Page 120 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

Daddy follows my gaze. “Fuck.”

Miranda ducks her head and crosses the street with a flow of pedestrians. As she approaches, Daddy shifts to stand in front of me.

“Stop there,” Daddy says when Miranda reaches the sidewalk.

Miranda lifts her head and glares blue fire at Daddy. “Why? It’s a public sidewalk. I can walk anywhere I want.”

“Walk any closer to Emily and Livvy and we’ll have a problem. You don’t want to have a problem with me.”

Miranda rolls her eyes. “If you touch me I’ll scream, fall down, and develop bruises that will have you in handcuffs beforeyou can blink. What would that bastard judge think of your fitness as a parent then?”

“Since I’m defending my daughter and fiancée from an unhinged stalker, I suspect the court would commend me. Turn around and walk away,” Daddy’s voice drops to a growl.

Behind me, Livvy starts to whimper, probably reacting to Logan’s tone.

Miranda clutches her chest dramatically. “She’s crying. She needs me. She needs her mother. How can you be so cruel as to keep my baby from me, James Logan?”

Her voice rises on Daddy’s name. A few of the people milling around, waiting for the light to change, look our way.

Daddy shakes his head but I can see his shoulders tighten. He doesn’t know how to deal with Miranda.

But I do. While Daddy’s still shielding me, I take out my phone, start the voice recording, and slip it back in my pocket. Then I step up beside Daddy and slip my hand into his, pulling the stroller close behind me.

“Miranda.” At her name, her eyes track to me. “Making a scene is not going to get you access to Olivia. Following us around New York is not going to get you access to Olivia. You’re just alienating us and giving us evidence for a restraining order. What are you trying to gain?”

She sneers at me. “Don’t talk to me, you dozy little mare. You had your chance. I told you to bring her to me. We could have worked things out, woman to woman. You ignored me, so I had to escalate.”

I check her pockets. There’s no bulge, no heavy hang to her coat. She could still have a weapon, though. She’s a doctor, although Daddy said she hasn’t treated patients in a long time. She could do a lot of damage with a scalpel and it wouldn’t weigh down her pockets too much.

I shift the backpack of Livvy’s diapers and Little Larrys off the stroller handle and into my free hand.

“This is escalating?” I ask. “Following us? Confronting us on a public street? This isn’t going to get you anywhere.” I step forward, holding the bag in front of me. “Why are you in New York, Miranda?”

“To be near my baby, of course.” Her eyes redden. “There’s nowhere else in the world for me.”

“That’s not true. You still have your house in England, by the river, isn’t it?” I pause and when she nods in agreement, I continue, “You decorated it just the way you like, didn’t you?”

“Olivia’s never gotten to see her nursery,” she says.

The first tear spills down her pale cheek. Her skin’s mottled with red patches, like eczema. Stress? Or maybe she’s not used to New York’s dry cold?

“She’s never going to, Miranda,” I tell her. It’s a little brutal but I want to snap her out of whatever crazy fantasy she’s building in her head. “She’s never going back to England with you. She’ll never live with you. That will never be her nursery. But it’s still your home. It’s where you belong. Where your career is. Where your friends are?—”

“Where her empty nursery is,” Miranda spits.

“You can redecorate the nursery,” I say firmly. “If you go home now, you could have it done for Christmas. You don’t want to be here in New York for the holidays. I know how awful it is to be alone during the holidays. It’s terrible for your mental health?—”

“What do you care about my mental health, you bitch?” Miranda yells. Her hand, raw and red, plunges into her pocket.

I knew it. Behind me, Daddy shouts but I’m already bringing up the bag as Miranda lunges forward.

Everything slows down. I have time to focus on the glittering edge in her hand, to see her fingernails, chewed to the quick,pressed so hard against the handle of the small blade they’re white. The impact on the bag staggers me back into Daddy. His hard arms close around me, catching me, keeping me from falling, the way he always does.

Miranda stumbles backwards, her hand flying to her mouth, tears running down her chapped cheeks. “Oh, God.”

I’m a fierce, white, baby dragon and I’m not afraid of her.

I pull myself upright in Daddy’s hold. “Knife!” I say, loudly enough to get the attention of everyone around us. People stop and turn to look at us.

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