Page 82 of Danger Close
She’s great. She is walking on a swollen knee, sprained ankle, fractured rib and is covered in bruises. She’s probably traumatized as shit after being assaulted by three fucking assholes, and she doesn’t want you to know a damn thing about it.
“She’s good, kiddo.” I leaned down to kiss her temple, careful not to disturb the floral crown on her head. “Told you she’d be here.”
“I’m surprised.” She put her head on my shoulder. “Thanks, Dad.”
I placed my palm over the hand looped on my elbow as warmth bloomed over my chest. “You’re welcome.”
“And what are these rumors I hear about you and Mom spending the night together?”
I snorted. “Rumors, huh?”
“Dad…” She straightened, and looked at me. “Be careful.”
“I’m not going to hurt your mother.”
“No!” She suddenly lowered her voice. “It’s not that. Mom’s beautiful. But she’s not… she’s…”
The doors opened.
“She’s what, baby?”
“She’s not good with men. To men. I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt.” The music changed to the Battle of the Green Berets—my daughter’s chosen bridal march. “I don’t want you to leave again.”
“I’m not leaving, sweetheart.”
“You say that, but Mom… she…”
The Secret Service opened the doors. That was our signal to move, and the two of us walked, just as we’d rehearsed it, down the aisle. All the guests came to their feet.
The walk down the aisle was slow.Step, together, step, together, step, together.
It was both too long, and also, too short. All eyes were on my little girl, and how pretty she was. At the altar was the officiant. On the bride’s side was Daria and Vedder. On the groom’s was Goose, and the groom’s brother, Kaleb.
Aside from the brother, I think the two of them could have mixed and matched who was on what side of the aisle. My daughter had a tight-knit group around her. She had a family bound by more than blood in their veins, but on blood they’d spilled together.
Then, there was her groom. Kai Winchester Griffith. A spy, like me. A man who had already taken a bullet for her, twice.
Teri was right. If I knew nothing else about him but his family, I’d be fighting this marriage tooth and nail. But I couldn’t arguewith the brass engagement ring on my kid’s finger. A ring he’d made from the bullets they’d pulled out of his body.
The boy was in love with my baby. He stared at her, his mouth open, his eyes teary as he clasped his hands in front of him. He smiled like a dope in love.
I’d worn that look once. Our ceremony had been far less dignified. We got married in jeans. She was in a white strapless halter, her hair in a messy pony tail. We held hands in a country parish church older than the United States with an obliging priest.
My eyes drifted to Teri in the front row. She was seated near the McClanahans. Charlotte was crying. Mack was one step from bawling himself.
But as for Mrs. Guerro… her eyes were on me. Stoic. Distant. And as closed off as ever.
What the fuck’s happened now?
The ceremony went without a hitch. Our daughter looked beautiful. The bride and groom were elated, barely listening to the officiant as they stared into each other’s eyes.
I smiled, staring down at the black leather on her feet. My kid loved motorcycles, just like her old man. Score one for the nature category, because I knew that if Teri had her way, she would have nurtured the adrenaline-junky right out of our little girl.
The only fucking thorn in my side was the tension wafting from the mother of the bride.
Oh, sure, no one would have noticed. She looked serene, her posture ramrod straight. Her face was impassive, with just the slightest tilt at the corners of her lips. Regal. But it irked the hell out of me. She had her walls so high up, I’d have an easier time scaling Everest than getting past her defenses.
It was one step forward, two steps back, and anytime I squeezed her hand, she pulled away.
