Blow(3)

Imprinting doesn’t only apply to romantic love interests. I imprinted on Clementine the moment I laid eyes on her.

At first sight, she took my heart.

Her lips were so pink.

Her skin was so soft.

Her big blue eyes so beautiful.

And her heart-shaped face was perfect.

The minute I saw her, I knew I loved her—that I’d do anything for her.

Now, her little hands patted my cheeks as she babbled on. I took one of them and kissed it. “Ready to see Daddy?”

Clementine’s legs started kicking against my hips and her entire body quaked with glee.

She loved her daddy.

It was the first day of spring and I might have been a little too anxious for the warm weather. I attempted to take Clementine to the small playground around the corner from Michael’s office to watch the kids play, but the wind was too much for her.

Due to our early departure, it was closer to five o’clock than six when we entered the reception area of the Michael O’Shea Law Firm. Michael had fired his secretary this past Monday, and he had yet to replace her. And the paralegals left promptly at four thirty every Friday. So as I’d expected, the office was empty.

Michael’s door was closed as usual. I removed our jackets and hung them on the iron coat tree before knocking lightly.

“Come in,” he called.

I opened the old wooden door and it creaked loudly enough to make me cringe.

Michael looked different than usual. His dark hair was sticking up everywhere and when he raised his gaze from the yellow legal pad beside the stack of papers on his desk, I could see how tired he was.

“I hope you don’t mind that we’re a little early?” I asked.

He glanced at his watch. “I’m expecting a call from someone anytime now. Can you just bring her home and I’ll meet you there?”

He seemed more distracted than usual, too.

Clementine held her tiny arms out and cooed, “Daddy.”

“How’s my girl?” he beamed as he stood. His suit was neatly pressed, his tie in place, his shoes shined. But his thirty-five years were showing. Lines creased his brow and there were bags under his eyes. For the first time, I could see the toll the past three months had taken on him.

“Sure,” I answered him, and then I set Clementine down. “Just let her say hi and we’ll go.”

Clementine turned one last month, and took her first step shortly after that. Ever since, she doesn’t like to be restrained. She toddled toward Michael in her hot-pink patent leather shoes and I couldn’t help but smile.

Suddenly, the front door burst open. The echoing sound of the doorknob slamming against the wall made me whip around. A man stood in the doorway, anger and hatred shooting through his eyes, looking like whatever he wanted was personal. Michael’s office was located in an old brownstone in Boston’s South End, and I considered the neighborhood relatively safe.

Until then.

Instantly, fear flowed through my veins. Horrified, I froze. My purse. My purse was all the way on the other side of the room. Clementine. All the air seeped from my lungs as terror ripped through me. I had to get to her. My head spun back around to calculate just how far away from me she was.

Not that far. My rubbery legs inched backward. She was between Michael and me.

The crazed man didn’t seem to notice me, though. His eyes were on Michael, who was standing in the doorway to his office beside me. As soon as their stares locked, his voice boomed. “O’Shea, what kind of game do you think you’re playing?”

His Boston accent was thick like Michael’s, but his words were crystal clear. My heart stopped at the malice in his tone.

Fury covered Michael’s face. “Sean, I’m not playing any game.”

Michael knew the man?

The man’s face screwed into a different position and his stance remained dominating, although his demeanor seemed to ease slightly.

Pitter-patter.

No, Clementine, stay in Daddy’s office, I thought.

Pitter-patter.

The two men continued to stare at each other.

Taking the opportunity, I twisted and bent to scoop up Clementine, but Michael had beaten me to it. He enfolded her in his arms.

Thank God.

Thinking more clearly than me, he turned her away from the madman.

Voice gruff, the man asked, “Then what exactly are you up to?”

This had to be about her.

“We talked about this earlier. I told you everything I knew. There’s no need for an outburst.” Michael spoke curtly, somehow managing to keep his composure even in the face of potential danger.

Had he done this before?

Even though the man’s anger seemed to have dissipated, my terror wasn’t pacified in the least. The only thing I could think of was getting Clementine out of here and into safety. I began to assess the situation. My purse was with my coat on the rack over near the stairs, right next to Sean. That was out. I knew Michael kept a gun in his desk drawer, but as soon as I left the doorway, it would alert Sean. That was out too.

When Sean’s gaze shifted from Michael to Clementine, then to me, his features softened and his demeanor changed.

I think he was noticing Clementine and me for the first time.

With deliberate focus, he stared at me for more than a beat, and a shiver ran down my spine. His stare lingered and then he blinked rapidly, as if he were seeing a ghost. Almost as if he were snapping out of a trance, his eyes became remorseful and he stepped inside. “We need to talk.”