Page 10 of Sighs By the Sea

“Lucas Peterson, know him?”

I nod. “Punk kid, good with computers. He had a drug problem. We used him to doctor shipping records for a while. He was a whiz with Photoshop.”

Detective Parker shifts in her seat until she's facing me. “That wasn’t in your confession.”

That rubs me the wrong way. Back when I was first released, Penny had mentioned that she understood the issue of being labeled. Since that day, I haven't once felt like a reformed felon. Not with my family. That isn't true any longer. Detective Parker clearly doesn't trust me. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel, but I keep my face a mask of indifference. “No one asked. I’m telling you now. I have nothing to hide.”

“I’ll bet. I mean, you already have a cushy new job, a furnished condo, and a $70,000 car." The disgust in her voice is impossible to miss, and I nearly snap back with equal disgust. But her point isn't missed, and she isn't wrong. I am incredibly lucky to have my family supporting me right now.

“I told you it’s a friend’s.”

"Nice friends," she says under her breath. Though I want to say something witty and defensive, I let the comment go since I'm already pulling up to the daycare. The building is small, with fading paint on the outside walls. There are bars on the windows, and more than one homeless person walks around, their faces weathered by the sun. When I dropped him off and picked him up, there wasn't such a crowd. Seeing the area in the middle of the day is even more eye-opening than the call I received.

It's humbling. Partly because this is the one thing I allowed myself to do without help from Tilly. I chose this place because it was within my budget. When I toured, the other children were happy, and I saw all the childproofing in necessary spots. Safety plugs in the wall sockets, childproof locks, high fence, nothing dangerous sticking up on the playground, and even low-flow toilets in the bathrooms. Though that last one was impressive for another reason. We live in California, a state in constant stages of drought. It made the facility look responsible and environmentally conscious.

Point is, I checked. I did what I thought was my diligence.

And I failed.

It's the first rule of real estate: check the location at different hours. What if you buy a house only to find that the neighbor has a dog that barks all night or enjoys watching porn loudly in their living room at two a.m.? But of course, in my haste, I didn't apply that to his daycare. My frustration notches up. Now, I'll need to reach out to Tilly for help. Again. But of course, I'll suck up my pride, mostly because if it's for Georgie, I have no pride. If his safety and happiness are in jeopardy, at least.

I shut the car off and turn to face her. “I need to get my son. There will be no mention of this while he’s in the car.” My tone leaves no room for argument. Georgie doesn’t need to know or even hear hints of my disgusting family’s past.

“Of course, Mr. Cardenas," she says, her voice saccharine. The lyrical sound causes a stirring in my pants. Witchy woman. She probably wants that to happen. Horndogs are easier to interview than stoic assholes. Unlucky for her, I am most assuredly the latter. I get out of the car and slam the door behind me. While walking to the daycare, I flex my fingers, trying to calm my grated nerves. This day is not turning out how I imagined at all. Inside, the daycare is a cacophony of noise, with children laughing and playing, their voices echoing off the brightly painted walls. The smell of crayons and glue hangs in the air, mingling with the faint scent of disinfectant. I can hear my son sobbing, a heartbreaking sound amidst the chaos. I sign the sheet and barely speak a word as they bring my boy over.

“Georgie!” I say, my voice light. But George tucks his head against the daycare worker’s chest, his small body trembling.

“I want gwamma.” My heart squeezes like a fist. It’s too much change too fast for the boy, and I suddenly wish I had asked Lori to stay an extra week.

“We’re going to call Gramma in the car, Georgie.”

The boy peeks his face out, and I hold open my arms. George lunges, and I catch him, his small body warm and reassuring in my arms.

“He will not be attending daycare in the future.” My voice is tight, my chin raised. Maybe I’m not an influential Cardenas family member anymore, but that doesn’t stop me from throwing my scowls around. I spin on my heel and stride with confident steps back to the car.

Margaret

Istand next to Harry’s Crown Vic, giving him a quick update. The midday sun beats down, warming the car's black hood. I sense Grayson coming even before I see him. The man has a powerful aura that seems to precede his body wherever he goes.

His very sexy body. He has a beard now. Not too long; just the right amount to leave a delicious burn wherever his mouth lingers. I shake the thought away. Dangerous Criminal, I remind myself.

A small boy is in his arms, and I scan them both with my diligent cop eyes. It has nothing to do with how hot seeing Grayson hold a kid is. Nope. None at all. The kid is cute, though. Age four, dark hair, same scowl as his father plastered on his face. But as they walk, Grayson tickles the boy, and they both smile.

With Grayson’s, his entire face lights up, like flicking a million-watt light bulb on the dark side of the moon. My stomach does an excited flop, and I bite my bottom lip.

“Oh boy,” Harry says, and my face flushes with warmth. “Dark and brooding is your type, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s the single dad thing?”

“Fuck off, Harry.” He laughs at me as Grayson arrives beside the car. He opens the door, deposits his son into the booster seat, and buckles him in.

“Did you need anything else?” Grayson asks.

I stand up straighter, hoping I'm oozing professional cop vibes and not a horny middle-aged lady. “Yes. I have a few more questions about Lucas.”

“Hop in, then.”

Hop on, more like it. I curse myself even as I think it. With a calming breath, I open the door and climb inside.

As soon as I do, the kid stares at me from the backseat. “Daddy, who’s she?”

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