Page 86 of Inked Daddies

Sheriff Copeland nods once, but a line forms between her brows. She’s not quite buying it. “And Marie, you were at their house late at night for…”

Shit. We didn’t think of an excuse for that. Um?—

“Bible study,” Preacher answers. “Marie’s been trying to convince them to come to church more often.” He puts his arm around her shoulders, and it takes an effort for them to pose as a happy family. “She’s been quite the little missionary.”

It’s all I can do not to make a joke about being inside his little missionary in missionary position, but now’s not the time. At all.

I half think Marie’s about to snap at him for that one. But she lets the lie breathe instead.

“Right. Bible study. You guys are known for being devout, aren’t you?” Sheriff Copeland asks slyly.

I grin. “You know what my favorite verse is, Sheriff? Ezekiel 23:20. Do you know it?”

Preacher winces.

She shakes her head. “I don’t think I do.”

I say, “You should look that one up. Truly enlightening.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She tucks away her tiny pad of paper and pen. “Quite a few bodies out there for them to all be friendly fire victims.”

Sam nods. “You’d think they’d be better at their jobs.”

She scans our faces one more time, then huffs a breath. “That’s really the story you’re making me put in my report? That a bunch of professional human traffickers got extra stupid and ended up killing each other?”

Hugo sidles up to her with a smile. “Come now, Sheriff. Could three tattoo artists, a librarian, and a minister have done all of that? What is more believable?”

She arches a perfectly sculpted brow at him. “Right. Well, I’ve got the parish coroner coming out with some vans and we’ll get everything cleared out in the next few hours. Stay inside, if you can. And on the off chance anybody like the FBI gets interested,keep your story straight so I don’t look like a small-town hick sheriff who didn’t smell your bullshit a mile away.”

“You got it, Sheriff,” I say with a smile.

She and the others get set up for processing outside, leaving the interior of the home just as uneasy as it was an hour ago. It’s as if we were alert puppets when she was in here, and now, somebody cut our strings.

And Marie…this woman just faced down a gang of human traffickers to help rescue her father, and somehow the biggest threat right now is his opinion of her love life. “Dad, you have to understand.”

“I’m trying,” Preacher says, voice low, “really hard…to get my head around this. But every time I try, I find myself coming up short. This goes against everything I believe in. Three men, one woman—mydaughter.Not exactly a normal situation.”

Hugo clears his throat, stepping forward with a polite tilt of his head. “Preacher, none of us claim it’s typical. But normal is overrated. We only ask that you listen. We respect Marie. More than that, we?—”

Preacher holds up a hand, cutting him off. “I’m not ready for a lecture on respect and feelings. Not yet.”

I shift uncomfortably, wincing at the persistent throb in my leg. The bandage is tight, but I can feel the blood still seeping a bit. If the bullet had hit two inches higher, I might not ever get to have kids. Guess I got lucky.

Marie places a gentle hand on my shoulder, and warmth radiates through me. She might be behind me, but the contact saysI’m here.Preacher’s glare snaps to that spot where her palm rests,and I can practically see him grinding his teeth. But she doesn’t budge.

“You’re hurt,” he says, as if grudgingly acknowledging that might be reason enough not to knock me out. “But don’t think that bullet gives you a free pass forever.”

I swallow. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But you need to understand that she’s the only one for us. This isn’t like all the other times when we’d find someone, have a good weekend, and tell her to bounce come Monday morning. Marie is all I want in the world. Period.”

“Same here,” Hugo says.

Sam nods. “And for me.”

I continue, “We’re in it for the long haul with her. For as long as she’ll have us. So, you need to get on board, Preacher. You’re mad now, and that’s fine. But…actually, I take that back. It’s not fine. Not at all.”

“You trying to tell me I need your approval for my anger?”

“No. I’m trying to tell you that, if love your daughter as much as you say you do, then you’ll trust her to make her own choices.” It’s weird saying things without a joke baked into them, and I’m kind of annoyed that he made me get serious.

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