Page 327 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection
“No, so put that out of your head. Put your hand on my chest and breathe with me for a moment, girl. This was not intended to stress you out.”
I set my palm on Mac’s broad pec, just over his heart. He’s wearing a camel-colored sweater so soft it must be cashmere. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest through the fine cloth. I match my breathing to his and after several deep breaths in and out, feel my stomach settle fully.
“I’m good, Sir.”
Mac leans in and kisses my forehead. “Yes, you are, my girl. And you try damn hard to please me. Don’t think it goes unnoticed just because I like your sass. I see what’s beneath it and I appreciate it.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He runs his hand down my arm and envelops my hand with his. “Now that you’re calm, let’s go.”
He steers me toward the reception enclosure and turns those killer blues on the receptionist, who visibly melts.
“I’m Michael McNally. Here to see my daughter, Naomi.”
“Oh, yes, she’s allowed visitors today. Your wife is already with her. It’s room two-fourteen. Up one floor.” The receptionist waves a pencil at the large staircase behind her. “Or take the elevator to two.”
“Thank you.”
Mac leads me to the stairs and keeps my hand in his as we climb them. “I’m not surprised Amy’s already here. She told me she wasn’t coming until this afternoon, so this is an ambush, girl. Means Amy’s in a fighting mood. Just remember what I told you. Whatever she says, it’s not about you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I try to keep that in mind, I really do. But when we walk into room two-fourteen, and I see the two women in it, both beautiful, both model-slender, both poised and polished, I’ll admit it knocks me right in the confidence.
The older woman—Amy, I assume—stands on her powder blue Jimmy Choo pumps that perfectly match the three-piece pants suit she’s wearing. She takes off her cat’s eye reading glasses, smiles like a ninth-level demon, and holds out her hand to me. “Doctor Haruna McNally.”
Mac’s ex-wife is a doctor? And I thought she remarried. Didn’t she change her name?
“Brenna Truelove,” I offer, shaking her hand firmly. “Nice to meet you.”
Okay,that’sa lie. But I think I carry it.
The other woman in the room doesn’t rise out of her chair. She has a fuzzy blanket thrown over her lap, but under it, she’s wearing a cream silk blouse, black skirt, hose, and another pair of expensive shoes. Mistress Maude wears the same ones with the red soles. Fuck.
The hand she holds out trembles a little, and I’m gentler when I shake it.
“Naomi,” she says softly.
“Hi, Naomi. It’s nice to meet you.” This time, I’m telling the truth. Where Amy’s smile is predatory, Naomi’s just looks wounded. She’s a very pretty girl with her black hair, clear skin, and almond-shaped, dark blue eyes, but she looks unhealthy. She reminds me of the kids who came to Mother Kay’s from really bad homes. Not just places they were neglected, but places they were hurt. She has the same pinched, bruised look around her eyes.
There aren’t many places to sit in the small room, which has a bed, a dresser, a desk, and the two chairs Amy and Naomi are currently occupying. There’s a swivel chair tucked into the desk, which I grab and wheel over to sit next to Naomi.
She looks at me warily.
“I brought you these.” I offer her the bouquet of red, orange, and yellow flowers. “The fall colors are starting, and I thought you might like it if the colors were brought to you.”
Her wariness is replaced by faint surprise. “Thanks.” She takes the flowers and strokes a few of the petals. “That’s really nice of you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I glance at Mac, who is lingering by the door, apparently kept at bay by the fire and brimstone of his ex-wife’s glare. He meetsmy eyes and shakes himself free of his paralysis. Crossing in front of me, he swoops down to give Naomi a warm hug.
“How are you doing, kiddo?”
“Better, Dad.”
“You’re doing much better, aren’t you?” Amy says, taking her seat and putting her glasses back on. They make her look like the severe headmistress of some very expensive prep school; a look I think she’s cultivating with her glossy black hair drawn up in a tight chignon and carefully nude lipstick. “I told you this was unnecessary, Mac. All Naomi needed was to dial it back. She’s fine to return to school.”
