Page 62 of Cutter

He’d spent Saturday afternoon and evening indulging Emily’s Middle girl and learning as many details about her as possible. The puzzle had been finished after dinner. Then they’d spent a few hours watching superhero movies.

However, as their time together progressed, her behavior leaned closer to a younger Tween. That informed him to delay conversations and questions the adult in her had wanted answered. Mature topics would ruin the sweetness and innocence of her regression. Safeguarding the process was included among his protective duties.

He was taking milk and butter out of the fridge when a pair of silky arms wrapped around his waist from behind. “Good morning, Daddy.”

“Good morning, little Emmy.” Dropping the items on the counter, he pulled her into his arms, enjoying her still-warmbody from sleeping and her cute PJ’s. These had little pink unicorns on them. “Did I wake you?”

“Not you. The empty spot on the bed did. I reached over and couldn’t find you. I came looking.”

“How are you? Still sleepy?”

“Not sleepy and not cupcake, if that’s what you’re wondering. My adult is wide-awake and begging for coffee.”

“Black and two sweeteners?”

“Good memory, yes.”

“When it comes to you, I remember everything, kitten. Sit down and give me a moment.”

She sniffed the air. “Yum. Bacon. Do I hear the washer going? You’re amazing. The Daddy of my dreams, at ease and in charge. It’s sexy, did you know?”

“Come on, darlin’. It’s only clothes, not rocket science.” After turning the oven off, he removed the cookie sheet with the still-sizzling bacon and set it on top of the range. “I’m thirty-two years old. Soon to be thirty-three. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. Since I turned eighteen, no woman has done my laundry, cooked for me, or cleaned my house.”

He fixed her coffee, then put the mug in front of her. She took a sip, a thoughtful expression on her face. Yes, she wanted to bring up the topic about his family. A favorite saying of Mrs. Johnston’s came to mind:Don’t ask the question if you’re not ready for the answer.

Maybe she was thinking the same thing. He could help her. Satisfy her detective curiosity once and for all. “It’s okay, Emily. Ask. I know you want to know.”

She winced. “I don’t want to come off as nosy.”

“You’re my baby girl. It’s time you knew my past. Who I am and where I came from.” He sat facing her.

Curling her legs under her, she went for it. “How come you lived alone after turning eighteen? That’s still kind of young to go off on your own. Were you in school?”

“I spent the first twelve years of my life in a dysfunctional home. Abusive is more accurate.” Settling his weight against the chair rest, he crossed his arms. “My mother was a sweet woman. Petite and pretty, with beautiful blue-black hair and golden eyes.”

“Was?”

“Yes.” He blew out a breath. “She’s been gone a few years.”

“Sorry. Please, go on.”

“The guy who claimed to be my father was a mountain of a man and a mean drunk. His family had escaped to America from a region in the old Yugoslavia we know today as Montenegro. He was born in the States but grew up in an alcohol-drinking tradition. The occupying Soviets had brought their bad habits to the region, I suppose. They’re big on vodka. Doesn’t really matter.” He waved a hand.

Emily, her eyes wide, watched him, barely blinking. She shouldn’t be too shocked to hear the rest. Detectives, even those working in a small city, were usually exposed to the worst of humanity, only in smaller numbers compared to the larger cities.

“My mother, Lucía Gomez, was born in Northern Spain. She came to the States on a student visa, met Milo Zejak through mutual friends, and fell in love. I guess there was a time when Milo was the classic tall, handsome, and nice.” Twisting his lips, he shook his head. “I don’t have that memory.”

“Sounds like you physically take after him,” she said. “You’re a big man yourself.”

“Yeah, I inherited his height and dark hair and eyes.” He shrugged. “To make a long story short, they got married, filed the paperwork, and Mom became a naturalized citizen.Sometime after I was born, Milo’s finances began to decline. Statesboro wasn’t a bustling town like Atlanta or Savannah. The used-car dealership he’d owned failed within a couple of years. He borrowed money to buy a food-only convenience store.” He shook his head. “Bad move. People drove past his place, looking to fuel up. He started drinking to drown his frustrations.”

“Oh. And your mom?”

“Mom had learned office and computer skills, so she offered to get a job. That drove him nuts. He was raised in the style of the old country. Men worked. Women stayed home. Mom went with it because she still loved him and was good at making ends meet. Eventually, Milos was forced to sell the store. He paid most of his debts from the sale, but the family still needed money to survive. He found a job at a home improvement store.”

Cutter had to stop. His throat had tightened so much, he could barely utter a word. Emily reached for his arm. “Daddy, I know this is tough for you. I hear it in your voice. You don’t have to go on.”

He gave her a half smile. “I’ll skip over the really bad parts.”

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