Fighting for You #2
“It’s practically the middle of the night, Charlie-bear.
” Fortunately, most of the blinds were closed so she couldn’t see how the sun was already brightening the eastern sky.
He carried her up the stairs to her room.
The cops had left every light on, which might’ve comforted Charlotte, but it only reminded Noah that nothing was as it should be.
Her things were undisturbed—her storybooks, the princess lamp he’d bought when she’d first come to live with him, the mountain of stuffed animals she arranged all around her at bedtime every night. Maybe their plush presence made her feel less alone.
He tucked her in and perched on the edge of the bed. “Shall we say prayers again?”
She shook her head, then changed her mind and nodded, wearing a grave look no child should wear, like she was weighing some private equation. Had this event destroyed the trust he’d spent months building?
He held her hand, and she bowed her head. He gave her a moment to speak, if she wanted to, then said, “Dear Jesus, please protect little Charlie-bear and help her sleep.” And help her trust me. And help me keep her safe.
He kissed her forehead. “I’ll be downstairs. All the doors are locked. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She placed one tiny palm on his cheek and studied his face while he tried to convey so much in his look—that he loved her, that he’d protect her, that he would never let anybody hurt her.
And then, she curled onto her side and tucked her little hands beneath her cheek.
He tugged her ratty crocheted blanket—the only thing she’d brought with her when she’d come to live with him—up over her.
“See you in the morning, beautiful girl.” Before he left, he slid the curtains closed in front of the blinds, hoping that, if no light peeked in, maybe she’d sleep later than her usual seven o’clock. She needed the rest.
God willing, today he’d find a nanny who could help him take care of her.
He crept out, leaving the door open a crack, and headed downstairs.
Mason and his partner were on the patio beyond the French doors. Mason was crouched but stood when Noah neared. “You want to look?”
Deep down, Noah had held out hope that he’d imagined those footsteps. That the shadow moving in the garden had been his imagination, That the doors had opened on their own. If not wind, then…ghosts, maybe. Somehow, that seemed less menacing than the alternative.
But he stepped outside and crouched down.
“Looks like someone picked the lock,” Mason said behind him, angling a flashlight so he could see.
Noah studied the scratches—fresh, too shallow to notice unless you were looking. He stood and faced the cop. “Have there been other break-ins in the area?”
“Burglaries, sure. But not robberies or home invasions. Nothing when people were home.”
“What’s your theory?”
Mason shrugged. “Don’t have one. Do you? Anything valuable in the house? Anything worth risking prison for?”
Those were two different questions. Yes, there were valuables. Mom’s silver, Dad’s rare coins. Noah had been meaning to transfer those to a safe deposit box, but who knew about them? Just Noah and Jasper, and if Jasper wanted to take something, he’d use his key.
To be fair, he’d probably do it in the middle of the night, if for no other reason than to avoid Noah.
Anyway, it didn’t matter how much their possessions were worth, nothing seemed valuable enough to risk prison.
“Where’d the girl come from?” Mason asked.
Since it wasn’t his story to tell, he said, “Is there anything else?” He understood the gossip mill well enough not to dump his news into it.
“I’m not trying to get juicy tidbits to share at the hairdresser, Noah.
” Mason’s use of his first name—as if they were friends—grated on his nerves.
Mason’s friendship with Jasper didn’t raise the man’s stature in Noah’s book.
Exactly the opposite, as a matter of fact.
“There were footprints in the dew. Someone broke into your house while that child slept upstairs. If you have any idea—”
“You think I wouldn’t tell you? I have no idea who it was.”
“Maybe it has something to do with the kid.”
“Maybe it does. Again, I don’t know.”
“If you tell me who she belongs to—”
“Why don’t you talk to your old friend about it?”
That had Mason’s eyes widening, then narrowing. “Okay, gotcha.” The words came slowly, as if he were processing the information. “What about her mother?”
Noah sighed. “My understanding is that she doesn’t want anything to do with her.” He wasn’t about to tell Mason that Charlotte’s mother had lost custody, that she was a drug dealer. A stripper.
The whole town didn’t need to know that, and Noah knew better than to trust the police to keep his private life private.
“Don’t you think this was probably a robbery?” Noah asked. “Why do you think it’s anything else?”
Mason looked up from his notebook. “You’re probably right, but let us know if you hear from the mother or if anything seems amiss.
” He nodded toward the screen between the porch and the yard, where the sun was turning the darkness into gray.
“The footprints aren’t pronounced enough for us to tell if they were made by a man or a woman.
Could’ve been a kid. I’ll write up a report.
Let us know if you discover anything missing. ”
“Will do.”
After the cops left, Noah locked the doors, checked all the windows, then made a sweep of the house. Nothing was missing.
His parents had had the first-floor doors and windows wired to the alarm years before. Noah would be adding cameras now, and wiring the second-floor windows and patio doors. He’d do whatever the alarm company recommended.
Had the break-in been random? Had it been about valuables?
Or had it been about Charlotte?
This wasn’t supposed to be Noah’s life. He was the stable one, the one who got up at four to exercise, the one who was at his desk at seven, the one who’d turned a local software business into a multimillion dollar enterprise by predicting what would happen next and getting there first.
Nothing about his life made sense anymore. Except the little girl sleeping upstairs, who’d turned everything upside down, including his heart.
I hope you enjoyed this rough draft sneak peek of Fighting for You.