“That’s what I want to do,” I said. “There are very few kids who have a step bond like this. You all owe me a goddamn explanation though.”
The look that Wren gave Lily was pleading, but Lily just shook her head. “Not gonna happen. Sorry. I’ll try to clear everything up later. For now, we need to find a place for these—”
The door burst open again, and a very tall, well dressed, extremely handsome looking black man strode in.
I stood. “Everyone needs to knock before they barge into my office!”
He stopped and stared at me. He glanced at Wren, Lily, then finally Dre. “Where’s James?”
Lily stood smoothly and I could see her resting her hand on the butt of her gun surreptitiously. “Can we help you?”
“Where is James?”
She cleared her throat. “That is not the way this game is going to go, Mister Hathorne. You’re going to do this right because this is not a courtroom and you’re not here for a trial. This is my arena. So. How can we help you?”
He didn’t look chided at all, and made a sour face. “Fine. Alistair Hathorne, Esquire. I’m here to pick up James Higgins.”
“No, you’re not,” I said. “There is no legal documentation that grants you access to that child.”
“I am his only living relative, and he’s my responsibility.” His lip twisted like someone had farted after a cabbage dinner.
Of course, that was not the thing to say in front of Dre. He flushed, his dark skin took a ruddy hue, and his eyes grew wide. “He’s my brother, and you’re not going anywhere with him!”
“Your brother?” Alistair’s chuckle endeared him to no one in the room. “You aren’t his brother. You’re a mistake that my cousin brought into her life.”
I slammed my hand on the desk. “Out.”
“Excuse me?” His eyes narrowed on me.
“Out. Get out. You don’t ever, ever call a child a mistake, sir. I don’t care if you’re the goddamned Pope. Get out. And I will block all of your efforts to take James as a legal guardian.”
Lily, clearly shocked but delighted, pulled the door open. Alistair stared at each of us, and if looks could have killed, Dre would have been drawn and quarter and sent to the four corners of the kingdom. He walked up to Dre and literally got in his face. “You’re no one. You won’t ever be around that child.”
“Fuck you, you house—”
Lily slammed her hand over his mouth. “Holy shit, Andre!”
“That child is mine.”
“Get out,” I snapped. “Get out of here, Hathorne!”
“I’ll see you all in court,” he barked and turned smartly on his heel to march out the door.
Lily slammed it before he was completely clear, and I knew it smacked him on the back. She stared at the wood and I could totally see her setting it on fire, as well as Hathorne’s clothes. And hair if the man had more than a suggestion of it on his head.
Wren stared at Dre. “If you want us to help, want Paige to be on your side and get you and James in a home together, then you’d best not use that language again in front of me. Or Paige, or Detective Haden.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Understood?”
“He is,” Dre mumbled.
“Kid,” Lily said, “your opinion of his standing in the community doesn’t make a hill of beans to Alistair Hathorne. The man is the fucking archnemesis of the district attorney. He will wipe the floor with your ass, and not have to lift a finger. Don’t mess with him.”
Dre turned his lip up. “What’s his game?”
Lily’s gaze could have resurrected her burned door and lasered it in half. “Getting scum off on technicalities. The man has memorized penal code from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Delaware. And from what I heard, half of Maryland. Shark? Nah. They’re too lazy for him. He’s like a killer whale.”
“Killer whale?” I asked.
“Hunts for fun, kills for sport, and leaves the remains for the other scavengers to clean up,” Lily said. “Merciless.”
“Oh, awesome,” I grumbled. I didn’t need more headaches with all this. I plunked into the chair behind me. “Let’s find Dre a legal, known place to stay, shall we?”
I stopped my car down the street from the house.
The news crews were still there.
They hadn’t bothered to cover the bust that had destroyed the damn Pipeline—the biggest sex trafficking ring Philadelphia had ever seen—but they were all over the murders in the daycare like flies on shit.
I desperately needed them to leave. It had been well over ten days and I had hoped the fervor would die out.
Nope. Media loved a juicy story that stoked the gun debate all over again. Did they really think that having preschool and daycare workers carrying weapons was going to stop this?
Not on a hot fucking bet.
James and Andre were safely tucked away in a house in MontCo together, and it seemed to be good for both of them. It also kept them way out of the eyes of the news crews.
Which had all camped out on my typically narrow one-way street, with small driveways and no parking as it was. My neighbors were going to hang me, after I found out who had given them my address.
I understood why Wren was so pissed about Ellie’s location getting out last year. This was no fun. It wasn’t even close to being okay.
Once again, I was going to have to run the gauntlet for my front door.
I loved what I did. I was damn good at it. My only real fuck up had been the Ellie incident—and subsequently Ben—but this was beyond what I wanted to endure.
I drove the car up the street and pulled into the tiny driveway, that was nearly impossible to navigate because of the damn news vans right up against either side. I shut the car off and stared up the stairs at my house. Eighteen steps, five of those actual stairs to the front porch. The reporters were jumping out of their vans and trying to make it over to me.
Clutching my briefcase like a shield, I popped the door, and slammed it behind me. I sped up the walkway, practically leapt the stairs and shoved the door open with the key while hitting the alarm button on the key fob for the door.
The screen door slammed behind me, and I flicked the lock. I yanked the key out of the knob while spinning and slamming the door shut.
After I put my briefcase down in the closet, I checked the blinds, the windows, the mail that I’d stepped on, and the voice mail.
The mail was mostly crap, and the voice mail was mostly requests for interviews. Along with two threats to kill me, one to kill James, and another to set the house on fire for sheltering the son of a murderer.
Sins of the father and all that.
I deleted everything.
“I haven’t been able to open the windows for days.”
Startled, I spun around, clutching a hand to my chest. “Alain! God, you scared me.”
“Are you done with this bullshit yet?”
I let out a breath. “I wish. I really do wish. It’s been two full weeks and you’d think they’d run out of footage and sounds bits about how awful this was, and just get on with not giving a damn about gun control. But they’re still here and I—”
A wave of nausea passed through me and a second later, I pitched forward and vomited.