Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
When Tabby sat down, and I’d started working the bright pink dye into her roots, I grinned and asked, “Hey, you and Jose think you could make it to Kairo’s birthday party? It’ll be in a few weeks, and Heidi’s making the cake, which is race car themed.”
“Race car party? Girl, yes,” Tabby said immediately. “I’ll drag Jose and the kids there myself if I have to. My heathens will lose their minds over that. What day?”
I rattled off the date, and she pulled out her phone to jot it down. Then her eyes lit up.
“Oh, you know what you should do? Get those little cardboard racetracks the kids can build. Or better yet, make a ‘pit stop’ station where they can decorate paper cars. Maybe tire-shaped cupcakes? I have a Pinterest board somewhere.”
I laughed, moving between her hair and checking on the foils for my other client. “I should’ve known you’d have a whole party plan ready.”
“Girl, I was born for this,” she said, already typing out texts. “I’ll ask Rose, Bexley, Katy, the Townsends, and the others too. Get them to bring their kids to celebrate lil man’s special day. I doubt anyone will say no. We can get those balloon towers in black and white like a checkered flag. I know a girl.”
Somehow, between applying dye and rinsing highlights, we started building an entire raceway in our heads. It was chaotic but fun—and honestly, a welcome distraction. Planning something joyful for the kids grounded me in all the good stuff that was still here, even with everything else going on.
But the moment broke when Tabby’s phone rang.
She answered quickly, brow furrowing. “Hey, babe. What’s up?”
I only heard one side of the conversation, but I saw her face change—tightening and jaw clenching.
“What? Are they okay?” she asked, then nodded slowly. “Okay, I’ll head home. Be careful, DB.”
She hung up, eyes wide.
“What happened?”
“Someone tried breaking into the daycare,” she growled. “It’s on lockdown. DB’s going over to check things out and get the kids. He said they’re safe, but he didn’t want to wait to go and get them.”
I barely had time to react before my phone buzzed with a text from Roque.
Roque: The daycare is on lockdown. All the kids are safe. Can I drop Kairo and Kaida off with you for a bit? I need to clear something.
I texted back right away.
Me: Of course, bring them whenever. We’ll be here.
Tabby and I exchanged a look—equal parts rattled and furious.
Forty-five minutes later, Roque showed up with both kids in tow. Kairo ran to me the moment I opened the salon door, arms outstretched like I was the only safe place in the world. I scooped him up and kissed his cheek.
“You guys okay?” I asked, looking between them.
“They were a little shaken, but no one got in,” Roque said, voice low. “Security saw someone messing around at the side fence. Staff acted fast.”
“Did they catch them?”
“Not yet,” he whispered, his eyes flashing. “But I will.”
I nodded, taking Kaida’s hand as she clung to my leg. “We’ll be fine here. Go do what you need to.”
He leaned in close and kissed my cheek gently. “Thanks.”
I watched him go, heart hammering, one arm around each kid. Whoever was out there was getting bolder, but they had no idea who they were messing with.
Roque
As soon as I pulled away from the salon, I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Leaving the kids was never easy, not with everything going on, but I trusted Sayla more than I trusted anyone, really. She had a calmness about her that wrapped around people and made them feel safe—even when the world outside was spinning out of control. And it was spinning.
We’d finally nailed another one from the photos called Simon Cliffe. He was the idiot who’d tried to break into the daycare. In all honesty, we’d gotten lucky—stupidly lucky. One of the staff, a fifty-six-year-old woman named Brenda, saw him fiddling with a window and didn’t even hesitate. She’d tackled him straight to the ground like she’d spent her Sundays watching pro wrestling and taking notes. By the time we’d gotten there, she was sitting on his bony ass, drinking from her thermos like this was just any other day.
Cliffe couldn’t have weighed more than one-twenty soaking wet. He stank like a mix of stale beer, unwashed clothes, and week-old regret and had a greasy ball cap pulled down low over his face. At first glance, he looked more like a drifter than someone involved in something organized, but then we’d searched him.
Handcuffs. A taser. Pepper spray.
You don’t carry that kind of gear if you’re just loitering, and you sure as hell don’t bring it to a daycare unless you have the worst intentions.
He was high, of course. His eyes were twitching, his speech was slurred, and he couldn’t remember his last name half the time. But the moment we cuffed him and got him upright, I saw something cold flash behind all that mess—like he knew what he was doing. Like it wasn’t random.