Page 45 of Accidental Alliance

He laughs a little breathlessly into my shoulder. “That was awesome!”

The innocence of that nearly breaks something in me.

Safely tucked inside our own back yard should feel like relief, but it doesn’t. Not even a little.

All I can think about are those two men in the front seat of that SUV.

There is no doubt in my mind now that our house is being watched.

Why else would they be facing in this direction? We are the only house at the end of the cul-de-sac. Anyone parked there has direct sight of our property.

Matteo shifts in my arms until I finally drop him back down to his feet. His cheeks are a little flushed from running and climbing, his hair still messy from earlier. I brush it back from his forehead, unable to help myself.

“Do I still get extra ice cream even though you were the first one over the fence?” he asks.

For one stunned second, I almost laugh. “Of course, baby.”

I force myself to let him go and lean to grab the folded chair off the ground even though every instinct in me wants to keep him pressed to my chest forever.

He grins and darts toward the back steps, and I follow close behind. I hate how the yard feels exposed despite the fence. I can feel the weight of those unseen eyes even here on the other side of the house.

By the time Matteo reaches the back door, I am already fumbling for my keys with fingers that do not quite want to work. They feel clumsy and distant as if they belong to someone else.

The metal slips once against my skin before I catch it properly. All the while, Matteo is bouncing on his heels beside the door.

“And sprinkles,” he is saying, counting on his fingers now. “And chocolate syrup. And whipped cream. And maybe cookie pieces if we still have them, and if there’s only one cherry, I think I should get it because I scored twice and that should count for extra cherry privileges.”

Under any other circumstance, I would smile and tease him about re-negotiating our terms like that.

Instead, his words wash over me, all of my attention narrowed to the back door and the prickling awareness that danger may already be too close.

When I finally get the key into the lock, there is a slight catch in the mechanism that I am too distracted to notice right away.

I twist it until it finally unlatches, the click of it sounding wrong but something I file away to deal with later.

All I can focus on are the questions circling my mind like a vulture.

Do I call the local police?

Spin some story about a suspicious vehicle loitering close to our property?

Something that would bring a cruiser over here and might buy me time to come up with a plan?

Then again, what good would that do?

Local cops against syndicate enforcers will end only one way. I know how quickly ordinary law enforcement becomes collateral when they walk blindly into a threat they do not understand.

They would arrive thinking what awaits them is trespassing and maybe a domestic dispute involving too much paperwork back at the precinct.

They would not be prepared for men who see violence as nothing more than procedure.

Involving them would only paint a brighter target on our backs. It would create more witnesses and bring more attention to whoever is watching us and escalate things before I can find a way to control it.

I exhale slowly and push the door open at last, stepping aside so Matteo can run ahead of me.

My strategist’s mind is already moving three steps ahead whether I want it to or not, spinning contingencies with the ruthless efficiency I thought motherhood had softened out of me.

If we are being followed, changing routes will do little in the long run. If they know where we live, then this house is already compromised no matter how many deadbolts and locked doors sit between us and whatever threats linger outside it.