6. Chapter Six #2
"You don't have to decide right now," I assured her, though everything in me ached to scoop her up and hold her close.
"Right now, we focus on keeping you safe and stopping these people from hurting any more children.
But I want you to know that this room—and everything in it—is here whenever you might need it.
We don't have to do anything you're not ready for, but you need to pick a safeword. "
Her lips parted in astonishment. "Why do I need a safeword?"
"Because I'm going to be your Daddy, and there are rules."
She blinked. I could practically hear the word 'rules' bouncing around in her head, and probably my certainty I was going to be her Daddy.
"What sort of rules?" she asked breathlessly.
"Ones we'd agree on, but not putting yourself in danger is non-negotiable."
She pouted quite adorably, and I desperately wanted to kiss those pursed lips. But then she gnawed on them. "I haven't been with anyone in a long time. And never with someone who knows... that part of me."
Understanding dawned. "The Little side of you doesn't change how I see you, Emily. If anything, it makes me want you more."
"How can that be possible?" she whispered.
"Because it means you trust me enough to show me all of you. Not just the strong, capable social worker, but the woman underneath." I cupped her face in my hands. "I want all of you, Emily. Every single part."
Her eyes rounded and her lips parted but she let me lead her to the bed, my heart pounding in my chest.
"What's your safeword?"
"Blue."
I paused and then muttered in amusement, "Of course it is." She couldn't have red like everyone else. But that was one of the things I loved… nope liked about her. Yes, definitely liked . I sighed, knowing it was already too late and I was fooling myself.
She nodded, a small, fragile movement. "Can I... can I just sit here for a little while?"
"Of course," I said, rising to give her privacy.
"Wait," she called softly. "Would you... would you stay?"
I settled back down, my heart full. "As long as you want."
We sat in comfortable silence, Emily still clutching the bear while I leaned against the foot of the canopy bed. After several minutes, she spoke again.
"I used to have a bear like this when I was little," she said, her voice taking on a softer quality. "His name was Barnaby as well. My mom threw him away when I was seven. Said I was too old for such things."
The casual cruelty of it made my jaw clench, but I kept my voice gentle. "That must have been very hard for you."
She nodded. "I cried for days. After that, I learned not to get attached to things. People either."
"Some people don't understand that comfort objects aren't about age," I said. "They're about security, about having something constant in a changing world." I glanced at her and admitted something I'd never told anyone. "That's how I feel about my team."
Emily's eyes filled again, but she blinked back the tears, reached over and squeezed my fingers. "I've never told anyone about Barnaby before."
"Thank you for sharing that with me," I said softly.
She nodded, her fingers still stroking the bear's fur. After a moment, she tentatively moved up onto the bed, settling against the pillows with Barnaby tucked against her side. Her eyes were growing heavy, though she fought against it. I could see she was scared.
I got up and went to the dresser, opening a small drawer and taking a clean pacifier out of a case. This one had an image of a teddy bear on the end. She watched me as I returned to the bed like I was carrying an unexploded bomb.
"It's okay to rest," I told her. "Anubis will be by your side and I won't leave the house." Both dogs had been silent but looked up at the name.
"Promise?" Her voice had that higher, softer quality again.
"I promise," and held the pacifier to her lips. “Open wide, little one.” The endearment slipped out naturally, and I watched carefully for her reaction. Her eyes widened slightly, and almost a flicker of distaste crossed her face but then she opened her mouth obediently.
I simply bent and kissed her lips, which I could tell surprised her. "You prefer your thumb," I said, completely convinced. I had no idea of how old she was as a Little, so it was good to find out.
Her cheeks flushed. "I—" She glanced down but I very gently hooked my finger under her chin and made her raise her head and met her worried gaze. She was worried she might disappoint me. What a fascinating combination of sweetness and stubbornness.
"That's okay, sweetheart. One of the amazing things about being a Daddy is working out what you like."
"But what if it isn't the same as you'd like?" Her voice was barely a whisper, and I leaned down and kissed the end of her adorable nose.
"But that's the beauty of being a Daddy. Growing into what we both need and respecting each other’s decisions and limits. So far, I have two non-negotiables. Your safety, as I said, and putting yourself down. You're new to this. You can take your time to find out exactly what you want."
Tired as she was, I hadn't realized just how stressed she was until she relaxed.
Within minutes, her breathing had evened out, her body finally surrendering to exhaustion.
I watched her sleep, such fierce anger bubbling up in me.
This brave, complicated woman who fought so hard for others while denying herself basic comfort—she deserved the world.
I was determined to give it to her… whether she liked it or not .
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I slipped out of the room quietly, pulling the door mostly closed behind me before checking the message.
Walker: Got the lockbox. Heading back now. ETA 30 min.
I texted back a quick acknowledgment, then moved to the window at the end of the hallway, watching the world outside with heightened vigilance.
The knowledge that someone had tried to take Emily a second time—made every shadow seem threatening.
My protective instincts, already in overdrive since meeting her, had only intensified after seeing her in that Little room, curled up with Barnaby.
She fit so naturally in that space I'd created years ago. The space I'd nearly given up on ever being used.
I checked the security cameras on my phone, scanning the perimeter of my property. Everything looked clear, but I'd learned long ago never to trust appearances. Rice's reach was extensive, his resources nearly unlimited. If he wanted Emily badly enough, he'd try to get to her.
Over my dead body.
The thought came unbidden, fierce and absolute. I hadn't known Emily long, but in that short time, she'd awakened something in me I thought had died during my years in combat. A tenderness. A need to protect not just because of duty, but from something deeper.
Thirty minutes later, as Walker had said, the security system chimed, announcing the arrival of a vehicle.
I checked the cameras again and saw Walker's truck pulling up the drive.
I went through the kitchen to meet him but ducked back first to take one last look at Emily's sleeping form before heading to the door.
Walker entered carrying a medium-sized metal lockbox.
"Any trouble?" I asked quietly, leading him to the kitchen.
"Place was clean," Walker reported. "Almost too clean. No signs of surveillance, no forced entry." He set the lockbox on the counter. "But it felt wrong."
"Wrong how?" I asked, my instincts instantly alert.
Walker shrugged. "Like someone had already been there but tried to make it look untouched. Things were in place, but not quite right. Like they were looking for something," Walker added. "Maybe this." He tapped the lockbox.
I examined the metal box. It was sturdy but standard—the kind you could buy at any office supply store. "Did you check it for trackers?"
Walker scoffed like that was a dumb question. "Maddox went with me but I dropped him off with Clare." He nodded to the box. "Clean. The lock is simple but hasn't been broken so I doubt if they found it."
I frowned, thinking of Emily sleeping peacefully in what I hoped would be her playroom. "We need to know what we're dealing with. Did Eric make any progress on Susan or Richard's communications?"
"Not yet," Walker replied. "But he did find something interesting about those foster families Emily mentioned.
Three of them received substantial payments from shell companies that trace back to Oak Developments.
I doubt anyone but Eric could have found them, and only because we know about Emily's dad. "
"Payoffs," I muttered. "Probably for handing over the kids."
"Or for keeping quiet about what happens to them," Walker suggested grimly.
I gestured to the lockbox. "Let's see what Emily's gathered."
"Shouldn't we wait for her?" Walker asked.
"She's resting," I said, my tone making it clear the subject wasn't open for discussion. Walker's brow furrowed, but he nodded, understanding the protective note in my voice.
"We need the combination," I said, examining the lockbox, although breaking it would be simple.
"Try her mom's birthday." Walker pulled out his phone. "Eric sent it over." He checked the file and huffed when it didn't work.
"Try the date she started at Furbabies," I suggested, and Walker smiled for the first time in what seemed like a long time when it worked. Inside there were several small folders, neatly labeled and organized, along with a small USB drive and a notebook with a floral cover.
"She's thorough," Walker commented as I spread the contents out on the kitchen counter.
"She's protecting children," I replied, opening the first folder. "Of course she's thorough."
The folders contained detailed notes on each of the suspected foster families, including dates of child placements, observations from home visits, and discrepancies in official reports. Emily had highlighted inconsistencies and added her own notes in neat, precise handwriting.
"Jesus," Walker muttered, flipping through one of the files. "She's documented everything. Dates when children disappeared, the excuses given, even photos of the homes before and after."
I picked up the notebook, finding it filled with timeline charts with connecting lines between different foster homes, along with names of officials who had dismissed her concerns.
In the margins were personal observations, things that wouldn't be appropriate for official files but that had clearly troubled her.
"Marisol thought someone watched her change clothes through a crack in door when it wouldn't close properly," one note read. "Reported to Susan—said she would handle it. No follow-up."
I felt my jaw tighten as I read through more of her notes. Each entry was a small horror story, carefully documented with dates, times, and observations. Emily hadn't just stumbled onto this trafficking ring—she'd meticulously built a case against it, piece by sickening piece.
"She put herself at incredible risk collecting all this," Walker said quietly, scanning through another folder. "If Rice or any of his people knew what she had..."
"They'd have done worse than try to kidnap her," I finished grimly. "They'd have made her disappear entirely."
Walker nodded, his expression darkening. "Like my grandmother should have done to my grandfather."
I looked up, surprised. Walker never talked about his family, and I knew better than to push. But something in his voice—a raw pain I recognized all too well—made me set down the file.
"Your grandfather?" I prompted gently.
Walker's hands stilled on the papers. "Gran died pretending I didn't know," he said, his voice hollow. "But I figured it out when I was about twelve. The bruises she tried to hide. The way she flinched when anyone raised their voice. The 'accidents' that always seemed to happen when he was drunk."
"I'm sorry," I said quietly.
He shook his head. "She stayed with him for forty-seven years.
Forty-seven years of hell because she thought it was her duty.
Because 'what would people say?' if she left him.
" Walker's jaw clenched. "When I joined the military, I begged her to come live with me in my place.
She refused. Said she couldn't leave him alone, that he needed her. "
"That's why you've been checking on her so frequently these past months," I realized. Walker's mysterious absences suddenly made sense.
He nodded, his fingers tracing the edge of one of Emily's folders.
"She finally agreed to leave him six months ago.
I got her set up in an apartment near me because she refused to move in here.
She was starting to... I don't know, come alive again.
Make friends. Start hobbies." His voice caught. "Then she had the stroke."
I reached out, gripping his shoulder. "I'm sorry we weren't there for the funeral."
"I didn't tell anyone," he admitted. "Couldn't face... people. Questions." He ran a hand over his face. "But being here, seeing what this woman has documented—children being handed over to predators by the very system meant to protect them—it reminds me I get to make up for it in some way."
"Emily's the same way," I said quietly. "She's fighting for these kids the way you wished someone had fought for your grandmother."
Walker nodded, his expression resolute. "So, we help her finish what she started. For the kids. For Gran."
"For all of them," I agreed.
We fell silent, returning to the files with renewed purpose. The USB drive contained photos—surreptitiously taken but clearly documenting physical injuries to numerous kids with dates and times catalogued.
"Hell, she's even documented suspicious extra injuries," Walker said, then looked up. "There's no way whoever was in her apartment found this."
I scrubbed the scruff on my jaw and agreed. But if whoever was responsible for this had any idea Emily had even a fraction of this evidence, she was in danger, and they wouldn't stop until they'd eliminated the problem.