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Josie finishes her food and goes exploring. In her little world that usually means going in search of a television so she can watch cartoons. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her drifting towards Striker’s table full of monitors. I open my mouth to call her back to me, but I’m just a few seconds late.

She walks right up to where he’s sitting, plants both of her tiny hands on his thigh, and starts climbing him like a tree. She hauls herself right up into his lap and turns to face the screens. She leans back against his arm and settles in.

He looks at me over the top of her head with an expression of worry. This man has defused actual bombs during his military service but is panicking over a little girl deciding he’s a chair.

I start towards them, intent upon removing her from his lap. “Josie, sweetie, let’s not climb on Striker.”

“She’s alright.” His voice comes out low and rough. Instead of looking at me, he’s now looking down at the top of Josie’s head. He smiles when she starts reaching towards the lights on his screens.

“She’s just looking for cartoons,” I reassure him.

His worried expression clears. “Oh, well we can do that.” With a flick or two of his right hand, he gets his biggest monitor to play a cartoon featuring dolphins swimming, playing, and talking to each other.

My little Josie jolts forward and leans on the table with both arms, intently watching the cartoon. When they start batting a beach ball around with their noses, she claps and giggles.

I put my hand on his shoulder and ask quietly, “Want me to take her?”

Giving me a quick glance, he replies, “Leave her for now. She’s alright.”

One of his arms comes down slowly, settling around her midsection. He anchors her there to keep her from tipping sideways by accident. Josie lets out a small, satisfied sigh and turns her whole body sideways and curls up against his chest, never taking her eyes from the screen. I’ll admit that it’s a charming little scene. My daughter can certainly be cute when she wants to be.

Striker keeps his arm around her and tells her quietly about the dolphins and what they’re doing. His voice is low and patient as he teaches her each of their names.

I wander back to the kitchen and wash the dishes before turning to lean against the sink. I stand there for a minute with my arms wrapped around my stomach, and I watch my daughter go halfway to sleep against her father’s chest while he explains what’s going on in the cartoon to her. Striker doesn’t have the foggiest idea that the child in his arms is actually his. I fight to get control of my emotions again before reminding myself that Josie is the gift from Striker that just keeps on giving. She’s mine. Not his. I don’t want to take any chances with her. So, I walk to the dining room table, wait for the cartoon to end, and pull her from his arms.

Chapter 7

Striker

It’s four in the morning, and I’m wide awake, just like always. Except everything has changed for me. I’m in this weird in-between zone where I know protecting Beth and little Josie is supposed to be just a job, but having them both living in my house, Beth cooking me delicious food, and Josie wanting to watch cartoons with me make this feel like the family I always dreamed of having with Beth. The logical side of my brain knows it’s not, but my fuckin’ heart ain’t getting the message.

For years this place has felt like a tomb I sleep in on rare occasions. But now I can hear them padding around upstairs before they go to bed. I can tell Beth’s grown-up footsteps from the light, fast sound Josie’s footsteps make. I can even hear the shower and the toilet being used upstairs. Sometimes the sound of kids’ music drifts down from above because Beth plays it on her cell phone for Josie. These are small human sounds that keep me company where before there were none.

I’m growing far too fond of Josie. She’s sweet and innocent and needs protection more than any other human being I’ve ever known. She’s growing more comfortable around me, approaches me more than she did at first, and even asks me for sippy cups of juice and stuff. Every time I get it for her, something sweet and fierce stirs in my soul.

I do my rounds the way I do every morning. I pull up the exterior camera feeds, the gate log, the motion history. Nothing moved on the hill last night but a skunk. I’m glad it didn’t get too close to the house because they can really stink the place up if they get startled.

Next, I roll through the town feeds, making sure they are all okay. I don’t find anything noteworthy, so I go back to trying to track down that gray truck, because neither Beth nor her little girl will be safe until I find out why that man’s stalking them.

So far, I’ve discovered the license plate was stolen off a car while parked at the local mall. The name he gave does not match his face in any of the databases I use. I can now see we shouldn’t have let him drive off. But we didn’t know for sure he was stalking her until we got a minute to pull all the other feeds. It sucks because he hasn’t shown back up again.

I’ve been building on the information all week. I’ve reviewed all the footage I’ve captured of that gray Silverado and plotted it all out on a timeline. I also made notes on how long he sits, which direction he comes from, and which direction he leaves. This gives me pretty damn good information on where he’s holed up. My best guess is one of the rental neighborhoods east of town. I’m thinking there could be a second man in a second vehicle that picks up where the first one leaves off. I don’t have enough information on that to say for sure yet. I’ve got enough to know he’s patient, careful, and likely a professional.

I package up what I’ve got and send it to Jinx so he can present it to the other club officers. We already carved up the coverage between us. Our prospects are going to trade off monitoring the uncle’s house around the clock. The brothers are scattering out to canvass those east-end housing developments. And I’m doing my best to pull every camera within half a mile of each place where that gray truck appeared on my security feeds. Tracking down information online is where I shine. We’ve created one of the best coverage maps I’ve seen in a long time. I’d tear this whole town apart thread by thread before I’d let anyone find Beth and Josie.

By eight, the first of the deliveries comes. I walk out to meet the truck at the gate because I won’t let anybody past the gate while danger is lurking around. I carry all the packages into the house myself. And then I stand in my big empty front room wondering if I’ve lost my ever-lovin’ mind.

I’m not sure what a two-year-old needs. So, I bought one of everything, starting with safety-conscious items. I bought enough covers for every outlet in the house, locks for cabinets, a step stool for the sink, and nightlights to light her way to the restroom at night. I got a bed that sits low to the floor and is built for a toddler, and a portable crib for backup.

I pull out a little pile of bedding that’s soft as can be and bunches of toys of every shape, size, and color. I also picked up some of those orange snacks shaped like fish, which Jinx assures me all kids love. And last of all, apple juice in little boxes with the straws already attached.

I’m on the floor trying to read the instructions for the outlet covers when I hear Beth on the stairs.

She stops on the bottom step and looks around. Her face goes from shocked to amused.

“Is all this really necessary? It looks like you bought half the store.”

“It’s called bein’ prepared,” I tell her, which comes out gruffer than I mean it to.