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It’s been four months, but Lucy still can’t help but immediately respond when Henley enters the conversation. She cried enough tears to fill a river when Henley told her she had to leave, but for once, I cherished her stubbornness when she refused to let Henley off the hook until she made her promise she wouldn’t be gone forever.
“Promise me you will come back,” she begged that morning. “You’re my wish. I wished for you, so you cannot leave unless you promise to return. Promise me, Henley. Please.”
The darkness that ran through me when the doctors listed Henley’s extensive injuries lightened a smidge when Henley murmured, “I promise.”
“What time is the next candidate arriving?” I ask Thane, exhausted.
I’ve been burning the candle at both ends for the past few months. Lucy hasn’t slept through the night since the incident that had her reliving her mother’s death, even with her not being old enough to remember it. I work a minimum of twelve hours a day, usually at night with Lucy snuggled on the couch in my office, on the case files Macy keeps me updated on even though I’m not officially under the FBI banner anymore.
I’ve gone private, but there is only one case I am working on right now.
The one that will allow Henley to keep her promise to Lucy.
The one that will bring her home.
Twenty-three arrests have been made in the past four months. It is predicted that there will be another dozen by the end of the year. The end is in sight, but it still seems so far away.
Thane checks his clipboard like any good PA would before reminding me I was stupid to hire him to help me get my new business off the ground while endeavoring to be a hands-on father. “I forgot to write down what time she said.” He shrugs. “My bad?”
He’s shit at timekeeping and anything to do with a computer. If I were smart, I would have hired him as Lucy’s nanny instead of my assistant. He is the only reason I haven’t burned out the past few months. He keeps Lucy occupied while I get a couple of hours of shuteye during the day, but I can’t keep going like this or I’ll end up in a grave.
“I already told you no,” Thane says, spotting my arched brow. “I love you, Lulu, and I’m proud you can wipe your own butt, but you’ve not yet learned that towels are not tissues.”
Lucy giggles at her uncle’s comment while shadowing him out of my home office. We moved again, the two weeks of memories at the last house not enough to overtake the image of Henley propped up lifelessly on the closet in her room.
Our new home is bigger than the last. It has five bedrooms and two detached bathrooms, and the main room has an ensuite and a brand-new king-size bed. We went for a recently revamped old house since the creak of floorboards can be the difference between life and death.
I purchased it with the money I got from the life insurance policy Caroline took out in her name. Since she believed my job would take me away from our family before her, the payout figure was far less than what Lucy will be awarded in the event of my death.
It was still plenty, but not close to what we lost when Leroy killed her.
My thoughts are dragged back to the present when Thane says, “Ah… should she be kissing that?” He nudges his head to Lucy, who’s holding a massive bullfrog an inch from her puckered lips.
“Don’t—” My warning comes too late. Lucy kisses the frog.
“Now she’s got warts too.” Thane dumps his empty coffee mug into the dishwasher. “I’m one hundred percent out.” He salutes me, noogies Lucy’s head, then exits the kitchen via a door at the back of the room.
“Not a good kisser?” I ask Lucy when she lets the frog escape with her uncle.
“It was okay.” I laugh when her face screws up as she licks her lips. “But he’s no prince.”
My heart clenches when she climbs onto the barstool beneath the island counter. She looks so tired. Little bags circle her eyes, and they’re puffy and red.
I can’t wait to end this nightmare for her. I am working on it every single day. We’re close, so very, very close, but it will have to wait a couple more hours because my daughter needs me more right now.
“How about we cancel the rest of the interviews today, have a glass of warm milk, and then an afternoon catnap?”
I’m prepared for Lucy to rile me about day sleeping, so you can imagine my shock when a voice behind me prickles the hairs on the back of my neck. “Milk? I was once told a glass of warm water was the best cure for restlessness.”
