Page 83 of Accidentally a Dragon Daddy

“The police are at the front door,” he whispered. “Looking for you.”

I went cold. No. They couldn’t possibly know. I’d given the soldiers a false name. I hadn’t talked to anyone else. How could they know?

My eyes widened.

“What is it?” my father asked, looking over his shoulder nervously as my mother continued to talk to whoever was at the door.

“Damon,” I spat. “He’s the only one who knew I was back. The only one who could have told the police. He probably hopes that if I have to choose between him or jail, I’ll choose him. Well, fuck that!”

“You don’t have to choose either,” my dad protested. “Not yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can run. Out the back,” he said, gesturing down the hallway to the back door. “They don’t actually know you’re here yet. That’s why your mom is stalling.”

“But where would I go? Back to him?”

“Anywhere but jail,” he said. “Now, come on.”

I wanted to argue, but time was of the essence. I hurriedly finished packing and we crept to the back door. My dad took his time opening it, so it didn’t squeak and give us away.

“I love you,” he said, kissing me on the cheek.

“I’ll come back when they’re gone,” I promised, too caught up in everything to realize he was aiding me in escaping the law. “Then we’ll figure out what to do.”

He nodded and shooed me out the door.

I ducked under his arm and went down the concrete steps to the flagstone patio, hunched over and scurrying for the gate at the back of the yard.

“Freeze.”

That voice stopped me cold before I’d gone more than half a dozen steps. Shoes clacked on the flagstone as they approached. I turned, fear congealing in the pit of my stomach as a familiar gray suit and sunglasses waited for me.

“Hello, again, Miss Davis,” Edward Anderson, Department of Homeland Security, said with what I could only assume was the only form of humor he knew. It wasn’t very funny.

I stared at him stonily, not speaking.

“How interesting that we would find you here,” he said with slow precision, taking off his sunglasses to reveal those cold, lifeless gray-blue eyes that promised me nothing but suffering.

At some unseen signal, officers in tactical gear poured into the backyard from both sides of the house, surrounding me. There was no point in running.

“Get a lawyer,” I told my father who was standing by the door. “His name is Edward Anderson. He works with DHS. At least this time I expect a trial.”

Anderson looked less than impressed, but he didn’t refute anything.

“Arrest her,” he said plainly, then turned on the spot, his shoes click-clacking as he headed back to the front of the house.

Officers grabbed me by the arms, securing my wrists behind my back before they started walking me out front of the house. More officers waited there, with two large tactical vehicles on the street, ready to roll.

“That’s a lot of firepower for me,” I muttered to nobody in particular. “Did I suddenly get extra dangerous, and nobody told me?”

“Dragon lover,” one of the officers spat.

I ignored the vitriol, but the comment gave insight into the sheer numbers of men present. They weren’t sure if I was alone or not. Which was interesting. If Damon had reported me, then why would they think that he was with me?

Unless—

“Let her go,” a different, deeper voice said, cutting through the noise of the various uniformed men surrounding the property. “She’s innocent. And I can prove it.”

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