The thin man, calm as anything, presses his lips together and lowers his head. “I’ll be on my way,” he says. He scurries past Morris, climbs in his truck, and merges back into traffic.
As soon as the man is out of sight, I shove my sunglasses off my face. I take one long look at Morris and another at my little girl.
“Baby?” Morris asks. “You all right?”
I realize in that moment he still doesn’t know my name.
But I don’t care.
I walk up to him and throw myself against his chest.
5
The moment I have my arms around her, I breathe in that sugar-sweet fragrance, and I feel it.
I feel her fear.
Her relief.
Her trust.
I hold her tight against me, the traffic noise rushing past, but for a few seconds, all I can do is see red.
Rage at this little bird getting stuck in the path of another predator.
What if I hadn’t gotten here when I did?
Another ten, fifteen minutes, and who knows what kind of danger they would have been facing?
Even as I think it, I realize I’ve got it backward. This little bird can’t fly free without being stalked.
Everywhere she goes.
Beautiful and vulnerable.
Not anymore.
Not if I can help it.
I watch the little girl’s face that’s pressed against the partially open window. I give her a reassuring smile and tighten my hold on her mama. Then I lean back so I can look into her eyes. “You’re all right now,” I assure her. “Did he do anything? You wanna call the cops?”
“No,” she says quietly. “No. But he was… I was so…”
“It’s all right,” I say, shaking my head. The fact that she’s safe is all I need to know. If I hear any more, I’m gonna take Leo’s truck and haul ass after that motherfucker and use my bare hands to loosen his nuts. I don’t need that kind of bloodshed on my hands, as satisfying as it would be. “Let’s get you out of here,” I say.
She doesn’t move out of my arms, and as much as I love having her there, we have a child and a dead car to move, and it is getting hotter by the minute.
“Sweetheart?” I say again, trying to break through.
“Right…right.” She sniffs hard and nods at me, stepping away from me. “God. Right, sorry. I just—”
“’S’all right,” I say. “Leo!” I motion for the kid to get out of the truck. “Come here, come meet…”
I look at her and crack a grin. “A little help here, sweetheart?”
She looks at me in confusion until Leo ambles over. He is taking in my little bird. I can feel him assessing her sunshine hair and caramel eyes. Just the thought of his eyes on her body makes me second-guess my decision to let him keep his pretty face.
“Leo, this is…”
“Alice,” she says, stepping forward and extending her hand. She flicks me a sweet smile, knowing that she still hasn’t told me her name. “I’m Alice Sparrow. Thank you so much for coming here to help.”
Before the boy can get in a word, I grab his shoulders in a rough, tight hold.
It’s meant to seem brotherly but to send a message at the same time.
“Alice,” I say, liking the feel of her name on my tongue. Makes me want to taste everything about her. “Leo here is going to help get this car taken care of. He’s going to keep his eyes—and everything else that he wants to keep attached to his body—to himself. Isn’t that right, Leo?”
Alice flushes, and her sweet lips curve into a smile.
“I’m just here to help, ma’am,” Leo says, and I immediately like the kid a lot better for his manners. He may not be a total dumbass after all.
I release him and wave at the little one in the car. “We’re going to help your momma, sweetheart,” I say.
Alice turns and unlocks the car door, and the little girl practically leaps from the back seat and into her mother’s arms.
I can’t believe Alice has the strength to carry the kid. She’s like a full-grown child, not a baby, but despite Alice’s tiny frame, she holds her daughter like I would if she were mine. Like she is everything.
“Morris, Leo,” Alice says, “this is my daughter, Zoey.”
Zoey rests her head on her mom’s shoulder for a minute but then slides from her mom’s arms to stand on these sparkly blue shoes. She holds a hand out to me first like a perfectly mature little person.
“Hello,” she says. “Nice to meet you.”
Her formal words feel rehearsed to me. Like someone’s drilled into this kid what her place is. I kneel on the ground so I’m eye level with her.
“Hiya, Zoey.” I look at her hand and then look to Alice for silent permission to shake Zoey’s hand.
Something about their situation, the stranger they just had in their space, makes me want to be extra careful. I’m guessing I’m not exactly the kind of man she’s used to shaking hands with, and she confirms that by staring with big, wide eyes at the ink tattooed up the backs of my hands.
“You ever see tattoos like this before?” I ask. I show her the backs of my hands. “It’s just artwork, just pictures some people like to put on their bodies.”
Zoey nods. “I draw with markers on my knees sometimes, but Da—” She stops herself and looks down. “I’m not supposed to do that.”
Her little hand is still out for me to shake. Alice gives me a nod, so I take the little hand in mine.
“That’s a good handshake,” I say. “You’re a strong young lady. With some pretty sparkly shoes.”
Zoey pulls her hand back and immediately starts talking about the shoes.
“They’re from this movie I love, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen it, but it’s all about these princess sisters—”
The words come out in a rush until she stops herself and slams her mouth shut, then takes a step back and hangs her head.
I look from the kid to Alice, confused. Alice’s expression is dark, her face erased of its light.
“Yeah?” I urge. “You were saying? These princess sisters?”
I’m not following why she stopped talking until I look to Alice. She sets a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
“It’s okay,” Alice says. “Morris doesn’t mind hearing about it. You can talk.”
I snap my face toward Alice.
You can talk?
What kind of kid needs permission to talk? I’m no dad, never have been, but it seems like kids do and say what they want.
Normally getting them to stop talking is the problem.
The formal handshake and the self-restraint mean only one thing to me. She’s been trained this way.
To keep her eyes down and her mouth closed. That seals it. Whoever this man is that Alice is running from, I fucking hate him.
Control.
That’s what all this screams.
The shitty car, the lack of money, the barely there bruises a reminder and a warning.
The overly well-behaved little girl.
All the signs of control.
My desire to make meat stew out of this son of a bitch is just about bubbling over, when Leo calls out my name.
While I was chatting up Zoey about shoes, Leo popped the hood on Alice’s sedan.