Page 42 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

I climb off the couch, look down into my daughter’s peaceful face, and drop a kiss on the top of Emily’s head before I go to the door.

Brenna follows me. With her blue dreadlocks up in a wild topknot, she looks like Medusa but her attitude is one hundred percent Valkyrie. I’m a little surprised she hasn’t slung a flaming sword over her shoulder.

I close the door into the great room behind Brenna. If Emily wants to come out into the hallway, she can but Miranda’s notgetting a view into my home, with my two girls nestled in its heart.

I open the front door but neither invite Miranda in nor make way for her to enter. I block the doorway with my body and put my foot behind the door so she can’t push it open.

“Miranda,” I say without any welcome.

Her eyes flick from me to Brenna, standing just off my shoulder, and back to my face. She looks bad. Her face is puffy but there are hollows under her eyes and cheekbones deep and dark enough to be bruises. She’s wearing a wool coat with the collar turned up around her throat, unbuttoned over a cranberry-colored knit sweater and dark trousers that hang on her; they might have been maternity wear. Her breasts and belly are visibly swollen under her clothes but her fingers and wrist, as she brushes a hank of hair back from her face, look thin.

“Logan, may I see Olivia?” she asks.

“No.”

She waits, like I’m going to elaborate. I’m not. When she realizes I’m not going to say anything she can turn back against me, she presses her lips together. “I’m still nursing her.”

“No, youwerenursing her. You’re not anymore.”

Tears well in her big, blue eyes. “Please, Lo. She needs her mother’s milk. And I’m in agony without her. I’ve been pumping while I’ve traveled but it’s not the same. Please, I need my daughter.”

Knowing I’m going to sound like a monster not just to the woman in front of me but also to the one standing behind me and the one in the other room who I’m sure is just on the other side of the door, listening to every word, I say, “No.”

Miranda crosses her shaking hands over her breasts and rubs gently. “Please. Please, Lo. If you ever cared about me, please let me see my baby.”

Jesus Christ. “No.”

“Um,” Brenna says behind me. “Not to get into the middle of this but if you’re pumping, we could put the milk into Livvy’s rotation. Did you keep it cold?”

Miranda nods. “I have a cooler in my hotel room. I’ll bring it.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll come get it.” Mac’s voice sounds from behind me. Fuck, he’s a ghost when he wants to be. I never heard either of the doors to the hallway open. “There’s no reason for you to step foot in this house again.”

Miranda shrinks back. “Mac.”

They’ve met a few times over the years. Mac was never Mir’s biggest fan but he wasn’t openly disdainful. He is now.

He moves up to stand behind Brenna, looping his arm around her chest. “Since what Logan’s saying doesn’t seem to be sinking in, I’ll repeat it,” he tells Miranda. “You’re not welcome here. This is our home. Logan’s. Mine. Emily’s. Brenna’s. Olivia’s. You don’t belong here. Am I understood?”

Miranda flinches. “Mac?—”

“Am Iclearlyunderstood?” Mac repeats.

“Yes,” Miranda says. “Please, Mac, I just want to see Olivia.”

“Logan already told you no. I’ll come back to your hotel with you and pick up the milk.” Mac pulls his jacket off the rack next to the door and shrugs into it.

Tears roll down Miranda’s face. She blots them genteelly with the backs of her hands.

Mac steps past me and steers Miranda around with a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey,” Brenna says. “I don’t want to kick someone when they’re down but I want you to know something, Miranda.”

Miranda and Mac pause on the top step. Miranda looks back over her shoulder, her eyes and nose red.

“You ever come near Emily again, and I’ll kick your ass. I’m not threatening you. I’m just telling you how it’s going to be.”

Miranda’s face works but she doesn’t reply before Mac drops his hand to her elbow and ushers her down the steps.

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