Fighting for You (The Wright Heroes of Maine #8)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Noah Aylett preferred the hour before dawn to any other slice of the day.

The world was as close to silent as it would get, only interrupted by the whoosh of his rowing machine, the thump of weights, the whistle of his breath. Unlike the rest of his life, these were predictable things. Things he could wrestle into order.

He racked the barbell—a clean, hard clank—then rolled his shoulders and checked the time.

Twenty till five. He had at least another hour before Charlotte woke, before the slow, sticky business of fatherhood—unclehood, in his case—turned his orderly existence into chaos. Time enough for one more set.

He had just settled on his weight bench, hands spreading wide to grip the bar, when a shriek pierced his peace.

It was so out of place that it took him a moment to realize what it was. The burglar alarm.

Then his phone was vibrating, and his lungs filled with dread.

He stood, swiping to answer.

A woman’s voice. “We have an alarm sounding—”

“Yeah. I know. Let me check.” Noah crossed the basement workout room, phone pressed to his ear. “Can you turn it off?”

“Sir, if you didn’t set it off accidentally—”

“Turn it off!” He hadn’t triggered it, but maybe Charlotte had woken up early and opened a door, looking for him.

That would be a first, but there was a first time for everything. Thinking of all the firsts this year, his heart thumped in a way that had nothing to do with his punishing workout.

Mercifully, the alarm silenced as he hurried up the stairs to the first floor.

The quiet allowed him to hear heavy footsteps thumping toward the back of the house. Footsteps that couldn’t be his niece’s.

He hurtled the last few steps, shouting into the phone, “Intruder!” He hit the main floor and bolted toward the noise.

One of the rear French doors stood wide open. It had been locked.

It was still dark, but a shadow moved on the far side of the backyard. Noah rushed onto the patio, ready to give chase.

Then stopped.

He needed to check on Charlotte. Surely the intruder hadn’t had time to get upstairs.

The shadow disappeared into the hedge—if it’d ever been there in the first place, not a phantom born of fear. If that was a person, they were getting away. Climbing over the fence, headed for the beach or even a boat.

He stood frozen, listening. The sharp scents of salt and wet fern drifted in, along with the distant slap of waves. No childish screams.

Noah lifted the phone. “Get the police here.”

“They’re en route.”

He ran back inside, anxiety crawling up his throat. He had to get to her.

“Can you confirm everyone in the residence is accounted for?” the voice on the phone asked.

“Working on it.”

He bolted toward the staircase, fear plucking his nerves. He hit the bottom and looked up.

Charlotte was halfway down, eyes wide. She rarely sucked her thumb outside of bed these days, but it was in her mouth now, her ratty crocheted blanket dragging on the steps behind her.

Relief washed over him. “Hey, Charlie-Bear.” Somehow he kept the panic out of his voice.

Through the phone, the woman said, “Sir?”

“We’re both fine. Thank you.” He tossed the phone onto the table inside the entryway. “That alarm was loud, huh?”

Charlotte took a few more steps down, frowning. “Is it a monster?” The words were muffled, coming out around her thumb.

At least she’d spoken. It’d taken her weeks to open up to him, weeks during which he’d wondered if his four-year-old niece had learned to put together sentences.

He climbed the few steps and picked her up, heart still going wild under his ribs. “No monsters.” Not the mythical kind, anyway.

Noah carried Charlotte to the back door, which he’d left open in his rush to get to her. He closed it, then triple-checked the lock. He pressed her close, letting the soft feel of her push back his fear.

The cops would come. Nosy neighbors would see the cruisers and gossip. He didn’t care. All that mattered was Charlotte, healthy and in his arms.

He turned on the outside lights, peering through the glass doors to see any hint of what had happened. The flower beds, so pretty in the daylight, looked ghostly in the darkness, the foliage shivering in the sea breeze. Aside from that, nothing moved.

He hadn’t imagined the thump of footsteps. Someone had been in his house.

Charlotte clung to him, and he tucked her blanket around her. Despite his assurance that they were safe, terror wafted from her, stronger than the scent of baby shampoo.

“No monsters, I promise. We’re safe.”

Charlotte didn’t relax at all. She didn’t trust him yet. Didn’t trust that the world could be a secure place with grown-ups who stuck around and protected her.

“Let’s just make sure.” He turned on the sunroom lights.

“No monsters in here.” He let her get a look, then moved into the dining room—also empty—and the kitchen. “Monster-free.”

Her gaze fixed on the closed pantry door.

“Good point,” Noah said, as if she’d vocalized her fear. “Maybe there’s a monster in there eating all your cereal. What do you think? Cheerios?”

She scrunched her little nose in disgust.

He chuckled. Apparently, Charlotte’s grandmother hadn’t worried about healthy eating. When Noah had taken Charlotte to the grocery store, she’d pointed out all her favorites—the kinds of cereal that had more sugar than grain. He’d chosen one he’d loved as a kid.

It had not gone over well.

He yanked the pantry door open and shouted, “Boo!”

When no boxes of food responded, Charlotte grinned around her thumb.

“Yay! Your Cheerios are safe!” He continued the search throughout the first floor, checking under every piece of furniture and in every closet, making a game of it.

By the time they were on their way upstairs, Charlotte was giggling.

A sharp knock sounded on the front door, and her eyes popped wide.

“It’s okay. It’s the police.” He kept his voice low and soothing. “They’re going to double-check and make sure we’re safe.”

She wrapped her skinny arms around his neck, her legs around his torso, and clung like a barnacle.

Her fear seemed to be of much more than monsters. He angled back to see her face, but she wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t lift her head from where she’d buried it in his neck.

“Charlie-Bear, you’re safe here.” And then he realized what she was afraid of. “I promise, nobody’s going to take you away from me. This is your home. You’ll always be safe here.” His heart squeezed for this poor child. She’d finally started to feel secure with him, and now this.

“You promise?” The words were so faint, he wasn’t sure he’d really heard them or just felt them, soul-deep.

“I promise, sweetheart. You’re home now. This is where you belong.”

And it was, even though Charlotte wasn’t his, and the promise wasn’t his to make.

One battle at a time.

He waited for some reaction, but she didn’t speak again and didn’t let up her grip on him.

The next time he saw his brother, he was going to punch him square in the face.

Noah carried Charlotte down to the foyer, which was now lit by flashing red and blue lights coming through the windows, and opened the front door.

A cop stood on the porch, another at the bottom of the steps. Two more were shining flashlights into the bushes in the front yard.

Noah was thankful they’d come, though he could’ve lived without the patrol car’s strobe-lighting the neighborhood.

“It’s Noah, right?” The officer at the door was a stocky guy with a buzz cut. He looked vaguely familiar. “I went to school with your brother. I’m Mason Pike.”

“Right.” Noah didn’t recognize him, but then he and Jasper hadn’t run in the same crowd. “Thanks for coming.”

“I didn’t hear you had a kid.”

“Long story.”

Mason stayed quiet as if waiting for Noah to share. After a moment, he asked, “What happened tonight?”

“The patio door opened and set the alarm off. I’m guessing the wind blew it open.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed.

There was very little wind, so Noah’s theory made no sense. He glared at the cop, a look intended to say, Keep your opinions to yourself.

The last thing he needed was to scare Charlotte even more.

Mason shifted his weight, angling to look beyond Noah down the center hall. “Can we sweep the inside? It’s best to be sure.”

“Of course.”

Noah carried Charlotte back into the house and settled on an antique rocking chair in the sitting room while Mason and his partner looked around.

Charlotte was smaller than a typical four-year-old, maybe due to genetics.

More likely because of neglect. She was small enough to fold atop him, knees digging into his ribs.

Noah rocked, humming a hymn his mother used to sing to distract her from the low but serious voices carrying from down the hall.

Charlotte had relaxed by the time Mason’s partner stepped into the living room, hovering near the doorway. He was a younger guy, looked barely out of high school, with a tired smile. He focused on Charlotte, whose head rested on Noah’s shoulder. “Hey there, little bit.”

She hid her face in the crook of Noah’s neck.

He smoothed her hair. “She’s wary of strangers.”

“Just wanted to be sure you’re both doing all right. Did you notice anything missing or out of place?”

“Haven’t looked. If it’s all clear, I’ll put her back to bed.”

Charlotte tensed but didn’t object. He was learning to read her body language, and right now, he read I don’t wanna go to bed.

“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 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.