Slipping off his leather coat and laying it across the back of the sofa.
“Hack?” Sydney questioned as her finger ran over a white patch with black writing by the left side of the chest.
“What’s up kiddo?” he said.
“What’s Hack?”
“Oh, me, you can be munchkin and you can call me Hack.”
“Daddy calls me Syd.”
“You like that better?”
