Page 39 of Unseen Danger
“Big.”
Nevaeh’s throat started to close. Big…like Walter.
“Like daddy.”
Nevaeh’s panic stalled at Lillibet’s addition. The girl had only seen her dad two times. And he was no more than an inch taller than Nevaeh. Not a big guy at all.
The school bell sounded, probably not for the first time if Nevaeh had been paying attention. “Okay, you gotta run.”
Lillibet took off toward the building, raising her hand in a backward wave. “Bye, Auntie Nev!”
“Be good!” Nevaeh watched until her niece disappeared into the school, then turned to scan the driveway and lot again.
She walked around the front of the pickup and got in behind the wheel, her gaze lingering on the suddenly still and lifeless span of pavement and parked cars. Everyone was either gone or inside now.
Alvarez rumbled a low growl.
She jerked to look at him. His head was behind her seat, posture alert as he stared out the back window at the parking lot.
Where Lillibet had seen a man. Watching.
Nevaeh’s fingers trembled as she started the engine and drove away from the school, trying to keep from pressing the pedal to the floor to get away faster.
Fathers dropped off kids, too. Sometimes.
Lillibet was smart and responsible, but she was only a kid. She’d probably seen a dad watching to be sure his child made it inside and thought he was staring at them instead.
Nevaeh’s instincts were shot right now. They’d react to any suggestion of men. The fear clenching her muscles didn’t mean anything.
But Alvarez didn’t growl at nothing.
That thought kept her stomach in knots and her eyes on the rearview mirror all the way home.
Twelve
“It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“You, too, Mom.” It was true. His mom’s voice filtering into Branson’s ear from his Bluetooth was like a wave of everything warm, familiar, and grounding. “How’s Dad?”
“You can ask him yourself. I’ve put you on speaker.”
“Hello, son.” Dad’s voice wasn’t as familiar, thanks to a weak, fatigued quality that hadn’t been there before.
“Hey, Dad. How are you feeling?” Branson cringed as soon as the question slipped from his mouth. “Sorry. I know you get asked that all the time.” At least that’s what his dad had told him on a previous call. And then he’d asked the same question like an idiot.
“It’s okay. I’m thankful people care enough to ask. The treatments are going well.”
Branson stroked Princess as he set her down next to her food and water dishes in the bathroom that attached to his bedroom. He didn’t miss that his dad avoided answering how he was feeling. Probably meant not well. “That’s great.” He crouched to scoop kibble from the bag on the floor and sprinkled it into Princess’s dish.
“Thanks to you.”
Branson’s chest tightened as he straightened. “I wish I could do more.” Like find a cure for his dad’s cancer. He was praying for that. But sitting around and waiting for someone else to take action drove him crazy. Especially when he let himself think about the six-month prognosis. Six months to live unless this treatment worked. That would mean only four months left now.
“Oh, sweetie.” His mom’s soothing tone washed over him. “Your willingness to pay for this experimental treatment has given us so much hope. You have no idea.”
He tried to swallow around the lump that ballooned in his throat. “I’m glad.” The words sounded tight with emotion, even to him.
“How is your work?” His dad’s question shot apprehension through his system instead, a perfect antidote to sadness but almost equally uncomfortable. Did his dad suspect there might be a problem funding the treatment?