Page 79 of Remorseless
“She hasn’t seen you since she was three, Willie.”
“I’m your father. Marion Michael Wilkins.”
Freya’s eyes rounded. “Santa and the Birthday Fairy heard me,” she whispered in awe.
The man…Daddy…nodded.
Squealing, she jumped to her feet and flew into her father’s arms.
Laughter shook his belly. Just like Santa in the poem. Freya laughed harder. Her father wrapped his arms around her and she pressed her chin into his chest and smiled at him.
“You’re right aboutthe name Marion, Cricket,” he said, bestowing her with a special nickname. “That’s why I hate it. Don’t ever repeat it. I only use it under extraordinary circumstances.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she nodded, dropped her arms, and backed away. “Why are you in a dress? Did you bring your dragon?”
Daddy glanced at Mommie, then gave Freya a gentle smile. “It’s called a cassock.”
“Willie,” Mommie whispered.
He ignored her and walked out. A moment later, he returned, carrying a suitcase. He set it in front of Mommie. “For you and Freya, Christa.”
“But—”
“I’m leaving for good.” He dug in his pocket and took out a small card. He held it out to Mommie. “Call Sharper Banks tomorrow. He will help you to leave Las Vegas and relocate.”
“I don’t understand—”
He kissed Mommie’s cheek. “It isn’t for you to understand, my dear.” He returned to Freya and crouched down, swiping at the tears streaking her cheeks. “Behave for your mother. Always remember that I love you.”
Disappointed he wouldn’t take her for a dragon ride, she hugged him tightly. “Okay, Daddy.”
He stood again. “Your lives depend on your cooperation, Christa.”
“What have you donenow?”
Ignoring Mommie, Daddy patted Freya’s head and walked out. She never celebrated Christmas or her birthday again, even after her father reentered her life twelve years later.
Part Two – Cry Me A River
Chapter Fourteen
January 30th
Rule Caldwell used his key to enter the church rectory. He set his backpack on the table in the middle of the entry hall floor, then headed to the kitchen, lured by the smell of onions and garlic. The back of a slender figure with bright blue hair greeted him. Definitely not Tera, Father Wilkins’s regular cook. She was a robust woman, who enjoyed her food as much as the priest, Rule, and whatever guests might break bread there.
Rule cleared his throat, capturing the girl’s attention because she turned. Her eyes were as bright blue as her hair, like the sky on a cloudless day. Dark blonde brows hinted at her natural hair color. A heart-shaped face aided her rounded cheeks and bow shaped lips. She was pretty, but not stunning like his sister and mother.
Whores!
The voice rose so loud in Rule’s head, it made the room spin.
“You must be Rule.”
She knows you.
How? I don’t know her.
She knows you.
