Page 121 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

“Motherfuck—!” Daddy’s hands run down me frantically. “Baby?”

“I’m okay,” I reassure him. Sharply, I say, “Miranda, go home. You just attacked me with a knife. Everyone here is a witness. I’m recording this. There’s CCTV. If you don’t want to spend Livvy’s childhood in jail, go home.”

She hunches over like she’s going to puke, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry. Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

“Lo!” Master Mac shouts. I hear running footsteps but I don’t take my eyes off Miranda.

“Miranda, I won’t warn you again. Go home.”

She straightens and looks at me, her eyes pleading. “Emily?—”

“Don’t you dare talk to her,” Daddy snarls.

“It’s okay,” I say. “This is the last time she ever will. Go home, Miranda. Go home. This is done.”

She nods, turns, and runs across the street, dodging traffic.

Daddy grabs my shoulders and turns me around. I hold the bag out to the side so the scalpel doesn’t get caught between our bodies. Daddy looks down at me, his hand running down the front of my coat.

“Baby, where’s the knife?”

I hold up the diaper bag.

Daddy chokes, then begins to laugh. “Livvy’s diaper bag?”

I nod. “She may have hit a few Little Larrys, too.”

“Baby.” Daddy pulls me close and wraps me in a tight hug. “I’ll buy you a million Little Larrys.”

I reach behind him, grab the handle of Livvy’s stroller, and move it back and forth so she stops whimpering. I couldn’t hear her during my confrontation with Miranda. Tunnel hearing, I guess. But now I can hear her building up to a full fret. My psychic baby.

“I’m okay, Daddy,” I promise him. “Can we go home now?”

He kisses me on the forehead and squeezes me before he lets me go. “Yes, my little wonder. Let’s go home.”

A hard arm comes around my back. I control a flinch. Miranda wouldn’t touch me like that. It has to be Master Mac. I look up into his red face. He takes Livvy’s diaper bag and glares at the scalpel handle sticking out of it like it’s done him personal wrong.

“Don’t touch it,” Daddy warns. “It’ll have Miranda’s fingerprints on it.”

Mac nods and holds the backpack horizontal so the handle sticks up out of it. A silver, accusatory finger. I imagine it chasing Miranda all the way back to England.

Mac leads us to an Uber where a very harassed-looking driver is trying to ignore the horns blaring behind him. We make quick work of climbing in, unclipping the stroller seat from its base, and clicking it into the seat belt. I settle on one side of the stroller seat and Daddy sits on the other, awkwardly stretching across so he can put his arm around my shoulders. I understand his need to have us both in his arms and lean in.

As the car pulls out in a fresh flurry of horns, I take a deep breath and let it out. It took a sword, a shield, and an attempted stabbing but the Mir-beast has finally been defeated.

thirty-four

EMILY

“Ding, dong, the witch is dead!”Bren yells, plucking Livvy from her bouncy chair and swinging her around. Livvy giggles madly.

I smother a giggle because Daddy doesn’t like us calling the Mir-beast names but I share her sentiment. I pick up tongs to turn over the breakfast links I’m grilling. If I do a little “witch is dead” shuffle-dance, surely Daddy can’t blame me for that.

Bren missed all the excitement. She’s expressed to Master Mac, very loudly and in no uncertain terms, that she won’t be left behind the next time he answers a distress call. I think it was all the curse words she used that got her the spanking I heard before she and Master Mac came down for breakfast. Her glowing pink cheeks and thighs don’t seem to be dimming her enthusiasm this morning, though.

She holds Livvy against her chest as she bounces over. She smacks a kiss on my cheek and starts the coffee maker.

“C’mon, Emmy, you have to feel a little triumphant,” she says.

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