Page 106 of Jester

“Your mom got scared when she was little,” I tell Scout. “She didn’t have anyone to help her with feeling scared. I bet she would have liked riding ponies when she was little, but instead she got scared and only brushed them.”

“She still doesn’t ride them.”

“No, she’s scared.”

“Maybe if I’m not scared, she won’t be.”

“That’s smart thinking,” I say and stroke her head.

Scout and I have come a long way in the last year. I used to think loving my girls was enough. But kids need more than happy thoughts and sweet words. The daily grind is when I can build them into confident people. That’s what my parents did. My father never just said I did a good job and walked away. He stuck with me when I failed. He kept me going when I was struggling. He built me back up when I considered giving up.

That shit took effort, but I used to half-ass fatherhood. When Jules showed up, she quickly won over my girls. She got the four children on a schedule, helped them get along, and worked through their trauma. She didn’t have a magic wand. It was just the daily grind of giving a shit, even when she was tired or depressed. She never gave up, and they love her for it.

Now, I’m the same way. That’s why I really hate leaving Scout early when I get a call from Sheriff Graeme Hubbard. My family’s long-time friend explains how the Black Gold Four’s lawyer has shown up at the Sheriff’s Office. Last year, Teddy Cross tried to talk us into letting him see Giselle. He claimed she only ran away because she was hurt by a family friend. He swore her father was worried about her. I smelled through his bullshit like anyone would.Now, he’s back.

I wait at the diner until Lady Bug arrives on the back of Papa Bear’s hog. She’ll watch Scout for me while my dad and I head to the Sheriff’s Office. I immediately notice a tricked-out SUV with Texas plates parked in the lot.

A deputy tells us the sheriff is waiting in a room with our guests. Papa Bear enters first and nods at his childhood friend. Leaning leisurely against a wall, Graeme lifts his chin and reveals his face hidden under his cowboy hat. His nearly black eyes find me and then gesture toward the table.

“I’m sure you remember Ted Cross. People back home call him Teddy.”

I smirk at Graeme’s sneering tone. The lawyer hears it, too, but he doesn’t even look at the sheriff.

Teddy’s just as I remember—middle-aged man, leather-grade tanned face, blond-highlighted and slicked-back hair, expensive black suit, bolo tie with a black-and-gold ornamental slide, and overly white teeth.

This time, Teddy brought along two security guys. One is as big as Penthouse. He’s wearing a lot of leather, leaving him sweaty in the early autumn weather. His bald head seems especially shiny in the harsh lighting.

The other guy is smaller and stands like he’s a former soldier. His blunt haircut also implies military, but I spot a prison tattoo on his bare forearm.

The men’s firearms would have been left at the front desk. I’m still aware they could be here to start trouble. Or act as a distraction while someone attacks the Sanctuary.

Before walking in this room, I contacted people back at the compound to increase security and put everyone on alert.

Now, I settle across the table from the mouth piece for a band of sexual deviants.

“What can I do for you, Teddy?” I ask, leaning back in my chair and eyeing him.

Flashing his overly white smile, he suddenly freezes and gets a sourpuss expression. “I thought you might want to know Zack Reinhart is dead.”

“He’s the guy who claimed to be Giselle’s dad.”

Cocking his eyebrow, he asks in a Texas drawl, “Didn’t she tell you about him?”

“She said she had no proof he was her father. The fucker might have bought her. Stolen her, maybe. The situation wasn’t clear,” I say and brush lint from my jeans. “Considering all that information, his death doesn’t seem like much of a loss.”

“It was a heart attack.”

Without missing a beat, I reply, “Okay.”

Teddy hesitates. He suspects we killed his boss. Might assume we did his other employers, too. Why else would he be here?

But I don’t give away how the “heart attack” info interests me. After all, the man was clearly murdered. His house burned down. His men were killed. Having the surviving member of the Black Gold Four—or his allies—cover up the crime is a little surprising. But maybe there was more at that estate than just a pervert and his victims. If so, keeping the state authorities away from the house makes sense.

“Zack was a complicated man. A friend of mine,” Cross says and then adds, “But he’s gone, and we have to move on.”

“Moving on isn’t easy for traumatized woman like Giselle.”

Cross exhales roughly, irritated with my attitude. “Let’s put our cards on the table here.”

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