Page 27 of Smitten with the Single Dad

“Yes, you said that their powers get stronger when they’re further apart. When their powers actually get stronger, when they’retogether. And get weaker when they’re apart.”

Griffon’s dark brows furrowed, and he crossed his arms in a huff. “Vica knew what I meant.”

Jake rolled his eyes.

“Anyway,” Vica said, “they were kind enough to show me their book and explain things. Then we started to read.” Her eyes softened. “It is a welcomeddistraction.”

“You’re okay with this?” Even though she seemed to be, he needed to double check. “Because I can tell them to take a hike—literally—up the hillside for a bit and leave you be.”

“Si.I’m okay. I enjoy their company, and they allow me not to think about all the other things that I really cannot control.”

“If they get to be too much, just boot them outside. They’ll dig a hole, and make a cave, then eat bugs and wild berries to survive. They’re good little wildlings.”

“We’re free-range, like chickens,” Griffon said proudly. “Ba-kaw!” Then he stuck his hands in his armpits and flapped his skinny, chicken wing arms.

Vica chuckled. “Really, Wyatt, we’re good.”

“I just need to pop down to the restaurant for ten minutes. Clint and Bennett are home. Dom is down at the pub, and who knows where Jagger is. But there are other adults around. So don’t hesitate if you need anything.”

“And we have the walkie-talkies. Right, Dad?” Griffon said. “Come in, Red Eagle. This is Second Sparrow.” He held his hand up to his mouth and made a static noise in the back of his throat. “We have a nine-fifteen in progress.”

“What is a nine-fifteen?” Vica asked.

“We’ve run out of snacks,” Griffon said.

Vica tittered a sweet-sounding laugh while Wyatt just rolled his eyes. “All right, you little nuggets, behave. Vica has permission to drop kick both your boney butts outside if you annoy her.”

“We will,” Griffon said.

“What? Annoy her?” Wyatt teased. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

“Behave,” Griffon said with mild irritation. “Dad, go. We’ve got this.”

Rolling his eyes again, he shared one last look with Vica, ignored thepitter-patterin his heart, and headed back outside and to the gate. He was just exiting the man door and making sure it was good and locked behind him when a big, black Chevy Suburban with tinted windows all the way around pulledinto the parking lot, taking up two parking spots because it parked across them.

Wyatt was about to walk up to the passenger side window and rap on it to tell them they couldn’t park there when the door swung open.

“Hey, bud, this is a busy place of business. Please park the way everyone else is. There’s room on the end for larger vehicles. I’m happy to direct you if you need a hand.”

“We’re looking for Ludovica Vitale, also known as Vica Vitale,” rumbled an enormous baritone-voiced man with mirror shades, a black suit, and a crew cut.

Shit. Was ICE already here?

Fuck, he needed to warn Vica.

“I’m going to ask you to park properly, please. I own this establishment with my brothers and we’re very busy. Please park with consideration for the rest of our patrons.”

With a deep and surly grumble, the man turned to his partner behind the wheel and murmured something to him before he closed the door. The Suburban maneuvered itself in the tight parking lot, doing what had to be a twenty-seven-point turn, before the driver finally pulled into the stall at the end. Meanwhile, the entire time Wyatt and Sir Grunts-a-lot just stood there in tense, awkward silence.

Once the driver turned off the ignition, Sir Grunts-a-lot turned to Wyatt. “Where is Vica Vitale?”

“Who?” Wyatt asked, earning himself another grunt from the West Coast mobster.

“Don’t play with me, boy. Where is Vica Vitale? We know this is where she killed Track Croft.”

“Okay, but even if that was the case, why would she still be here? Why would she stick around the scene of the crime?”

“We have it on good authority that she is still here.”

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