Page 4 of Danger Close (Mourningkill #3)

Taz shrugged, her expression telling me that this was exactly what she meant. Well, I’ll be damned. Then she fidgeted with the hem of her leather jacket, stressing it with her nervous hands.

“Do you want to walk me down the aisle?” Then in one long run-on sentence she blurted, “I know it’s a dumb custom, but I didn’t want his side of the family to think I was weird by walking down by myself, and they’re already mad at the rush, so I thought...”

She took a deep breath, her shoulders slumped.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to.” She dug the toe of her boot into the ground, suddenly fascinated by a small pebble on the dirt, rolling it back and forth under her foot. “It’s no big deal.”

Oh, it was obviously a gargantuan deal.

“Of course, I want to, kiddo.” I’d want nothing more than to do exactly that. But something nagged at me. A simple thought. A face I hadn’t seen in decades.

I ran my hands through my graying hair, probably getting oil in it. I had to ask. I had to know… “What’s your Ma think?”

I didn’t even know what Taz called her Teresa. Was she Mom? Mother? Mommy? Or did they go with the French Maman? I should figure that out.

“Mama…” my kid said, slowly, before she deflated with a long sigh, “doesn’t know.”

I almost dropped the fill plug I’d been fidgeting with. “Come again?”

I’d been fighting the urge to electronically surveille my own kid.

I wanted to get to know her, and for years, if I needed information on someone, I’d just hack into their shit.

There was nothing that couldn’t be found in the netherworld of the internet.

There was no server so secure that we could not exploit it.

It didn’t matter if it was Russian, American, or North Korean.

But hacking was a matter of time, persistence and opportunity. If I’d wanted to… but I wouldn’t. Because that would be wrong.

Or at least, that’s what I’d been told every time one of my targets looked at me, wide eyes full of hurt as I weaponized every single dirty secret they’d hidden away on their phones before I killed them.

No. I didn’t do that kind of shit anymore. No more spying, no more killing. No more keeping secrets.

My daughter and I would have a relationship that blossomed organically, and I’d respect her boundaries. I would not create a packet on her the way I would a person of interest.

I was going to be a normal, carefree, retired civilian now.

Until she said, “Mama doesn’t know.”

In a calm, even tone, I asked clarifying questions, “That you’re getting married? Or that you’ve asked me to give you away?”

She winced. “Both?”

“Is that a question or a statement, kiddo?” I stood up, putting my hands on my hips. The air shifted with my movement, my own scent caught the light breeze, flying to my own nostrils. I smelled like motor oil.

Taz just shrugged. I took a deep breath. I wasn’t mad . Not really. I was more surprised and confused. Puzzled.

Why would she not tell her mother? What kind of relationship did they have? What could Teri have done to warrant this?

“Mind telling me why?” I wanted nothing more than to give my kid a five-finger point with my hand flat like a blade as I put on my Drill Sergeant voice and demanded that she give me answers.

“Do I mind telling you? No.” She had an amused sparkle in the green eyes she’d inherited from me. “Do I want to tell you? Also no.”

“Smart ass.” I groaned. “You get that from your mother.”

Which was a lie. She definitely got everything from me. Everything but that strange aura—the kind of light that makes everyone in a room drawn to her. It wasn’t about looks. It was about that gravitas that you could feel in the air. Teresa had it. So did our daughter.

“Spill it, kid.” I stood in front of her, looking down, as I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “What gives?”

Her head tilted one way, then another as if she was trying to figure out if she was going to answer me or not.

“I just…” she said in a long sigh. “Mom doesn’t approve of boys–”

“Darlin’, the son of the CIA Director, and undercover operative, is no boy ,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “You’re not in high school, sneaking some pimple-faced jock into your bedroom after curfew.”

I hated to say it, but it was true. She was a grown woman, capable of making good choices for herself. I’d seen it with my own eyes.

“I know that!” Her brows knit together, and she looked at me like I was out of my mind.

My heart ached when I thought about our missed years. The pigtails, the ballerina years, the gangly pre-teen, and teen… I hadn’t been there for any of it. I was resigned to that, but now…? I wanted to be so present she’d be pouting for me to get out of her hair.

“But Mama doesn’t,” she sighed again. “She’s never approved of my decisions.”

How the hell do dads deal with this much sighing? Do sons get all sigh-y and mopey too? I couldn’t remember if I’d been a pain in the ass as a teen or not.

“Mom thinks I’m a child, and that I’ll throw my life away for a guy, and…” Again, another sigh. If I was taking a shot for every sigh, I’d need to get my stomach pumped. “She was right with my ex-husband. She knows that I got divorced, and she won’t let me live it down.”

She licked her lips, her fingers tapping an agitated rhythm on her bicep. “Griff’s different, but she’ll never see that.”

So that’s what it was. She didn’t want her mom to think badly of Griff.

“Darlin’, I’m not saying I don’t sympathize.” God knew, I had been on the receiving end of Teresa’s sharp tongue before. “But if I were your mom, and I didn’t know you were getting married, that would crush me.”

Trinity pouted, then flattened her lips into a hard line. “If I invite her, she won’t come.”

My expression must have told her that I doubted that, because she quickly continued.

“If she does come, she’ll just ruin the whole day.

” Again, she looked at my face, and got defensive.

“She’ll lecture me and yell at me about how I’m not living up to my potential, and I’m just ruining my life.

I just don’t want to deal with that when it’s supposed to be my wedding. And with all the guests...”

Alright, I could get behind that logic.

But still, the gears in my head weren’t satisfied with this solution.

I couldn’t put the image of the woman I’d known all those years ago into this version of Teresa.

My wife loved our baby. She swore that she would be a better parent than her own, because her mom was a piece of work that never protected her, and her dads—yes, plural.

Biological and step—were abusive cock bags.

I’d never felt more violent than the day I met them, and I watched her parents crush her.

Teresa had wilted under their cruel words.

The one vow Teresa made when the pregnancy test came back positive was that she would be the best mother. She would love and protect her child. She would do everything for our baby. She recited those words over and over again, as she traced her fingers over her rounding belly.

Teri was a determined woman, so I’d imagined them the last thirty years being thick as thieves. Like that one show with the mother-daughter who lived in a small town. Gilmore Gals ? Whatever it was…

I looked at my little girl, and how she’d dyed her hair to a crisp black. Her hair was nut brown like mine–at least it had been before all the grays. Trinity dyed her hair because she liked the color. It was the same shade as her mother’s. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

I looked at my kid and read her expression: the longing in her eyes, the defensiveness in the tilt of her chin, the way her eyes cut to the side every time she said something that wasn’t the full truth.

“You want your Ma there.” I drew my conclusion, and came up with a solution. “What if I could get her there, and make sure she behaves?”

Taz got sheepish on me, curling in on herself. “I mean, yeah. What girl wouldn’t want her own mom at her wedding?”

Well, maybe that was a wedding gift I could deliver on.

“Well, let’s see what your old man can figure out.