16. Alexei #4
“You keep showin’ up whether anybody wants you here or not,” he replies.
“Also true.”
Before the foreman can say anything else, Jules appears from inside the trailer carrying two clipboards, two coffee cups, and enough exasperation to power the entire city.
He looks exhausted. His dark hair sticks up in several directions, paint marks stain the knees of his jeans, and there are shadows beneath his eyes that suggest he hasn’t slept properly since the fire.
The moment he sees Maggie standing beside active construction, he throws one hand into the air.
“Absolutely not.”
Maggie turns. “Oh, hush.”
“I left you alone for twelve minutes.” Jules deposits the clipboards onto the table with dramatic outrage. “Twelve. Minutes. And somehow you've already convinced hardworkin’ men to ignore building codes.”
The foreman wisely retreats.
Maggie folds her arms across her chest and lifts her chin. “I was helpin’.”
Jules plants both hands on his hips and gives her a look that says he's not buying it. “You're pregnant.”
Maggie rolls her eyes. “I’m barely pregnant.”
“You’re still banned from manual labor,” Jules informs her, pointing a finger in her direction for emphasis.
She throws her hands into the air. “I'm not doin’ manual labor.”
Jules points at the blueprints spread across the folding table. “You're project managin’.”
“I own the shelter,” Maggie argues, gesturing toward the construction crews bustling around them.
Jules snorts. “Which means your job is to sit down, supervise, and let everybody else suffer.”
Maggie opens her mouth to argue. Then she notices me. Every expression leaves her face at once.
The distance between us disappears as she crosses the parking lot. “You're late,” she says softly when she reaches me.
I touch her face before I can stop myself. “Sorry. Business.”
Her hand closes around my wrist. “You look awful.”
I almost laugh. “Thank you.”
“I'm serious.” Her thumb brushes across the inside of my wrist. “What happened?”
I should tell her. I know that. Every instinct tells me she deserves the truth.
Then Ivy runs around the corner wearing her pink dance leotard beneath a zip-up hoodie.
“Papa!”
She launches herself at me.
I catch her automatically.
“You’re here!”
“I promised.”
Ivy wraps both arms around my neck. “Miss Hannah says if we do really good today, we get to practice with costumes next week.”
“That’s excellent news.”
She pulls back enough to examine me closely. “You look grumpy.”
Maggie snorts.
I glare at her. “I don’t look grumpy.”
“Papa,” Ivy says patiently, “you always look grumpy.”
Jules arrives beside us, carrying an enormous box labeled CAT TOYS.
“Kid's got a point.”
Ivy beams.
Jules studies me more carefully, and the teasing leaves his face. “What happened?”
Business.
Jules will accept that answer for approximately thirty seconds.
“I need to speak with Jules,” I say.
Maggie's eyes narrow instantly. “About?”
“Shelter security.”
The explanation isn’t entirely false. She still doesn’t believe me.
“I'll be right back,” I tell her.
“Alexei.”
I pause.
“Please don't lie to me,” she says.
I hold her stare for several seconds.
“I’m not lying.”
I’m simply withholding. The distinction matters to me. I suspect Maggie would disagree.
Jules follows me toward the partially rebuilt rear kennels without complaint. The moment we're out of earshot, he stops walking.
“How bad?”
I look toward the main building where Maggie crouches beside one of the rescue dogs while Ivy talks animatedly with a volunteer near the entrance.
“Worse than before.”
Jules goes very still. “Is she in immediate danger?”
“Yes.”
He absorbs that without visible panic. One of the things I respect about Jules is that he rarely wastes time on useless reactions.
“What aren't you tellin’ her?”
“Information arrived this morning.”
“About what?”
“I know who has been targeting Maggie and Ivy,” I say quietly.
Jules goes still. “You know who's behind all of this?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I’m not prepared to discuss that yet.” I hold his gaze. “What I need from you is simple. Stay close to Maggie. Don’t let her out of your sight unless one of my men is with her.”
Jules exhales slowly. “Sweet Jesus.”
“And don’t repeat this conversation.”
Jules drags a hand through his hair. “I know you're tryin’ to protect her.” His voice softens. “But Maggie already knows somethin’ is wrong. She always does.”
“I know.”
“Then tell her,” he insists.
I look back toward Maggie and Ivy again.
“Not today.”
Jules follows my line of sight. “The rehearsal.”
“Yes.”
He studies me. “You really love her.”
It’s not a question. I answer anyway. “I do.”
Jules nods once, then steps closer. “I love her like a sister,” he says. “If somebody comes for her again, I'll stand in front of her.”
“That’s why I trust you with her,” I say.
When we return, Maggie looks between us. “What did y'all discuss?”
“Security,” Jules says smoothly.
Maggie narrows her eyes. “Both of you are terrible liars.”
“Fortunately,” Jules says, collecting Mr. Pickles before the dog can steal somebody's lunch, “you love us anyway.”
She mutters something distinctly Southern beneath her breath.