Broken Daddy: A Single Dad & Nanny Romance

by Blake North

  “Oh,” he said quietly.

  I felt as if a weight had been pulled out of me into the daylight, where it could dissolve and release me from its burden forever. I had told someone. And that someone could help me put all this to rights for now.

  “Well, then,” I said. “We need to get there, get in and get Hayley. Then get out again. D’you think you can do that?”

  “Depends,” he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. I tensed.

  “I’ll pay you ten times what I usually do, for this one job. You can retire to Barbados. I’ll be very generous…”

  He waved a hand at me. “No, boss. I didn’t mean like that. I meant it depends on if we can do it without endangering your missus.”

  I felt like crying. In a world where I had become cynical and embittered, Mr. Hudson brought a ray of sunshine into my life.

  “Thanks, Peter,” I said quietly. “I appreciate it. Now. Do you think you can do it?”

  He nodded. “I think we can figure out how. But you might need to tell me some more information.”

  I felt relief wash through me like a wave. Peter was an ex-military man, someone who knew about undercover operations and would be able to see how to get in and out in the safest manner. He had probably rescued people taken prisoner before. I told him all I knew.

  “…so the warehouse is further from the others,” I finished softly. “Not much can be heard from there. And the access from the back is clear. They can’t come around behind us.”

  “Good, good,” Peter said. He was chewing his lip thoughtfully, clearly thinking about the strategy. He absentmindedly pulled my Parker pen in as the wharf, the holder becoming the warehouse, while an eraser was our car and a box of staples the hill behind the warehouse. We looked at the scene together. I could see it in my mind’s eye as we discussed our plan together.

  That is where Hayley is.

  I looked at the box of stapes and the pen-holder, my heart stiff and my throat tight with emotions. I couldn’t be sure, but I knew it. I knew the gang had her, because they hadn’t failed to contact me and let me know that fact. I also knew, very graphically, what would happen to her if I didn’t comply. And I knew they would take her there to keep her captive.

  I looked up at Peter, my face tense with worry.

  “No worries, Boss,” he said gently as he stood, pushing his chair back from the desk. “We’ll get her out of there.”

  “Thank you, Peter,” I said quietly. I knew we had to try and rescue her ourselves. There was no other course of action open to us. There was no option of calling the police on this one. And none of Peter’s men could be trusted. We had to do it ourselves.

  “We’ll work well together. And we can do this.”

  “Thanks, Peter,” I said gratefully. Paused.

  I had wanted to add “I hope so”, but to even allow the possibility that we might not succeed in this was too frightening for me. I couldn’t face that. We would succeed. We had to.

  “Now, boss,” Peter said quietly, “we just have to finish off some planning.”

  I discussed the plan again with Peter as we stood there in my office, the scent of dusty filing cabinets in my nose and the sound of the garden beyond the windows outside. Then he left.

  “I have to get some things,” he said quietly. “See you in about ten minutes, Boss.”

  “Thanks, Peter,” I said, gratefully. “Not a word, remember?”

  “Sure thing,” he said without even turning around. “I promised, right?”

  “Yes,” I acknowledged, seeing him through the door and then turning around, heading back upstairs again. “You did, Peter.”

  Upstairs I went to the drawing-room, now converted into a kind of sitting-room, and looked out over the garden. My nerves were shattered, my mind running itself into madness with concern.

  What is happening to her out there? Is she okay? If they hurt her, I’ll…

  I stopped myself. I was pacing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, my hands knotted in to fists. I was losing it. I should have called Dr. Brenner. I should have gone on tranquilizers. I’m useless to anyone in the state I’m in…

  I sighed and headed into the hallway. That was the least I could do. I should be on medication. And besides, getting the doctor on hand was no bad idea. I didn’t want to think about the fact that the doctor should be here for Hayley, if she needed him when she came out. It was a possibility, though. We were going into a dangerous situation and they had threatened to shoot her if I didn’t comply. I felt my heart thudding in my chest. Yes, I would get Dr. Brenner to wait here for my call. And he should bring a private ambulance and medics too. That would be for the best.

  “Dad?”

  I turned at the end of the hallway, hearing Estella call me.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “What’s happening?” she asked. She looked afraid. Her turquoise-blue eyes were huge and her face was pale with concern. “Where is Hayley? Is she okay?”

  I sighed. “Hayley has been abducted,” I said slowly.

  “Dad!” Estella covered her mouth with her fingers, her eyes round. “No! She can’t have been!”

  “She was. They took her from outside her home sometime this morning,” I explained as I glanced at my watch. It was three-thirty. Damn it! Where was Peter when you needed him?

  “Can we do something? Like, phone the police? They’re looking for her, right?” Estella was already taking out her phone. Bless her, I thought. I shook my head slowly.

  “It’s okay,” I said raggedly. “Peter Hudson knows where she is. He’s going to get her.”

  “Whew.”

  Estella swayed backward, visibly relieved. She stood still for a moment, then abruptly slid down and sat on the steps. She looked up at me. “Thank Heavens, Daddy,” she said. “But what can we do? We have to reward him somehow…” she trailed off.

  “Don’t worry. I will,” I promised her. I couldn’t imagine what I could do to show him what this meant to me right now, but I was sure something would occur to me. Right now all that mattered was that he got her back.

  “When is he going, Daddy?” Estella asked in a small voice. “He went there now? Can I do something?”

  I smiled at her. “No, sweetie.” I paused. “Actually, you can do something for me. Can you tell Mrs. Delange to make a big supper? Something that would be easy to eat. And call the doctor for me?” I added.

  “The doctor!” she said. Then her face settled into calm. “Sure. I’ll do that. He should come here, right?”

  “Yes,” I agreed tiredly. “Ask him to come here and stay here until he is told otherwise.” I bit my lip, thinking about how much it would cost to pay for perhaps his whole day. Dr. Brenner was easily the most expensive person I knew, but I had to be prepared for anything. I headed upstairs.

  “Where are you going, Daddy?” she asked suspiciously. “You’re not…please. You can’t go with them!”

  “I have to, sweetheart,” I said.

  I paused at the top of the steps and looked down at that pale face, her eyes wide and confused and sad. She was the perfect combination of her mother and myself, with eyes that showed her soul and were hers alone. My heart ached with love for her, a physical burning pain. The thought occurred to me that I might never come back. Might never see her again. I had to tell her something while I still could say it.

  “I love you.”

  She looked up at me.

  “I love you too,” she whispered. Then, eyes wet with tears, she turned away and ran down the stairs.

  “I’ll call the doctor,” she shouted up to me. “And tell Mrs. Delange to get a dinner ready for you.”

  “Thanks, sweetie,” I called. “Remember to stay inside.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  I went upstairs. I changed into thick jeans, a dark leather jacket, a cap to cover my hair. I didn’t need anyone to know who I was at that moment. Not that I really cared.

  All that mattered was Hayley. And getting her back safely.
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  I ran downstairs. The house had the air of a besieged building, at least what I imagined one might be like. I passed Estella and Mrs. Delange in the hallway outside the kitchen, talking in low voices. Estella was holding her phone. Mrs. Delange looked tense.

  I didn’t say anything, but I nodded to them both on the way past to the front door and the garden.

  Estella’s eyes caught mine and our gazes met and held a long moment. It felt as if everything stilled. Nothing existed except us and the possibility I would never see her again. All my memories pressed in, drowning me out with their clamor.

  “I love you,” I said. It choked in my throat, a strangled whisper, raw with unshed weeping.

  “Be safe,” she said levelly. “I love you. Good luck.”

  I felt my chest swell with pride and a little awe. She was so brave, my daughter.

  If I don’t get back, please, please let her be okay.

  Of all the things that mattered to me in this life, there were three that mattered most. My relationship with my daughter. My relationship with her mother. And my relationship with Hayley.

  Nothing else, I realized, as I hailed Mr. Hudson who had just arrived, and opened the card door, swinging in beside him, really mattered at all.

  I wished I had learned that sooner. Before it was almost too late. Before I risked losing them all. As I got into the car, I heard the sound I had been dreading the most. The phone rang. I knew the number. It was them.

  They wanted me to pay for her life. Or they would shoot her today.

  “Pete,” I whispered urgently. “We have to hurry. How fast can this thing go?”

  “As fast as we need, Boss,” he said grimly. He put his foot on the pedal and we sped off, shooting toward my worst nightmare. We had to get there as soon as possible. Before it was far, far too late.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX – HAYLEY

  The first thing I knew about was the shouting. I woke with the noise intruding on my dreams. It wove its way into my mind and slowly brought me to awareness of where I was.

  I’m in the boiler room. In the warehouse. I’m trapped.

  I lay on my side, head aching, too tired to sit up. I listened to the shouts. They were close and they sounded angry. I filtered the information carefully, trying to understand what it was all about. It concerned me.

  “The bitch stays here!”

  Silence. Swearing. Then,

  “I told you! We’re not takin’ no for an answer.”

  I sat up. Whoever was out there was on the phone, clearly, since I could only hear half the conversation. And they were arguing heatedly.

  “No!” they shouted again. This time, whoever was on the other side was speaking loudly-enough for me to hear a slight burr of their speech.

  Beckett?

  I sighed. It was a faint noise from a barely-heard voice. But the pitch sounded right. I was sure it was him.

  Beckett is going to save me.

  I leaned back against the wall, looking up at the distant roof. Sighed. It was wishful thinking: a child’s wish for a handsome prince to sweep her off her feet, her knight in shining armor, ready to rescue her at all costs.

  Well, he looked like a handsome prince alright. So I guess I don’t blame myself for buying into the whole saga.

  I smiled. I had been lucky. The whole fairytale prince story had actually come true for me. It had almost worked out that way.

  Beckett. Thoughts flooded my mind, making it difficult to breathe. My heart ached. Our time together in bed, that night. His kisses. Laughing together at breakfast, trying to grab the newspaper from him.

  I loved him, I realized, my heart aching like a bullet was already lodged there. I loved him so much. Now I would never have a chance to live that, to tell him that every night, to say it in the morning as the sun rose and we woke up beside each other.

  I felt a tear run down my cheek. Hot and wet, it ran down to drip from my chin, soon joined by another on the other side. The conversation had disappeared from outside, though I could hear raised voices elsewhere now, in some other part of this vast warehouse space.

  Beckett, I thought, squeezing my eyes shut tight. “Please, please, don’t come here.”

  I said it aloud, wishing I could say it to him, stop him from doing it. Whatever was going to happen to me, I couldn’t bear him being shot because he’d tried to save me. There were five of them in here—five that I knew about. The two from the car, the boss man, and two others whose voices I heard but whom I had not yet seen. If he came here, he could not come here alone.

  And he won’t bring the police. He can’t risk it. They’d ask too many questions. I sighed. Leaned back against the wall. Closed my eyes.

  Whatever happens, keep him safe.

  I didn’t want to cause his death. I wouldn’t get out of here anyway.

  I looked up at the roof. was resigned to the place, actually. The light filtering through the high window gap was pale now, dust floating in the shafts of it. The quality of the daylight told me it was probably early in the evening. My watch said five minutes past five.

  It’s not like anyone is going to hurt me, I told myself reassuringly. They promised. They said that I’d be alive and safe, or I’d be dead. I watched the drifting dust-motes, feeling a strange sense of peace descend on me.

  I wonder what having a child would have been like. Pity I never got the chance to do that. It would have been nice, I think.

  I closed my eyes again, imagining what that would be like. In my mind, I looked down at a baby, cradled against my chest. My son looked up at me, his eyes the uncertain gray of the newly-born, a bloom on them suggesting they would be his father’s green.

  My son. My son and Beckett’s son.

  It was a beautiful dream. Beckett was opposite me on the bed, and he reached out to look at our son, his long fingers tender as he stroked the small bundle. He’s beautiful, Beckett’s voice said in my mind. He’s beautiful.

  “Hey!”

  A shout outside the door broke my reverie.

  “Hey yourself,” a voice grumbled. “I told you to do something.”

  “Okay,” the first voice grunted, sounding resigned. “I’ll fetch the bitch.”

  I heard a bang, as if something had been knocked over, then someone cursed and I heard a key, sliding into the lock. I tensed. Pushed myself against the wall. Breathed in a deep breath.

  Resignation was easy when it was theoretical. Now, I was facing my death. I was sure of it: something about the set of his shoulders, the down-tilt of his head, the tightness of the flesh around his eyes. He looked like a man who had been given an order and must do it, even though he did not wish to. His eyes on me had a mixed look of wistful regret and gritty determination that seemed to say: I’m sorry. I have my orders—it’s not personal.

  The man walked in and grabbed at me and I twisted away, kicked out at his shin. Screamed and ran toward the opposite side of the room. Made a sprint for the door.

  Someone standing at the door walked into me and knocked me backward.

  I screamed, desperation in my voice mixing with a terrible sadness. I clawed at the man’s knees. A booted foot kicked my chin and I spat blood and lay where I was, sobbing and sobbing.

  I had wanted to be dignified. Wanted to be a lady, calm and serene. Walking to my death like a martyr. But at the end, I found I couldn’t. I wanted so terribly badly to live.

  “Beckett,” I sobbed, clawing at the ground. My voice was hoarse and it was a whisper, edging around the blood from my swollen lip. But it was the word that filled my mind, my heart and all my thoughts. “Beckett!”

  “Oh please, will you quit sayin’ that?” the man said. It was the man who had hauled me out of the trunk of the car, who had sat with me in the back, his boot on my spine to stop me from escaping. “It’s jarring on my nerves.”

  I laughed. He wanted me to care about that, when he was going to shoot me? Incredulity mixed with wonder at the fact that he really did care; that he didn’t want to kill.
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  My last thought, as he hauled me into the small, dark, dank space of the boiler-room, was: they don’t tell you about that in the movies.

  “Stand there,” he said. His voice was shaking. He pushed me against the wall. Stepped back. “For God’s sakes, close your eyes.”

  I closed them. At the end, I felt sorry for him. I straightened my back, drew in a deep breath, hoping that I would remember what it smelled like. Wanting to take in all of life in that instant, to remember it in whatever it was that came after.

  The last thing to cross my mind was: I wonder if they have roadways in Heaven?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN – BECKETT

  “And whatever you do,” Peter was saying to me as we sat in the car at the top of the rise, “don’t even think about what I’m up to. I don’t care what you hear, or what I’m doing. You go in there and get her out.”

  I swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

  During the drive he had filled me in on the rudiments of his plan. Now we sat in the car on the slight incline overlooking the harbor. We were perhaps fifty paces from the warehouse, where I knew they were. I looked around, feeling a mocking familiarity to the place. There was the tree, where I used to wait for Alec to come back with the cash. There was the wall, where we would take the drop in through the back door. Into the back of the warehouse.

  The plan hinged on the fact that I knew the layout of the place. Odd, that I still did: twenty years had passed between the last time I was there and this present moment. But things like that have a way of staying with you, cloaked in horror as much of it had been for me. I had known it was wrong at the time. I hated it. I just knew there was no clean way out.

  So far, I had been right. I watched distantly as Peter pulled things out from the bottom of the seat: a vest, a gun, a holster. I had traveled in his car several times and never guessed what was in there.

  “I’m glad I didn’t know about that,” I joked as he drew the pistol from under the seat. He looked up at me seriously and I looked away, embarrassed.

  “Come on, Boss,” he said gently. “We’ve got to go.”

  I nodded. Stepping out of that car was terrifying. Not only was I here, in the place of so many horrible memories, but I was here as an enemy of those people I had feared for ages. The thought of Hayley, just paces away, in danger, spurred me ahead. I could face it all, to save someone I loved. The fears of the past were nothing compared to the safety of our future: my future with her.