“It’s Mr. Nice. He’s back, isn’t he?” Stella asks in a brave voice. Like her dad, she hates showing fear.
I’m about to assure her that she’s safe when father-of-the-year chimes in. “Yes. And he’s a very bad man, which is why we must hunt him down. You will stay with my soldiers, who will guard you with their lives.” Michael nods at Freddy.
Stella’s gaze shoots over to Freddy, who’s behind the wheel. Her little mouth falls open and she points. “Mommy! Look! There’s another daddy!”
Freddy waves happily at her.
“That is not your daddy, child. That is cousin Freddy,” says Michael.
“Wow. He looks just like you. But much more handsome,” Stella adds.
I can’t lie. I’m a little peeved about Michael’s choice to jump in and tell Stella that Nice is in the picture again, so I agree. “Yeah, Freddy really does have a nice smile. Reminds me of someone I used to know. Why don’t you get in the back of the car so we can hit the road, sweetheart?”
Stella jumps inside and introduces herself to Freddy. They immediately start chatting away.
I glance at Michael, who is scowling. “What?”
“A valiant attempt to provoke me, but I assure you, librarian, you are wasting your time if you wish to engage my vanity. I have none.”
“My name is Miriam.”
There’s a twitch of something in his dark eyes. Anger? Discomfort? I am about to ask what the heck is up with him, when something catches my eye. A reflection on the roof of the preschool.
I dive for Michael, and we both hit the ground, me on top of him. “There’s someone on the roof!”
Michael simply stares at my face. Suddenly, our eyes are locked, and my body is all tingles, soaking up the warmth between us.
Michael clears his throat. “No need for alarm. It is merely one of my soldiers.”
“Huh?”
“There are three men on the roof, two behind that bush over there, and several posted around the grounds.”
“But-but how did you…? Is that why you came to the school last week?” A spark of hope charges through me. Maybe he’s not as unfeeling as he’s letting on. Maybe there’s still hope for him. For us.
I don’t know, but my body doesn’t seem to care about any of that. It’s telling me that far too much time has passed since it’s been with a man. It remembers how well this one in particular felt when we were together. Like the night we made Stella.
Michael clears his throat. “Freddy is waiting. We must go.” He gives me a little push, urging me to dismount his body.
I slide off and get to my feet, ignoring the lingering effects of having just been so close. I know it’s my subconscious dusting off old memories. We haven’t been together for well over five years—before Nice took me.
Michael stands too and gestures for me to get in the back of the car with Stella, while my mind starts pointing out inconsistencies in his behavior. He visited this school last week, which means he knew I applied, which means he’s been watching us. He also had guards posted here, which means he wants to protect Stella. And just now, I could swear he got offended when Stella said Freddy was better looking and I agreed.
Could it be more than a hope? Could Michael, the man I fell for, still be alive somewhere inside there? After everything I’ve heard and seen since Michael stepped into power, I know it’s a long shot.
Is a reunion really what I want?
I need to remember one important thing: Even if I hate to admit it, the world is a safer place with the Executioner King at the helm. It is safer for Stella.
But is that good enough?
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Just like old times. Right, Michael?” From inside his private jet, I glance over at him sitting in the black leather seat. As a precaution, he called ahead and had them move the plane to a smaller airport about a half hour west of Phoenix. He said it was best to be unpredictable when it comes to our movements. Harder for Nice to set up bombs.
“No. Not like old times. We will not be making any children on this flight. Or ever again,” Michael grumbles and returns to reviewing whatever’s on his tablet.
The disdain in his voice sticks in the air, allowing me to marinate in it. His comment is unusually cruel, even for him. Was the night we made our beautiful daughter really so bad? It was on a fancy exec jet like this one with sleek, black leather seats. That was also the night he finally told me the truth about what he was. I already knew, but the fact he trusted me with his secret opened a door in my heart that I haven’t been able to close.
I look across the aisle again and find him staring at me. Does he know how badly I’m hurting right now? Does he know how much his words still matter, or that it was thoughts of him that kept me alive all those years when Nice’s eccentricities made me want to jump off a tall bridge? Once, Nice made me stay up for ten days straight to binge-watch Supernatural. Over three hundred hours. It was thoughts of Michael that kept my head on straight. I imagined him at my side, saying, “Miriam, you’re strong. You can get through this. For Stella. Just pretend Dean is me.”
Then there was the time that Nice wanted to stay in the bubble bath for a month. I had to sit there for hours reading to him and refilling the tub with warm water. Then he made me use a
