Chapter 21
Sayla
B eing at Roque’s felt better than I wanted to admit.
It was surprisingly easy to fall back into the rhythm we’d built during the snowstorm like no time had passed. Only this time, we had two sleepy-eyed kids to fold into the mix—two tiny humans who needed help brushing their teeth and choosing socks that didn’t match but absolutelyhadto be worn.
That morning, I’d dealt with Kaida—woken her up with a whisper and a kiss on the cheek, then helped her into her clothes while she clung to her stuffed dog like it was the only thing tethering her to the waking world. Roque had handled Kairo in the next room, and I could hear the muffled giggles and the sound of his toothbrush scraping against his tiny teeth through the wall. It was domestic and warm and was mine for the time being.
While the kids stood at the back door laughing at the dogs chasing each other around the yard, I whipped up some French toast and cut it into star and heart shapes, dusting it with cinnamon and enough syrup to make their eyes go wide. Roque came up behind me in the middle of it and snuck a kiss to my neck when the kids weren’t looking, then gave me a quick pat on the ass that made me shoot him a playful glare. He just grinned and grabbed the plates.
Everything about it was easy and natural, except for the fear I was trying to ignore.
The truth was, I’d barely slept last night. Not because of the mattress or the dogs barking at God knows what at two in the morning. But because every time I closed my eyes, I thought about my window that’d been shattered while I was in my bed, vulnerable.
I’d even heard it happen and had assumed it was just a cat knocking over something in the street. That terrified me. What if theyhadcome in? Why didn’t they? Why break the glass and not follow through?
Roque said his security system was solid, and I believed him, but it was hard to shake the feeling of knowing that someone had been right outside, staring inside my home, my safe space.
Now, sitting in my salon chair, comb in hand, fingers moving on autopilot as I painted highlights into a customer’s hair, the exhaustion was catching up to me. Two nights of lousy sleep and not even my strongest coffee could keep my brain from fogging.
The bell chimed at the front of the salon, and I looked up to see Tabitha—DB’s wife—breeze in, her smile wide and familiar.
“Hey, babe,” she called, waving like she owned the place, which, honestly, with her energy, she kind of did.
“I’ve got you in the book,” I said, returning her smile. “You ready to go bright again?”
“Youknowit,” she said, flipping her hair. “These roots are an embarrassment to my brand.”
She plopped down in my second chair as I finished the foils on my first client, and I pulled the bright pink dye from the cabinet without even needing to ask. It was her signature color, and honestly, it looked gorgeous on her. Not everyone could pull off pink like she did—bold, unapologetic, and completely her.
As I sectioned her hair, she talked about her youngest kids being in the daycare—the same one Kairo and Kaida were in. My chest warmed at that. I loved that they were making friends, laughing, and having people around them who were helping make this their new home. Especially with Kairo’s birthday coming up in a month, I wanted it to be special. I wanted him to feel wrapped up in joy, sugar, balloons, and love. He deserved that.Theyboth did.
I just had to keep holding it together until then and try not to let the fear swallow the good parts.
As I finished painting the last section of foil into my client’s hair, I glanced down at my phone and smiled. Roque had texted me earlier that morning, telling me he wanted to throw a party for Kairo’s birthday and was thinking of asking Heidi to make the cake. What he didn’t know was that I’d already texted her the night before, and we’d locked it all in—theme, date, even flavor. I just needed to find out his favorite flavor, but I already knew he’d want race car decorations because Kairo had been on a Lightning McQueen kick for weeks.
When Tabby sat down, and I’d started working the bright pink dye into her roots, I grinned and asked, “Hey, you and Jose think you could make it to Kairo’s birthday party? It’ll be in a few weeks, and Heidi’s making the cake, which is race car themed.”
“Race car party? Girl, yes ,” Tabby said immediately. “I’ll drag Jose and the kids there myself if I have to. My heathens will lose their minds over that. What day?”
I rattled off the date, and she pulled out her phone to jot it down. Then her eyes lit up.
“Oh, you know what you should do? Get those little cardboard racetracks the kids can build. Or better yet, make a ‘pit stop’ station where they can decorate paper cars. Maybe tire-shaped cupcakes? I have a Pinterest board somewhere.”
I laughed, moving between her hair and checking on the foils for my other client. “I should’ve known you’d have a whole party plan ready.”
“Girl, I was born for this,” she said, already typing out texts. “I’ll ask Rose, Bexley, Katy, the Townsends, and the others too. Get them to bring their kids to celebrate lil man’s special day. I doubt anyone will say no. We can get those balloon towers in black and white like a checkered flag. I know a girl.”
Somehow, between applying dye and rinsing highlights, we started building an entire raceway in our heads. It was chaotic but fun—and honestly, a welcome distraction. Planning something joyful for the kids grounded me in all the good stuff that was still here, even with everything else going on.
But the moment broke when Tabby’s phone rang.
She answered quickly, brow furrowing. “Hey, babe. What’s up?”
I only heard one side of the conversation, but I saw her face change—tightening and jaw clenching.
“What? Are they okay?” she asked, then nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll head home. Be careful, DB.”
She hung up, eyes wide.
“What happened?”
“Someone tried breaking into the daycare,” she growled. “It’s on lockdown. DB’s going over to check things out and get the kids. He said they’re safe, but he didn’t want to wait to go and get them.”
I barely had time to react before my phone buzzed with a text from Roque.
Roque: The daycare is on lockdown. All the kids are safe. Can I drop Kairo and Kaida off with you for a bit? I need to clear something.
I texted back right away.
Me: Of course, bring them whenever. We’ll be here.
Tabby and I exchanged a look—equal parts rattled and furious.
Forty-five minutes later, Roque showed up with both kids in tow. Kairo ran to me the moment I opened the salon door, arms outstretched like I was the only safe place in the world. I scooped him up and kissed his cheek.
“You guys okay?” I asked, looking between them.
“They were a little shaken, but no one got in,” Roque said, voice low. “Security saw someone messing around at the side fence. Staff acted fast.”
“Did they catch them?”
“Not yet,” he whispered, his eyes flashing. “But I will.”
I nodded, taking Kaida’s hand as she clung to my leg. “We’ll be fine here. Go do what you need to.”
He leaned in close and kissed my cheek gently. “Thanks.”
I watched him go, heart hammering, one arm around each kid. Whoever was out there was getting bolder, but they had no idea who they were messing with.
Roque
As soon as I pulled away from the salon, I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Leaving the kids was never easy, not with everything going on, but I trusted Sayla more than I trusted anyone, really. She had a calmness about her that wrapped around people and made them feel safe—even when the world outside was spinning out of control. And it was spinning.
We’d finally nailed another one from the photos called Simon Cliffe. He was the idiot who’d tried to break into the daycare. In all honesty, we’d gotten lucky—stupidly lucky. One of the staff, a fifty-six-year-old woman named Brenda, saw him fiddling with a window and didn’t even hesitate. She’d tackled him straight to the ground like she’d spent her Sundays watching pro wrestling and taking notes. By the time we’d gotten there, she was sitting on his bony ass, drinking from her thermos like this was just any other day.
Cliffe couldn’t have weighed more than one-twenty soaking wet. He stank like a mix of stale beer, unwashed clothes, and week- old regret and had a greasy ball cap pulled down low over his face. At first glance, he looked more like a drifter than someone involved in something organized, but then we’d searched him.
Handcuffs. A taser. Pepper spray.
You don’t carry that kind of gear if you’re just loitering, and you sure as hell don’t bring it to a daycare unless you have the worst intentions.
He was high, of course. His eyes were twitching, his speech was slurred, and he couldn’t remember his last name half the time. But the moment we cuffed him and got him upright, I saw something cold flash behind all that mess—like heknewwhat he was doing. Like it wasn’t random.
We’d caught him before anything happened, thank God. But it was a gut punch just the same. I’d already been on edge about the kids, about Sayla’s window, and about Nolan singing damn lullabies like we were in some twisted fairytale. Now this.
They were escalating, and I was done waiting to see what they would do next. It was time to push back hard.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind—Simon Cliffe had been there for Kairo and Kaida.
It was my kids who’d been photographed by those assholes. My kids they’d tried to get close to.
Just in case, we warned every parent from the daycare. Quietly with no panic and no headlines. Just a firm heads-up and instructions to keep their eyes open and routines tight. I also had one of my most trusted uniforms posted discreetly outside Delicious Divas —Sayla’s place. He was going to watch the storefront and the side alley. Anywhere someone might get ideas. He’d rotate with another guy I trusted when his shift ended, but someone would be close either way. I wasn’t leaving anything to chance again.
I was driving toward the station, already going over the little we knew about Cliffe in my head, when my phone buzzed.
“Yeah?”
“Get here, now,” Keir ordered. His voice was sharp, urgent. “You need to see what was in this guy’s car.”
That sent a chill through me. I hung up and floored it the rest of the way, blowing through a yellow light and barely stopping before the parking lot. The second I got inside, I followed the murmur of voices to the evidence room, where half the team was standing around a metal table.
I pushed in—and stopped cold.
It wasn’t just the stash of drugs and cash I’d expected, though that was there. Plastic-wrapped packets, crumpled bills, and a ziplock bag of loose pills and powder scattered the table. But that wasn’t what made my stomach twist.
It was the other stuff.
A roll of duct tape, strips of torn fabric, two more cans of pepper spray, another pair of handcuffs, a bottle of ketamine, needles, syringes, and keys—way too many keys. Who the hell actually neededthismany keys?
Whatever Cliffe had been planning, it wasn’t just a snatch-and-run. This was preparation and intent. It was something vile.
Ketamine was dangerous enough in the wrong hands. But used on a child, it was beyond reckless and a death sentence waiting to happen. Too much, and they’d go under and never come back.
I stared at the table, every muscle in my body drawn tight, fists clenching without realizing it. This wasn’t just about a drug ring or some petty criminal trying to scare us off. It was about control, power, and exploitation.
And they’d come this close to getting their hands on my kids. There was not a chance in hell I was letting that happen.