Page 140 of The Secrets She Keeps

Daniel had never felt moreuseless in his life than he did as he watched Gunnar creep closer to the Barratts’ back door. The Barratts were the closest thing to a family he had ever had.

And he couldn’t do a damned thing.

But he could get his ass tohelp.There were neighbors. Right there. Across the road from the Barratts’, at the end of the damned cul-de-sac. Hell, Heather’s place was six or seven blocks away. Jake was twelve or thirteen away. He had people here who could help. Butblocksin Hughes Heights were damned big, considering.

He just had to get to them. Get Gunnar backup.

Get Powell back. Melissa and Mason.

Daniel pulled himself to his feet. He had lost a lot of blood. He’d never really been shot before. It hurt like hell. And his chest felt like he’d been hit by a damned car.

But he pulled himself forward. If littleHope Colesoncould walk up to the damned doors at FCGH like she had, Daniel could keep going until he got to help.

One step at a time. He didn’t even see the dark shape coming at him until it was too late. The man’s fist hit Daniel’s face.

“It’s that shithead cop again!” one man said. “Thought he was dead.”

“Don’t fucking shoot him, you asshole. The neighbors just got home, they’re outside, and they got kids. We ain’t killing kids. We still got shit to get out of the house,” another voice hissed. “Just knock him the fuck out and let’s get out of here.”

“As soon as we get our money from that prick inside, we are gone.”

Daniel just kept fighting.

But there were two of them. He was only one man. But if he kept those assholes out of Gunnar’s way, maybe Gunnar could get Powell out of there in time.

Determination filled him.

He was going to help Gunnar get his woman back, even if it was the last thing Daniel ever did.

He just kept fighting.

Until he didn’t feel a damned thing anymore.

100

He'd leftLeena in a hotel room. Alone. He’d given her an extra dose of cold medicine so she’d sleep. It was a gamble, leaving her like he had.

Timothy had to get back to her as soon as he could.

Timothy would stop by Brianna's to get the rest of Leena's things. Her clothes, that doll, especially. Leena loved that doll so much. It had been his Angela’s. He had given it to Leena the first time he had left her so long ago. They'd leave the city in the morning. He knew the TSP was looking for him now. He didn't know what to do. He wasn't ready to leave Trey and Brianna behind. To not be in the same city as the rest of his girls.

Eden, Samia, Summer, baby Emilia. His daughters. His girls.He drove by the house on Jude Way every single day to check on them all. Every single day.

And Leena, he didn’t know what to do about her now. He couldn’t take her back to her school—the police would catch him there. Take her away forever. What kind of life was he going to be able to give her now?

Maybe…maybe he should just leave her with Brianna instead? His oldest girl would do the right thing by her sister.That was probably his best option, no matter how much it would hurt. Or he could leave her somewhere, with a letter. Addressed to Eden or the other girls. Beg them to take care of their baby sister too.

But Trey? Trey needed him to help him now. Trey was on a collision course with destruction.

Anger rushed through him.This was all Trey’s fault. All of it.

Trey could deal with destruction, but what about his sisters? Didn't Trey care for them at all? Leena and Emilia were just children, for heaven's sake.And Brianna was so adrift sometimes. She neededher fatherto help guide her now.

"I told you I don't need you for this. Leave, Dad. Go. Get back to the brat and go." Trey told him. The realtor and her mother, a beautiful dark-haired, brown-eyed woman around fifty-five or sixty, were sitting on the couch in the small parlor off the front entrance. Mason Barratt, a man around Timothy's own age, maybe a little older, sprawled in the doorway. Someone had hit him square on the back of the head. Hell, they could have killed the man.

Timothy leaned down, checked his pulse again.

It was strong and steady. "He's alive. You haven't killed him, at least."

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