by Jean Oram
“Do you have any candy?” Tigger asked Evander, a hopeful look in her eyes.
“Do I look like the kind of man who carries candy? That stuff will rot your teeth.”
“No, it won’t. I brush two times a day.” She held up two fingers as though that would buy her a yes.
“Have the apple. It will make you feel better.”
“I’m not sick. Who are you?”
“Evander de la Fosse.” He held out his hand and she gave it a solemn shake. “You’re Kimberly, right?”
She made a face. “Everyone calls me Tigger.”
“Right then. Tigger. Nice to meet you.”
Daphne was unloading paintings, not paying attention. He wasn’t really sure what, if anything, she had told her daughter about him shadowing them, and was afraid he’d end up saying something wrong.
“Why are you here?” Tigger asked.
“I’m helping your mom.” He turned to Daphne, arms outstretched. “Hand them here. I’ll carry them.”
Tigger, obviously knowing the drill, toted aluminum easels to a grassy area in front of the open van, not at all dejected from her sugar shutdown. “You were at our house,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m helping your mom.”
“Why?”
“Because she needs help.” Man. This kid was determined—just like her mother.
Evander faced Daphne. “Do you sell many?” He propped the paintings on easels, one eye on the reporter who was snapping the occasional photo. He’d talked to Austin Smith earlier and the reporter-photographer had been corporative, agreeing to keep Evander in the loop if he saw anything odd going on. The man had shown the appropriate amount of concern for Daphne and Tigger, making Evander believe he might actually be on their side.
“Sometimes I sell a few. I only just started trying to sell them,” Daphne admitted, her lower lip tucked under her top teeth as she stared at one of her paintings.
Okay, so he wasn’t that rusty at background checks. This was a new thing. He could work with that.
He followed Daphne’s gaze to the painting, of a bright sunflower on an intense blue background. Stormy yet beautiful. She’d captured the ethereal light before a storm where everything is dangerous, the potential for life or death crackling in the sky.
He needed to have this painting. He opened his wallet and realized he didn’t have enough on hand for something this incredible. Putting it away again, he lifted the painting off its easel, tucking it back in the minivan.
“What are you doing?” Daphne asked, drawing herself up. “Tigger and I are perfectly safe here in the crowd.” She glanced at her daughter and lowered her voice. “You said so yourself.”
“That one’s mine.”
“Oh.” She came up short, surprise blanking her expression. “But you haven’t paid for it.”
“I’ll pay for it tomorrow. It’s mine.”
“You don’t even know how much it costs.” She narrowed her eyes, arms crossed. “Are you taking pity on me?”
“No. And that one’s mine. Have a problem with that?” He crossed his own arms and stared her down.
He’d never been an art guy, but that painting hit him in a place he couldn’t explain. He needed to have it. It was that simple. His eye caught another sunflower, a smaller one. It had a red background, and streaks of pink in the yellow petals. “This one, too.” He packed it away, knowing his mother would like it.
“You don’t have to do this,” Daphne said, unpacking the painting again.
“I’m not doing anything.” He pushed it back into the van. “Is this how you treat all your customers?”
“You’re not a customer, because you haven’t paid for them.”
He crossed his arms once more and sat on the bumper of the van’s open hatch, not budging, blocking her access to the paintings he’d claimed.
“Fine.” Daphne threw up her hands, not looking nearly as delighted as he figured an artist who’d just sold two paintings should look.
He thought he heard her mutter something about impossible men before turning back to her other paintings.
“Yeah? Well, they go well with impossible women,” he retorted.
“I am not going well with you.”
“You could say that again.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hey, I’m just a friendly guy.” Who was armed and lethally dangerous.
Always armed.
She snorted, heading to talk to an early customer, ending their fun banter.
The market crowd slowly began to ebb and flow around them and there was one man in a tan jacket who kept staring at the paintings, his mind obviously elsewhere. Evander watched him, his gut telling him the man was eavesdropping on Daphne. Evander moved through the paintings, circling around to stand behind the man. She was talking about things she thought a developer was doing wrong. Typical Daphne stuff, from what he’d learned.
He sidled up beside the man and cleared his throat, making him jump. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Austin had snapped a shot of the eavesdropper. Very nice. If Evander needed a photo to help identify the man later, he was set. Maybe there was a way to get the reporter on Tyrone’s payroll. They could always use an extra set of eyes and this guy seemed to always be around.
“That one your favorite?” Evander asked the lurker.
Daphne, oblivious, chirped away with some scruffy, skinny hippie type. Another thing to talk to Daphne about—what she said where and to whom. The list was going to be endless by the time Evander got her back into the protection of her house at the end of the day.
The eavesdropper nervously glanced at the sunflower with the wilted petals. “Yeah. Yeah, I like it.”
“Just bought two today myself. She’s great. Shall I wrap this one up for you? I can ask the artist for a deal if you want to add in one of her framed sketches over there. They’re a great gift for the woman in your life.” Evander raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. He stood a little closer, well aware that he was intimidating the smaller man.
“They are very affordable,” Evander continued. “I can tell you have exquisite style sense. Shall I package up both, or just this one?”
The man gave a wobbly smile. “Just this one.”
Evander made the sale, winking at Daphne, who’d quirked her head at him. He would not be introducing this man to the artist. Making sure he kept chatting him up, Evander guided him away from Daphne’s booth, handing off the painting at the last moment.
“Did you just sell the worst painting in the batch?” she whispered, coming up alongside him.
“Apparently.”
Eyes twinkling, she gave him a tight hug that just about cracked a rib. “Thank you!”
He rubbed his side, reassessing the slight woman. Where on earth did she hide all that strength?
“Your hugs should be a weapon.”
She gave a rich laugh that tickled him, almost making him want to smile.
He glanced around, tension seeping into his veins. “Where’s Tigger?”
“I sent her to get pepperoni.”
“What?” He clenched Daphne’s shoulder, making her squeak. He quickly scanned the area, unable to spot the girl’s pink party dress. “You need to keep her in sight at all times.”
When would this woman get it through her head that she and her daughter were in danger?
“Evander.” There was a warning in her voice, suggesting he was overreacting. He was not overreacting.
The eavesdropper would not have bought that painting had he not been trying to cover the fact that he’d been busted by Evander. Add in the gun incident yesterday, the custody battle, as well as how the sisters were attacking Rubicore’s livelihood, and his blood boiled with danger in a way it hadn’t in a very long time.
They were separated. Everyone was vulnerable. He grabbed Daphne’s arms. “This is serious. Never let her out of your sight. Ever.”
“That’s no way to l
ive.”
“It’s the only way to live right now, Daphne. The only way to ensure there’s a tomorrow to live in.” He gave her a brief shake, then released her so he could sprint through the crowds, hoping he wasn’t too late.
* * *
Evander took the narrow residential road to the beach’s boat launch and park, uncomfortable with the sloping dead end that would have them pinned against the Indian River with no escape. There was one exit. One. And anyone could easily block it.
He’d found Tigger at the farmers’ market pepperoni stand and had whisked her away, ignoring the unimpressed look from both Summers when he’d sat them side by side and told them to never leave his sight without permission. Ever. Again.
His growing sense of unease was not helped by the fact that he was certain Daphne had tried to shake him en route from Bala to Port Carling. She had some good moves, but there weren’t a lot of places to shake him between the two small towns had made it futile. That and the fact that he had hours of training, whereas she had none. Something was up, but he didn’t know if it was her feeling ticked for him telling her off or if she was planning to do something he’d dislike.
His gut told him it was the latter.
The effects of his earlier flashback were catching up with him and he yawned, wishing for a nap. Just before the boat launch he spun his truck around, parking it along the edge of the grass to ensure it was aimed up the road. He got out and made a twirling motion with his finger, telling Daphne to turn around as he had. She rolled her eyes, but laughed as she complied, her good mood from selling three paintings at the market keeping her buoyed. He was not that easily fooled, though. She’d tried to ditch him, and her body language didn’t have its usual lightness. It was as though each movement was carefully thought out ahead of time so as not to reveal what she was hiding. It was a basic interrogation skill—watch body language for tightness. He’d just never thought he’d be using it in a domestic matter.
C’est la vie. Real life.
With a practiced eye, he scoped out the playground, park, boat launch, river, and treed residential area for places someone could hide—friend or foe—as well as possible escape routes. He held out a hand to help Daphne out of her van, then unleashed Tigger, who had been struggling with the door. The girl burst forth, sprinting for the play equipment shaped like a fortress. He would have loved playing here with his brother when he was a kid, but instead he’d grown up in the city, where things were busy, sterile and a whole lot less fun.
“You don’t have to stay,” Daphne was saying. “I’m sure you have lots of things to do today. We’re just going to hang out and play for a while.”
He stretched and ran a hand through his hair. “A man can always use more vitamin D.”
She was definitely up to something.
Daphne leaned into her van and looked at the dash clock. She stared at it as though contemplating something, her lower lip pinned between her teeth.
There was no way he was going anywhere but where she was. And if she thought she could outwait him, good luck. He’d spent twelve days in scorching desert heat waiting outside an enemy bunker for just the right moment. This would be nothing.
“Hungry?” Daphne asked, tossing him an apple.
He caught the red delicious and took a large bite before saying, “Thank you.”
She took a bite of her own, watching him as his gaze flicked from her to their surroundings, then back again.
“Are you always thinking of ways to escape?” she asked. “Always on the lookout for enemies that might need a weapon waved at them?”
“It’s my job.” He gave her a cold, steely glance and with satisfaction saw it hit home, making her shiver. “Have you noticed you’re being followed by a reporter?”
Daphne glanced around, her eyebrows puckered over her bright blue eyes. Her face relaxed when she spotted Austin. “That’s Austin Smith. He’s paparazzi.”
Now Evander was ticked off. The man hadn’t been fully honest. Reporters and paparazzi were two entirely different things. Plus, Daphne knew more than he did. That small fact was becoming increasingly familiar. And not a good kind of familiar.
“He’s an old family friend,” Daphne said brightly, and Evander was certain she knew just how much this was bothering him. “Rick Steinfeld might come around soon, too. They’re trying to help.”
“In what way?”
“Melanie convinced them to help with the publicity angle. To help Mistral see that I’m not a threat.” She waved her hand dismissively, not expanding on what was going on.
“More info, please.”
“Oh, you know. Just some positive press to combat all the stuff in the papers. They haven’t exactly been kind or honest. It’s making things worse for Mistral instead of easier.”
The crease between Daphne’s eyebrows had reappeared and he figured it was best to change the subject for now. He had enough to mull over.
“Is she always like that?” He gestured to Tigger, who had already made a few friends and was in the middle of a battle with a group of boys over who got to be on the top of the play structure.
“Gregarious? Yes. Full of energy? Yes.”
“They should bottle that.”
“She’s actually part of my grand scheme on how to take over the world.”
Evander gave an amused chuckle. “She’s a good secret weapon.”
He turned his back to the river, figuring a flank attack was less likely than one from the road. He kept his eyes peeled, waiting for whatever Daphne didn’t want him to be there for.
But every once in a while, he found himself becoming involved in the antics of the children. They were boisterous and so full of life and innocence. Everything he had gone to war in order to protect, right there. That was the reason. And it made every bit of loss and destruction worth it so they could have a real childhood.
He seemed to have caught the attention of a few boys, who edged closer. Finally, they summoned their courage and came right up.
“Are you a bodyguard?” asked a kid with dirt smudged on his nose.
Evander loosened his posture, realizing that with his sunglasses and firm at-ease pose he must look like a member of the Secret Service.
“What happened to your face?” asked his buddy.
Evander debated ignoring them, but figured that wouldn’t help his case with Daphne, seeing as she was listening in.
“Yes, I am a bodyguard. And I got blown up protecting a prince.” He sighed to himself. That information was way too interesting for young boys. He should have said no, that he had been born with the scars that ran down the side of his face and torso.
“Did it hurt?” asked the first boy.
“Like a son of—” He caught himself in the knick of time and glanced at Daphne for her reaction.
She looked just as interested as the kids.
“Do you have a gun?” asked the second child.
Beside him Daphne flinched. “You should show them some soldier moves in the woods. He was in the army,” Daphne told them, her eyebrows raised, obviously trying to convince the kids to gang up on him.
That was unfair. Offside.
Clever, too.
“I’m pretty sure your parents wouldn’t like an armed stranger teaching you how to be a soldier in the dark and scary woods.” Evander could teach these kids stuff that would turn their heads inside out. Without even touching on the amphibious assaults he could coordinate along the water’s edge. They’d never see water the same way.
“Our parents won’t mind,” one kid said quickly. That was followed by a chorus of head nodding.
“The woods aren’t scary,” Daphne added.
“I need a push!” called Tigger from the swings.
“I got this,” Evander said, eager to get away. At the rate they were going they would have national secrets exposed within seconds.
Daphne was following him across the sandy play area. “You don’t have to push her, I can.”
“Wh
at? You don’t trust me?” he challenged.
She looked momentarily taken aback and he used her hesitation to reach Tigger before she did.
“Maybe you could go get us ice cream,” Daphne suggested.
Setup. One hundred percent. He’d been tailing the two long enough to know that Daphne almost always said no to anything with sugar, and there was no way she would introduce sugar-induced chaos into her world midday. Especially after a late night of painting that had obviously led to her energy levels taking a hit.
“Ice cream!” Tigger squealed.
“Only if Evander gets it,” Daphne said. “I need to stay here with you.”
“We can all go!” Tigger said.
“Great idea,” Evander said. “When can we go?” Daphne scowled at him, but he kept a straight face. “What? We’re not going?”
“Aw,” Tigger complained.
He gave her a light push on the swing. “Hey, I met your Cabbage Patch doll last night. What’s her name?” His brother, Kyle, had wanted one of those as a kid—until a neighbor kid had laughed and called him a sissy. Evander had given the neighbor a black eye for that, then saved up his allowance to get Kyle the doll. But by then the damage had been done and his brother had decided the safe place for him and his sexual preferences was the closet.
One day his brother would open that door, and until then Evander would be there, letting him know he was still loved, no matter what.
“You met Maple? Push higher!” Tigger demanded.
“Nice name. Very Canadian.” He gave her another push, this time a little harder, worried he would knock her right off the swing if he wasn’t careful.
“It’s my favorite ice cream.”
“Oh.”
“Higher!”
“Have you ever killed anyone?” asked one of the boys. They’d crept closer while Daphne fumed at him for foiling her plans.
“Where are your mothers?” Evander asked.
“We’re old enough to come here on our own,” the kid said.
“Well, I think I hear someone’s mom calling,” Evander stated, avoiding meeting their gazes.
“Higher!”
“Do you want an under-duck?” he asked.
