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I want a do-over. Soon.
Laura:
Let me see how well Bailey does with Cia. Then I’ll let the animals out of their cages.
Grace sends a bunch of monkey emojis interspersed with laughing ones.
Kalie just sends ones of the middle finger.
I ping the address and find Bailey’s lower lip quivering. Immediately, I think of all the ways I can back out of the plans we’ve made. I reach up and stroke a finger down her hair. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“It’s not that, Laura.”
“Then what is it?”
“You just do things to make me happy. Thank you.” She wheels off in the direction of a closed door off the family room, leaving me stunned in her wake.
While I wait for my cousin to bring me my swimsuit and Jillian to arrive with Cia, I wonder what kind of father Liam Payne truly is. On the surface, he appears to be loving, but how could he miss something I’ve picked up, having been in his daughter’s presence for just a few days.
A desire to return to normal.
Then again, I muse. It might be because like recognizes like. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to have a modicum of my old self back before tragedy stripped it from me.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Knock, knock.
I look up at my door to find a man with a familiar face who shares the unique color of Laura’s eyes, giving me a once-over. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to suss this one out. I stand and immediately hold out my hand. “You must be Laura’s twin, Jon.”
He confirms. “Jonathan Lockwood. I work in Missing Persons and Protective Services. You know, where we attempt to find people.”
I can’t prevent the twitch of my lips as the younger man does his best to try to intimidate me. Still, his eyes don’t flicker from mine, so I attempt to curb my humor before asking, “Is there something I can assist you with for a past case?” Normally I only interact with the head of Missing Persons and Protective Services—a cantankerous man, Cal Sullivan, who runs a tight ship—when a past client requires an accounting for legal or tax purposes. Not unlike the one we did recently for Beckett Miller.
“No. I just wanted to meet you face-to-face since I heard so much about you,” He pauses. “After all, my baby sister spends so much time at your home.”
Leaning against the edge of my desk, I quirk a brow. “First, I wouldn’t call six minutes a huge discrepancy in age. Second, she’s there to help my daughter.”
Jonathan Lockwood saunters into my office as if he owns it, which, for all intents and purposes, I suppose he does—or will someday. Hudson Investigations began as a business created by two best friends who were and are closer than two blood brothers possibly could be—Caleb Lockwood and Keene Marshall. Over the years, as their natural familial ties and business expanded, it became renowned as the premier investigations firm in the United States, with its largest client being the US government.
If there’s one thing I don’t question about taking the step to leave the Agency and work for Hudson, is that I know its reputation is unprecedented. It’s the kind of business that will survive transition long after its founders retire. I imagine it will pass down into the hands of their children—at least those who follow in their footsteps. Much like I imagine the ultra-successful Amaryllis Events and sub-corporations will.
Hell, they’d better. Otherwise, I’ll have to cope with a sobbing daughter if she doesn’t get her cupcakes from Amaryllis Bakery. Thinking about that circles my thoughts back to the ones Laura brought Bailey as a surprise. It makes me wonder why Laura chose medicine over several lucrative family businesses?
I make a mental note to ask her.
Jonathan reaches over and picks up my most precious photo of Bailey. It’s a selfie of the two of us at the hospital after the car accident that took her mother’s life. Jonathan morphs from the overprotective brother into a warrior. Head bent, he murmurs, “It says a lot about a person when they’re faced with life-altering news and how they handle it.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “You ran me.” I’m not surprised. I am curious as to how deep.
He continues to study the photo. “Do my father and uncles know about what a bitch your baby mama was?”
“They do.”
His eyes lift to mine. “Does my sister?”
“Why would she?” I counter.