Killer daddy, p.6
Killer Daddy, page 6
Edith moved closer to his desk. “So this is where you work? It’s nice.”
It’d better be given the cost of the remodel a few years ago. But even he had to say it was worth every penny. The feature wall had dark wood panels set horizontally with floating shelves that displayed framed images of properties he’d sold. The floor was carpeted in a dark mosaic that hid the dirt well and added a hint of color to the space. His desk was the same wood as the wall, big, rectangular, and contemporary with none of the weird curlicues and frills that adorned some furniture. The window at his back was almost floor-to-ceiling and offered a great view of the building across from them without allowing anyone to see in. The mirrored glass kept it private.
“Is that real wood?” She leaned over his desk, the top of her shirt gaping, giving him a view of her pert breasts encased in a white lace bra. She traced the grain, and he couldn’t help but wish she traced something else. He looked away. “Why are you here?”
“You forgot to leave me any funds to go shopping for those baby things you wanted.”
Shit. He had. Blame a lack of sleep for his brain not working. “Sorry about that.” His coat hung on the back of the door. He scrounged in his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a black card. When he turned around, he saw that she’d opted to move his phone and park her ass on his desk.
It made a man think really dirty things. Things you saw in movies that involved sweeping everything off and legs wrapped around his waist as he plowed into her sweetness.
“There’s a perfectly fine chair right there.” He jabbed.
“Guess there is.” She slid off the desk and snared his phone, sliding it back to its spot. She turned to face him. “Is that better?”
No, because he still could picture her sitting there. With fewer clothes.
He gritted his teeth. “Here.” He held out the card. “Passcode is 2020.”
She snared it from him, and for a second, he held it tight enough that she had to tug. “Thanks. Any price limits?”
He snorted. “No. But let’s not go crazy.”
“Sounds good. Other than baby stuff, you need me to grab anything?”
Could she buy him some control while she was out? “I’m good.” Not really. His cock ached, and he thanked the fact that his tight briefs and loose slacks hid the evidence.
“You got a busy day lined up with clients?”
“Not really. Because we’re high-end, we only handle a few at a time. I’m actually dealing with a new guy who’s kind of high-maintenance.”
“High-maintenance in what respect?”
“He wants me to be at his beck and call.”
“To sell his house?”
“Condo.”
“How hard can that be?”
He smirked. “Harder than you’d think. He wants fifteen million. Which means curating the people who come to see it to ensure they’re legit clients who can afford it and not gawkers.”
“I can’t even imagine what a place that expensive looks like inside.”
“Ridiculously bland,” was his reply, whereas confused was his state of mind. This idle chitchat felt odd to him. “I really should get back to work.”
“Of course.” She moved around him, on the narrow side, brushing by him and the coatrack, wrapping him in her scent. “I’ll grab Harper and go.”
Speaking of going, he had to wonder. “How’d you get here?” he asked as she pulled on the knob of his door to leave.
“We took a bus.”
“You took my baby on public transit?” He almost yelled. Almost. The idea of his daughter riding with the masses appalled him. Forget how he’d grown up, this was his daughter.
“Exactly how else did you expect me to travel?”
Actually, he’d not thought about it until she appeared. “You carried Harper all the way?”
She shook her head. “I used the chest sling I found in the diaper bag.”
Was that the contraption with the straps? “How are you going to buy the baby things?”
“By going into a store.”
“Don’t be a smartass. You know I meant how are you going to get them home?”
“Probably an Uber. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I bill the cost to the card, too.”
Put herself and Harper at the mercy of a stranger? “Screw the cab. I’ll take you.”
Declan wasn’t sure who was more surprised, him or her?
She shook her head. “You don’t have to do that. I didn’t mean to bother you at work.”
“It’s fine. Quiet time of year.”
“What about your client? The one with the boring condo?”
“He’ll call me out of the blue, I’m sure, with some ridiculous last-minute request for his open house.”
Edith scrunched her nose. “Isn’t that weird, having a bunch of random strangers show up to look at a place?”
“Not all strangers. We get more brokers and agents than clients, usually. The very wealthy don’t always have time to visit every available property.”
“Fascinating stuff.”
Why did it feel as if there were a hint of mockery in her tone? “Let’s go buy some baby junk.” Quickly so that he could then get rid of Edith and flagellate himself for putting himself in torture’s way. “My car’s downstairs.”
“We don’t have a car seat.”
“You didn’t care when you wanted to Uber.”
She smirked. “I would have hired one with a seat. You can make special requests, you know.”
Actually, he didn’t know. Declan preferred to be the one driving.
“You’re not taking an Uber. We’ll buy a car seat.”
“They’re expensive,” Edith noted.
“Your point being? Nothing’s too good for my kid.”
Her mouth rounded.
A quick search on his phone brought up an address within two blocks. “We can get most of the stuff nearby.”
“But—” Edith appeared at a loss for words, and he wanted to fist pump. He certainly counted it as a point in his favor. Finally. He didn’t think speechlessness happened often with Edith.
“I’ll be right there.” He shoved her into the hall and grabbed his coat, the weight of it reassuring.
The rest of the office, who’d apparently found a reason to mill in the reception area, didn’t even attempt to hide their smirks when he emerged with Edith.
“I’m taking the afternoon off. Call my cell if you need me,” he told their receptionist. With Sherry out sick, their evening girl, Wendy, was the one manning the desk. Which meant that, for once, their office would have regular hours and close at six rather than its usual 11:00 p.m. International deals didn’t care about time zones.
As he glared at the people he worked with—Ben who made a sizzling gesture, Charles who held the baby while Wendy beamed, Calvin who smirked—Edith grabbed the harness and slid her arms into it.
While she was his nanny, it struck him as wrong to make her carry the baby. Harper wasn’t exactly light. “I’ll take that.” He tugged the harness from his now gaping nanny and shoved his arms in, got twisted, needed help, and mouthed, “I’ll kill you” to Ben, who snickered while Edith did something behind him to attach the contraption to his body.
Ben took a picture. Declan gave him the finger. It would probably end up on a montage at their Christmas party.
The straps around him tightened. Edith gave the harness a firm tug and declared, “It’s ready for the baby.” With some help, he tucked Harper into the strange contraption. The baby faced inward and flailed her hands, exclaiming happily.
Ben still held up his camera and cooed, “That’s a good girl. Bounce for Uncle Ben.”
“Uncle Ben?” Declan asked.
“Is that your grumpy daddy?” cooed Ben.
“Go to hell, Benny.”
“Language,” snapped Edith.
Ben erupted laughing, and he wasn’t alone, as Declan glowered.
Paying no mind to his expression, Edith draped a blanket around Harper. “We’re ready.”
Off they went: a man, his daughter, and his nanny. A surreal moment.
The elevator was silent but for the music. The baby, having managed to get a chubby fist around his tie, chose to suck on it.
“How was the walk?” he asked in the most male lame attempt at casual conversation.
She glanced at him. “It was exercise.”
“I usually hit the gym.” Said the suave conversationalist.
“Most yuppies do,” was her retort as the elevator doors opened and she sauntered out.
He ogled her backside. Yuppie? She thinks I’m a yuppie. It made the mercenary inside bristle. What an insult. What a credit to his cover. He still scowled, though, as he trudged after her out of the building into the not-quite-so-fresh air of the street. While traffic flowed rather smoothly, it left a haze of exhaust in the air.
“Which way, boss?” she asked.
Rather than reply, he set off at a brisk pace, which she matched. After a few strides, she was the one who went for idle chitchat. “How long you been working for those guys?”
“About seven years.”
“Did you always want to be a realtor?”
“No.” He laughed at the word. Far from it. Once he’d aspired to be a petty thief. All that had changed after his recruitment. “After I graduated high school”—which sounded mundane compared to the reality of his education at a private academy which didn’t cost him a penny—“I spent a few years abroad doing odd jobs.” Mercenary gigs that he had picked up freelance before Harry recruited him after a particularly crazy job in Istanbul. He still had the scar on his ass from the bullet that had grazed him as they raced for their lives, only barely making it across the border to safety.
Good times. It was after they’d shared a few drinks in a dingy, smoky bar, that Harry explained who he was, and how he knew what Declan was. Harry then asked him if he’d join Bad Boy Inc. The man offered job security, more thorough intelligence—which would have alerted him to the fact that the harem of women were all trained killers—and toys. Declan said yes. He’d been with Harry ever since.
“Seems like a good place to work.”
“The best,” Declan agreed.
A kid whizzed by on a skateboard, and Declan grabbed Edith’s arm. “Watch out.”
She shot him a startled look. “Thanks, Mr. Hood.”
Way to make him sound old. “Call me Declan.”
“If you insist.”
The conversation fizzled as they arrived at the store. According to the sign, it was a baby emporium. Entering, he almost turned around and walked out. The place was a warehouse-sized showroom full of baby gear. Strollers. High chairs. Car seats. To the left, he saw rack upon rack of clothes. To the right, it was toys. And everywhere he looked, pregnant women and babies.
He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until Edith slapped him on the back. “Calm down. Those kids aren’t yours. You’re safe.”
“I wasn’t scared,” he lied.
“Says the man who almost passed out.” She snorted. “Say hello to the consequences of putting your weewee in a hooha.”
“Way to make it sound gross,” he muttered.
“Having intercourse comes with responsibility. One screw-up can change the course of your life,” she said, her eyes taking on a pained expression. “I’m sure you’re wishing you’d doubled up on condoms.”
Given Harper snoozed on his chest, head lolling to the side, a warm, wet spot forming where her mouth lay open and slack, he should have agreed. Instead, he found himself saying, “Not all mistakes are bad.”
He then proceeded towards the stroller of all strollers. He stopped by it, admiring the sleek chrome, the cup holder—
“You are not seriously looking at that beast,” Edith exclaimed.
“It’s got Bluetooth.” He pointed. “And a solar-powered navigation system in the handle.”
“It’s almost five thousand dollars. And huge.”
“Yeah.” He almost beat his chest at the manly size of it.
“How big is the trunk of your car?”
He eyed the stroller, thought of his trunk already packed full of stuff, and his shoulders slumped. “It won’t fit, will it?”
“Nope.” And thus began their shopping, him eyeballing the biggest and most expensive, her mocking him and showing him the more cost-effective and efficient version. They were standing at the checkout, Harper nestled in her new car seat/stroller combo, him eyeballing the bib printed with a baby Vader that said Sith in training, when a guy entered the store waving a shotgun.
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot!”
Chapter Eight
At the first yell of “Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” Edith found herself shoved to the floor. Before she grasped what was happening, the car seat with Harper strapped in it landed beside her.
“Stay down,” her boss ordered as he crouched behind the counter at the checkout.
The brief glimpse she’d gotten of a man entering with a weapon meant she understood why he barked. However, being huddled on the floor meant that she was blind to what happened next. Edith couldn’t see a darned thing, she could only hear. Not exactly reassuring.
“Give me the baby,” the gunman yelled.
Edith instinctively hunched over the car seat. Like hell.
Seemed Declan agreed. He stood. “No one’s giving you anything. Put the weapon down.”
Was he nuts? She rose high enough to peek over the counter.
The man with the gun stood just inside the door, his face florid, his plaid shirt unbuttoned over a T-shirt. “Who the fuck do you think you are, man?”
“I’m the guy who’s going to make you regret scaring all these people in this store.” Spoken with masculine arrogance.
“Big threat from a pussy in a suit.” Snicker. “What you gonna do? Sic your tailor on me?”
“What are you hoping to accomplish?” Declan asked, his tone calm and conversational.
“I want the baby.”
Edith couldn’t help but glance at Harper. The baby, oblivious to the drama, grabbed at her feet.
“No one is giving you a baby,” Declan clearly stated.
“You’re not in charge here, asshole.” Boom. The shotgun blast echoed loudly amidst the shrieks of the people still in the store. Edith half expected to see Declan riddled with holes, but he stood tall and untouched. He was also suddenly armed.
If Edith hadn’t been watching, she would have missed it the move was so smooth. One moment, Declan’s hand was empty; the next, it emerged from his jacket holding a gun. How he’d managed to keep it hidden, she couldn’t have said. The result, though? Declan was armed, his grip steady.
“Oooh, the man has a gun.” Chuck-chick. The slide action of the shotgun sounded loud. “So do I, asshole. Now get the fuck down before I put some holes in you.”
“Larry,” a woman shrieked. “What are you doing?”
Larry pivoted to bellow at the orange-haired woman stalking to the front with a stroller. “Coming to get my baby, Kiera. Thought you could just walk out and take her?”
“Larry. You’re acting nuts. Stop it. You’re going to get arrested.”
“Better I go to jail than live without you and the baby,” Larry declared.
“Oh, Larry.”
Edith could have gagged at the softened tone. She saw Declan rolling his eyes.
The distant sound of sirens had someone saying in a tight voice, “Thank God. The police.”
Yes, the police came and arrested Larry, who swore up and down he wouldn’t have hurt a fly. They led him away in handcuffs with Kiera, baby in her arms, following and promising to wait for him.
Declan paid for their stuff while an officer took statements. They spent the most time with Declan, making him pull out his wallet with his identification and his concealed-carry permit. Since there were no actual injuries, and cameras had recorded Larry’s actions, witnesses weren’t held long. Once the officers questioned them, they were allowed to leave.
It was a quiet walk back to the parking garage, Declan insisting on pushing the stroller, his face rigid. She could understand his tension. The moment in the store had been sobering. What if Larry had chosen to shoot at Declan rather than the ceiling?
And what man stood there still as a statue almost daring another to shoot?
Arriving at the car, she was surprised to see a four-door Lincoln, and a spacious one at that. Then again, as a realtor, he probably had to drive his clients occasionally. Edith showed him how to hook the car seat securely.
Sliding into the passenger seat, they still didn’t speak. The man was probably shaken up by what happened. Or was he?
Edith couldn’t help darting looks at Declan as he drove. His strong profile. The big hands on the wheel. The nonchalance he displayed. Not just here, but when confronted by a crazy man.
He flicked a glance at her and caught Edith staring. “Something the matter?” he asked.
“Back at that store…” She hesitated because it sounded crazy to even say aloud.
“What?”
“You acted like some kind of action hero. Telling us to get down on the floor. Trying to talk sense into the guy.”
“That wasn’t heroic. But someone had to do something to stall Larry and give the cops a chance to arrive.”
“How did you know they were coming?”
“Wild guess. A guy wandering around with a shotgun tends to draw attention.”
Plausible. Yet… “You were so calm.”
“As opposed to what? Having hysterics? Crying?” He snorted. “I might wear a suit, but that doesn’t mean I lack balls.”
“You carry a concealed weapon.”
“Doesn’t everyone in the city these days?”
“No.” Especially not yuppie, suit-wearing, white-collar guys.
“Well, I do. I was mugged once. Decided I never wanted it to happen again.”
Again, the answer sounded right. But something niggled. “Do you actually know how to use that thing?”
The gaze he shot her was smug. “Yeah.”
“How come I didn’t see it when you had your coat off at the office?”
“Because I don’t walk around with it hanging out. I have a special harness inside my jacket.”
