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My lips tug at one side when Henley murmurs, “I’m drunk, not deaf.”
“And in a fuckton of trouble with Amelia,” Thane torments before twanging her bottom lip and then leading our helm inside.
Henley’s glassy eyes bulge before she buries her head between my pecs. “You should have let them take me. Doubt their torture would have been worse than Amelia’s.”
It is wrong of me to pry while she is intoxicated, but could I call myself an agent if I didn’t? “Amelia really knows her stuff with security and surveillance, doesn’t she? She found you fast.”
Her praise comes in just as quick. “She is a genius hacker. She can find anyone this quick.” She pulls her hand out of the blanket to click her fingers. “But everyone treats her like an idiot because she’s young.” I can’t tell if she is looking at me or through me when she murmurs, “She tried to join the bureau. They told her to come back when she’s thirty.” She rolls her eyes before shooting her hand up to cover them. “That hurts.”
Even with the lights off, Lucy knows when people are sneaking around. I’ve taught her every creak of our old home. “Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby, it’s me. Go back to sleep.”
With her eyes more adjusted to the dark than mine, she asks, “Is Henley okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. She’s just feeling a little unwell. Daddy will take care of her.”
“I am not sick,” Henley denies loudly. “I’m drunk.” She hiccups, widens her eyes, then slaps a hand over her mouth when Lucy giggles at her reply. Her eyes are more sad than amused when she murmurs, “You can fire me now. I understand. I’m not good enough to be your daughter’s nanny, so you had every right to seek a replacement.”
“She must be sick if she believes that,” Lucy pipes up. “I’ll get a washcloth.”
As she makes a beeline for the bathroom, I enter my room and place Henley on my bed. Her hand is still clamped over her mouth, and her eyes are full of apologies.
With the likelihood of her remembering our conversation in the morning weak, I admit, “I sent an ‘are you sure she’s a good fit’ email to Nancy the morning following your first sleepover, but I never contacted the agency directly to seek your replacement.” I move to her feet to remove her shoes. “I don’t know where you got that information, but it is wrong.”
“That’s not true.” Henley waits for me to remove her shoes before confessing, “I saw the email on your laptop. It was in the sent folder.”
“That isn’t poss—”
“It was me,” Lucy admits, her words barely a squeak. “I was trying to find some new recipes, and there was an unsent message on the screen, so I sent it so it would disappear.” Her watering eyes shift to Henley. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what it said. I wouldn’t have sent it if I knew about the mean things Daddy was telling them.”
I don’t get the chance to defend my actions. “Oh, honey, it’s okay,” Henley assures her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I did. I sent it, but I didn’t know what it said. I swear. I don’t want you to go.” When Lucy’s bottom lip quivers, Henley holds out her arms for her. She dumps the washcloth on the floor, sidesteps me like Elvis Carlton does the defensive line every game, and throws herself into Henley’s arms before hiding her wet face in her chest. “I’m s-so sorry.”
I try to comfort her too, but I’m shunted away.
It doubles the guilt in Henley’s eyes, but I only see it for a second before she focuses all her attention on Lucy.
I don’t know what she whispers in her ear, but in a matter of minutes, Lucy pulls away from her chest, wipes away her tears, then rolls back her shoulders.
I am anticipating the dressing down of my life, so you can picture my shock when she squeezes the life out of my thigh before she exits my room without so much as a backward glance.
17
BRODIE
“What the hell did you do with my daughter? And where can I find her?” Lucy scares the shit out of me more than any other girl I know, but that’s one of the things I love about her the most. She doesn’t put up with my crap.
Henley stares at the door Lucy passed through a few seconds ago before shifting her dilated eyes back to me. “I told her she shouldn’t be so hard on you. That a daddy’s job is to protect their children, and although she may not want to believe it”—she swallows three times before finishing her sentence—“she probably needs protecting from me more than anyone.” She fans her face, but it does little to bring back its color. “I also reminded her that Uncle Thane is sleeping over…” She stops, then starts again. “He—” A dangerous heave interrupts her this time. “I’m going to be sick.”
