Page 13 of August 20

While outside, she'd gone through her options and found no way to run away without using the driveway. She'd never make it past him.

Inside, she learned he had her purse, keys, and phone.

Running down the driveway was her only option, and he could catch her before she reached the cross street a half mile away.

The only thing she hadn't tried was screaming, hoping someone would hear her. They wouldn't. The house was up high enough, and sound carried in the wind. No one living below them would hear a thing.

He gripped the doorknob and opened the bedroom door. Brooke kneeled on the floor in front of Skye, sitting on the bed. His chest seized at the sight of his daughter crying.

He grunted, getting both of their attention.

Skye rubbed her eyes. More flowers were scattered on the bed beside her.

He walked over and held the glass of water in front of her. The tears stopped, and she picked up the wilted flowers, one by one, and put them in the glass carefully, making sure the stems were deep in the water.

When she finished, she took the glass from him and carried it out of the bedroom. He turned to follow, and Brooke stepped in front of him and stabbed him in the chest with her pointer finger.

If looks could kill, Brooke would've incinerated him before she marched out of the room after his daughter. She wasn't going to let him get close to Skye.

A part of him respected her loyal stance in protecting his daughter. While in prison, he worried the person in charge of Skye was not capable of taking care of her.

When he heard it was Janelle's sister, he'd assumed the sisters were more alike than not.

He was glad to see he was wrong.

Putting Skye first was something Janelle failed at doing. She wasn't a mother. She wasn't even a provider or protector.

Brooke would learn faster than she wanted, that he wouldn't let anyone come between him and his daughter. One of these days, Skye would remember him.

If not remember, then she would learn to love him again. She would learn to trust him and know that he would protect her.

That was something a simple conversation wouldn't solve.

He always understood he couldn't walk into Skye's life and regain custody of his daughter. Brooke would take him to court and have him thrown back in prison. He was no good to his daughter behind bars.

Time was getting away from him. He needed to get Brooke out of Skye's life. Permanently.

He wanted to do that after Skye got used to having him around. It would make it easier on his daughter. But he never expected Brooke to watch over Skye like a hawk.

He left the room and found the two of them at the table, admiring the glassful of flowers. Glancing in the living room, it looked as if his daughter had picked up the ones Brooke had dropped in her mad attempt to lock him out of the house.

His throat tightened. He went back to sitting on the couch. ESPN played silently on the television screen. Now that he'd had a good night's sleep while Dio came over and watched over Skye and Brooke, he could concentrate on getting to know his daughter.

He wasn't going to rip Brooke out of Skye's life until his daughter understood that he was her father and was there to take care of her.

Someday, she would come to love the house. It would be her home. She could decorate her bedroom and pick out every frilly decoration that little girls wanted. He'd buy her a bike she could ride outside for hours and chase the gulls that flew around the yard looking for handouts.

But none of that would happen overnight.

He needed to pace himself.

Chapter Seven

Brooke rolled over in bed. Consciously hating the start of a new day, knowing nothing had changed. Maverick was still holding them hostage.

Despite getting three meals a day and snacks delivered to her and Skye between breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and regular times they were allowed outside, they were in prison with no contact with anyone else.

Skye had stopped asking about Maverick's sudden presence in their lives. She'd stopped asking to find kids to play with—and that had to do with the never-ending supply of things for her to do that Maverick handed her every single day.

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