Page 30

That’s what makes the shelter attack so difficult to accept. The failure didn’t happen in my home. It happened in public, in a place built to welcome strangers and wounded animals rather than to keep danger out. Maggie lives in that world. Ivy walked into that world because I allowed myself to believe enough men and enough planning could make it safe.

Irina paid for that belief with her life.

I drag a hand down my face and turn toward the house. The foyer has mostly emptied by the time I step inside. Mrs. Bennett stands near the staircase speaking with one of the younger housekeepers, and both women straighten when they notice me. I nod once and continue upstairs.

As I approach Ivy’s room, amber light spills through the partially open door. Maggie’s voice reaches me before the room does, low and gentle as she reads the final pages of a story I’ve heard a hundred times and never once cared about as much as I do tonight.

I slow near the doorway. Maggie sits on the edge of the bed with the book open in her lap. Ivy lies beneath the blankets on her side, while Winston occupies enough of the mattress for a dog three times his size. Daisy rests on the rug near the foot of the bed, head on her paws, one eye open as if she intends to remain on duty all night.

Maggie keeps reading while Ivy fights sleep. She gives each sentence warmth, but not performance. Ivy’s eyelids grow heavier with every page. Maggie reaches the end of the chapter and closes the book with care.

“You want the rest tomorrow?”

Ivy nods, her curls rubbing against the pillow. “Okay.”

Maggie tucks a curl behind Ivy's ear, affection evident in the gesture. “Good, because I’m fixin’ to fall asleep before you do.”

“No way,” Ivy murmurs.

A yawn follows so quickly that Maggie laughs under her breath. “That was some convincin’ evidence.”

Ivy’s lips move into a small smile. Then sleep finally pulls her under.

Maggie remains beside her smoothing the blanket over Ivy’s shoulder and glancing toward Winston when he inches farther across the bed. Daisy doesn’t move from the floor. Neither dog appears willing to leave her tonight, which makes four of us guarding a six-year-old girl who never should have needed this much protection in the first place.

When Maggie rises, I step back from the door.

She eases it closed behind her, turns into the hallway, and nearly walks straight into me. One hand flies to her chest while the other braces against the wall.

“Good grief.” Her breath leaves in a rush, and she glares up at me. “Do you make a habit of standin’ outside doors scarin’ people half to death?”

“I was checking on Ivy.”

“Mmhmm.” Her voice is full of suspicion.

My eyes move to the rabbit. “Mr. Bun Bun has survived the evening?”

“He’s become a permanent member of the household.” Maggie studies the rabbit and holds it a little higher. “Apparently, he’s emotionally essential.”

“For Ivy?”

“For all of us, at this point.”

I almost laugh.

The conversation grows easier for a heartbeat. Then Maggie's grip on the rabbit tightens. She looks toward Ivy's bedroom door, then down the hallway. Fear has been following her since the shelter. It hasn't gone anywhere.

“I can’t stop thinkin’ about him,” she whispers.

I know who she means before she says another word. “The attacker.”

Maggie nods. She swallows hard once before she looks back at me.

I gesture toward the sitting area at the end of the hallway. “Come sit with me.”

For once, she doesn’t argue. We walk together to the small sofa beneath the dark window. Maggie lowers herself onto the cushion and sets the rabbit beside her, then folds her hands in her lap so tightly her knuckles pale.

“I keep seein’ his face.” Her voice is quiet, but not uncertain. “Every time I close my eyes, there he is.”