Chapter 38
CHAPTER 38
FORD
The moving van pulled up to the curb at the front of the house, its diesel engine rumbling in the quiet neighborhood. It was here far sooner than I’d expected, but the company manager had expedited delivery as soon as the police were finished processing everything. My stomach clenched as I wondered exactly what we’d find inside. How much was damaged? How much was missing entirely? How much of Peyton’s childhood remained intact?
My daughter appeared beside me, bouncing nervously in her scuffed-up Chucks. “Is that it?”
“Yeah. Just remember what we talked about. Some stuff might be…” Gone? Destroyed? Ruined beyond repair? I’d warned her of all that, but I couldn’t make myself say it again, not when I saw that flicker of hope in her eyes. She’d already lost so much.
“Yeah, I know. But at least we got most of it back.” Her voice carried a forced brightness that had me clenching my fists against an outcome I couldn’t control.
I didn’t even know what “it” was, not really. Some furniture, which we desperately needed to fill the house with more than just the bare essentials we’d cobbled together. Books, clothes, and the precious pieces of the life Peyton had led before her mother’s sudden death. Pieces, too, of the woman I’d made a child with but hadn’t really known at all.
The timing was less than ideal. Bree was next door, packing the essentials to move in. Well, no. Just to stay for a while. I had to remind myself this wasn’t a permanent arrangement. Not yet, anyway. Bree wasn’t ready for that. I’d need to ease her into the idea slowly, like coaxing a skittish cat from beneath the porch. She was still learning to trust what was between us. To trust that I wouldn’t break my promise again, wouldn’t leave her behind like everyone else had. I’d give her as long as she needed. And in the meantime, I should probably hunt for a bigger house for the three of us. Something with a yard for Keeley and enough space that Peyton could really spread out and make it her own.
One step at a time.
The driver hopped down from the cab, clipboard in hand. “Mr. Donoghue?”
“That’s me.” I signed where indicated, accepting delivery.
“I’m afraid we don’t have a full crew, but you have the two of us to help,” the driver said, jerking his thumb toward his companion, who’d slid out of the passenger side of the truck. “Just let us know where you want us to put things.”
I had no idea what kind of state things had been in before the theft, and I didn’t expect boxes to have been properly sorted and labeled after. We’d be going through things long after these guys left. “Let’s get started.”
The driver rolled up the door on the back of the truck with a metallic rattle that echoed through the morning air. My heart sank at how little was inside. It barely filled half the space, leaving a stark emptiness. I spotted mostly cardboard boxes in various states of wear, but also at least a couple of dark wood bookcases, a bed with its frame partially dismantled, a weathered dresser with brass handles, and what looked like part of an overstuffed chair in faded blue peaking out from behind everything else.
Peyton clambered inside the truck bed with the energy only a teenager could muster this early in the day. I watched her carefully for drooping shoulders or other signs of disappointment or shock, knowing this represented all she had left of her old life. But she only pounced on the nearest box with determined focus, her fingers already working at the tape. Maybe there hadn’t actually been that much in storage to begin with? Or maybe she was just better at handling loss than I’d expected.
She paused with a box balanced against her hip. “What should we do with this stuff?”
“For now, probably pile the boxes along that empty wall in the living room until we get the furniture placed wherever it’s going to go. Then we can shift around boxes as needed.” I gestured toward the house, already mentally rearranging the space to accommodate everything.
Bree emerged from her cottage. “What’s all this?”
“The rest of Peyton’s stuff.” I watched her face carefully, knowing she’d understand the weight of what that meant.
We exchanged a long look, the kind that came from years of history and shared understanding. Bree knew about the theft and recovery, so she’d also be prepared to handle whatever the fallout from this was for Peyton. My kid might seem okay now, but seeing all her possessions like this could trigger something deeper.
“Then let’s get it inside.” Bree leapt in to help.
Between the five of us, we got the boxes unloaded in fifteen minutes, making quick work of the smaller items with everyone pitching in. Then came the furniture, which required more coordination and careful maneuvering through doorways. There were three bookcases. Solid wood pieces that spoke of quality and permanence. One went to Peyton’s room, while the other two were tucked into a corner of the living room. Once we cleared away the boxes, they’d stand side by side along the back wall, creating a proper library feel. Turned out there was a loveseat hiding back there, upholstered in a soft blue fabric, as well as a patterned area rug that would pull the room together. After some finagling to move the sofa we’d gotten from Beachcomber Bargains, we got the rug down and the sofa and loveseat in place. The cushy reading chair, worn but still comfortable-looking, also went to Peyton’s room, where it would give her a cozy spot to curl up with a book. That left the bed and dresser, the two heaviest pieces we’d need to tackle.
“Do you want to swap these out for the ones in your room?” I wasn’t sure where they’d go otherwise. The third bedroom had been turned into my office, and there wasn’t room to shoehorn a bed in there between my desk and filing cabinets. Worse case, we could store it in the garage out at the lighthouse until such a time as we had a place for it.
Before she could answer, my phone rang, the vibration buzzing against my hip through my jeans pocket. I glanced at the screen, expecting it to be Mom or Mimi checking in. The sight of Dax Shepherd’s name kicked my pulse into high gear. Did he have some answers for me at last?
“Sorry, kiddo. I need to take this. Y’all figure out what you want to do with the bed and dresser.”
I stepped out to the backyard and answered. “Dax. Tell me you have news for me.”
“I do. Sorry it took me so long. I’ve been digging between assignments, and I was out of the country for most of the past week. Things got a bit complicated down in South America, or I would’ve gotten back to you sooner.”
I didn’t ask doing what. Since he’d left the Navy, he’d taken on a lot of contract work in arenas where it was best no questions were asked. The less I knew about his activities, the better for everyone involved. I didn’t know him well enough either way, having only met him through Sawyer a handful of times at various gatherings and celebrations. His reputation for getting answers was what mattered. “No worries. I appreciate whatever you can tell me. Anything you found would help at this point.”
“Northwest Global Logistics looks clean on paper,” Dax said. “Import/export business, specializing in Pacific Rim trade. But dig deeper and you find a pattern.”
My fingers clenched around the phone. “What kind of pattern?”
“Employees who ask too many questions tend to disappear. Five in the past three years. Local police wrote them off as voluntary departures, but their families say different.”
I paced across the back patio. “And Casey was looking into this?”
“She was working with the FBI, gathering evidence of whatever illegal shit they’re into. That evidence vanished after her death. Company’s hired multiple PI firms to track it down, but so far, nobody’s had any luck. So they’re taking… some more aggressive measures.”
Everything in me tensed at the sound of that. “Do they know about Peyton?”
“That’s why I called. They started in Portland, but they’ve widened the search. Word is they’ve discovered your paternity claim.”
The blood drained from my face. “How sure are you?”
“Two of their known contractors were spotted in Norfolk day before yesterday. These aren’t the kind of guys you hire for legitimate business.”
“You think they know she’s here?”
“If they don’t yet, they will soon. The paternity claim creates a paper trail.”
I glanced through the sliding glass door, my hand pressed against the cool surface. Peyton and Bree were sorting through boxes of what looked like old photos, both laughing at something, their heads bent close together. The sight of them together squeezed my heart so tight I could barely breathe. They were my family—the one I’d never known I needed until now. I’d just found them. Just brought them together. The thought that someone might try to take this away made my throat close up. I wanted to be able to hold them close without fear of some amorphous threat hanging over our heads, wanted to protect this fragile new happiness we’d stumbled into.
“What do I need to do?” My voice came out rougher than I intended.
“Keep her close. Maybe up security on your house. I’m working on getting more intel about their operations, see if I can’t help the feds along some. But Ford? These people are dangerous. If they think she knows anything…”
“She doesn’t. She’s a child.”
“Doesn’t matter. I doubt they’d take that chance. I certainly wouldn’t risk it if it were my kid.”
I scrubbed a hand down my face, as if that would erase the horror from my expression. “Yeah, no. Of course not. Do you have pictures of the contractors who were seen in Norfolk?”
“Emailing them your way.”
“Good. Thanks, Dax.”
“No problem. I’ll be in touch.”
I stood in the backyard long after I’d hung up the phone, wrestling with what I’d just been told and what to do about it. So long as the information Casey had gathered was out there, Peyton was in danger. But what could I do? I wasn’t law enforcement. And while I’d burn the world to keep my girl safe, that wasn’t enough for the feds to take the company down. Maybe there was something still hidden among the stuff that had just been delivered. I’d talk to Peyton about it. And I’d share the pictures of the two men Dax had emailed me with her and the rest of my friends and family. Maybe I should pass them on to Chief Carson as well, so island PD was on the lookout.
It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Locking down the panic that wanted to take hold, I shoved my phone in my pocket and went back inside to deal with the immediate chaos.
Bree was on the phone, one arm wrapped around her middle as she listened to whoever was on the other end and made the occasional “uh huh” noises in reply. I recognized tension in her posture and crossed the room to join her, even as my already jangling nerves stretched tighter.
“I understand. Thank you.”
She hung up, and for a long moment didn’t move. Then she lifted her face to mine. Tears clung to her lashes and my gut twisted. It had to be news about Ed. I braced to catch her, to weather the storm of her devastation. And then… she smiled.
“He’s waking up.”
Before the words had fully penetrated my brain, Bree threw herself at me with a laugh. “He’s waking up!”
As Peyton whooped, I caught Bree close, spinning to keep us from toppling over. “That’s amazing.”
Amid all the uncertainty, it truly was a beacon of desperately needed hope.
She eased back and framed my face between her palms, those gray eyes lighter than they’d been in days. “He’s going to be okay.”
In that moment, held captive by her touch, it felt as if everything else would be, too.
Then she released me, tugging back with fresh frenetic energy. “I have to get to the ferry. I don’t want him waking up alone.”
Of course she didn’t. And I didn’t want her going to the mainland by herself, just in case there was some unexpected turn for the worse. But there were details to sort. A daughter to protect.
“I know you’re excited, but slow your roll. You’ve got another hour until the ferry, and you should pack a bag this time, for the just in case.”
“Right. Right.” She turned a circle, as if half expecting all her stuff to have materialized amid the boxes we’d just taken off the moving truck.
I nudged her toward the door. “Next door.”
“Right.” She bolted.
“Don’t leave without me!”
A backward wave was my only reply.