Page 118 of Hot Momosa

Leo

I spentthe majority of the drive to the Garden District answering rapid fire questions in kid-friendly code.

“Yes, I’m sure there was something in the wheel well.”

“No, I’m not sure if it was a B-O-M-B or tracking device.”

“Yes, someone will call the P-O-L-I-C-E.”

“Yes, I am one hundred percent sure the poodles are safe.”

“No, you can’t live at Nonni’s house forever.”

Once we’d arrived, Dahlia and Stuart took Gunnar into the kitchen for a snack and Beth continued the Q&A session. However, the subject matter turned more personal.

She followed me around the first floor as I set the alarm and checked the windows and doors. “Are you going to establish legal paternity?”

“Yes.”

“What about her father? I thought the two of you didn’t get along?

“Waylon Calhoun and I have a tentative peace agreement.” I exaggerated a sigh. “I need to make sure Dahlia is okay.”

“Right. Sorry.” Nodding, she tagged along behind me. “And you’re absolutely sure this Artie fellow is taking care of the poodles?”

“Yes.” I met Stuart’s gaze, motioned toward his wife, and mouthed, “Help me.”

He frowned. “Beth, come with me while I brief the onsite security team.”

She sucked in a breath as if planning to ask more questions, but let it go and followed him outside.

Watching Gunnar work his way through a bowl of my mother’s tortellini calmed me in a way not even a bottle of wine and a good book could. Once I managed to stop my mind from spinning, I was able to replay the events of the day with less emotion and more logic.

Dahlia placed a plate of pasta on the table. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“I am, but I should be the one taking care of you.” I motioned for her to sit.

“It’s no big deal. All I did was toss it in the microwave.” She sank into the chair. “This place is like a fortress. We’re safe here, right?”

“It is, and yes. Especially with half of Marco’s team in the guest house.” I grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge and joined her. “Tell me about the shoes.”

Dahlia explained the mystery of the brownish orange loafers in terms that wouldn’t alarm Gunnar. That an expensive pair of shoes had blown Robert’s cover struck me as funny. Criminals, even the seasoned ones, made mistakes, but I’d never heard of someone getting popped because of their choice in footwear.

“We should have a sit-down with your father tomorrow.” I hated to bring it up, but the governor needed to know what was going on. More so, we needed his help.

Her hand flew to her throat. “I didn’t think about Dad. He could be in danger. I should call and warn him.”

Gunnar glanced between us and stuffed another forkful of pasta into his mouth.

“It’ll be better if we do this in person.” I took her hand. “My guess is Robert’s doing this to protect your dad. He won’t hurt him unless he’s confronted.”

Her lower lip trembled. “How would killing me help my dad?”

I wanted to kick myself for being an insensitive prick. “First off, the guy is a nutjob. Nothing he does is going to make sense to sane people, okay?”

“Nutjob!” Gunnar repeated the word over and over, nodding each time.

Dahlia smiled at the toddler before glancing at me. “Go on.”

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