them, touching her thumb to the sleek gold band that commemorated his marriage to Charlotte’s stepmother. “You’re moving on with your life. I am, too.”
“I don’t want anything Laura and I or her children do to make you feel guilty, or push you into something you’re not ready for. I know you feel more comfortable at the house—”
“Dad.” Charlotte pulled his fingers to her lips and kissed them. “I’m happy for you and Laura. I know Kyle will turn out to be a big help to you at the office and Bailey is, well …” She flicked her fingers through the golden highlights that her stepsister had put in to turn her hair from blah to blond. “We’re becoming friends. I’ve seen you smile more in the past few months than in the ten years since the kidnapping. Think of your marriage as inspiration, not something to apologize for.” She released him and retreated a step toward the front door. “My hours may be a little funny, but I’m going to work—just like millions of other people do every day of their lives.”
The silver eyebrow arched again. “You’re not like other people.”
No. She’d seen more, suffered more. She had a right to be wary of the world outside her home. But therapy and a loving parent could take her only so far. At some point, she was going to have to start living her life again.
And stop being a burden to her father.
“There’s no miracle happening here, Dad. It’s not like I’m going to a party. I’m taking advantage of the museum being closed for the weekend, and this endless weather keeping crowds off the street. I know my driver and don’t intend to go anywhere but the car and the back rooms of the Mayweather. I’ll be fine once I get to work.”
“I can see you’ve thought it through, then. Are you sure you don’t want me to call the security guards in to watch over you?”
Her no was emphatic. “If I don’t know them on sight, then—”
“—you don’t want them around.” His smile looked a little sad that that was one phobia she’d yet to overcome, but she had plenty of reasons to justify her fear of strangers. “Make sure all the doors and windows are locked while you’re working—even the doors into the public area of the museum. Double-check everything.”
She jingled the ring of keys hooked onto her backpack. “I will.”
The front door opened behind her, the wind whooshed in and Charlotte instinctively ducked closer to her father. Just as quickly, she eased the death grip on his jacket and smiled at the retirement-aged chauffeur closing the door. Richard Eames collapsed his umbrella and brushed the moisture off the sleeves of his uniform. “The car is ready, Miss Charlotte. Just a few steps from here to the driveway.”
Her father nudged Charlotte toward the man who’d been with the family for more than twenty-five years. “Richard, you take good care of her.”
“Yes, sir.” Richard took the backpack off her shoulder to carry it for her, then opened the door and umbrella.
For a moment, Charlotte’s toes danced inside her high-topped tennis shoes, urging her to run outside the way she once did as a child. It had been years since she’d felt the rain on her face. She lifted her gaze to the dramatic shades of flint and shale in the clouds overhead and breathed in deeply, tempting her senses with the ozone-scented air.
But her father’s cell rang again, shutting down the urge.
She clung to Richard’s arm while her father took out his phone and sighed. He held up his hand, asking her to wait while he answered. “Yes, Kyle. Uh-huh. Your assistant didn’t inform you of the conflict? I see. Of course, the meeting with the accountants is more important. No. I’ll handle your mother. You’ll report this evening? Good man.”
“Is everything okay?” Charlotte asked as he put away the phone.
“Richard.” Instead of giving an answer that might worry her, Jackson turned his attention to the chauffeur. “Clarice Darnell and her assistant Jeffrey Beecher are coming to the house this afternoon to go over the estate layout and setup requirements for Laura’s spring garden party and some other events for the company. Kyle was going to handle the meeting, but I’ll be taking it now. Be sure to return Charlotte to the private entrance at the back of the house. That way she can go straight to her rooms and avoid our guests.”
“I will.”
While Richard and her father discussed her trip to and from the museum, Charlotte dropped her gaze from the sky and scanned the grounds outside the white colonial mansion. The trees she’d climbed as a child had been cut down to allow a clear view from the house to the wrought iron fence and gate near the road. She searched the intricate maze of flowers and landscaping her stepmother had put in for any sign of people or movement.
“I saw on the news this morning that some of the creeks south of downtown are closed due to the flooding. Do you have alternate routes planned?”
Richard nodded. “I’ve been driving in Kansas City going on fifty years now, sir—I think I know my way around. I’ll find a dry street to get Miss Charlotte to the museum.”
“Good man.” Jackson turned to his daughter. “You have your list of numbers to call if you sense any kind of threat or discomfort?”
“Programmed into my phone and burned into my memory.”
Jackson reached down and wrestled the dog for a second before scooting him toward Charlotte. “Keep Max with you at all times, understand?”
“Always do.”
“And Richard, I’ll double your wage today if you stay with her.”
The older gentleman grinned and held out his arm. “I don’t charge extra for keeping an eye on our girl, Mr. Mayweather.”
Jackson reached out and brushed his fingers against her cheek, as though reluctant to let her out of his sight. It was up to Charlotte to summon a smile and face her fears for both of them. “Bye, Dad.”
She set her shoulders, linked her arm through Richard’s and took that first step out the door.
The second step wasn’t much easier. Nor the third.
With a nervous click of her tongue, she called for Max. The dog bolted ahead and jumped inside the backseat of the BMW as soon as Richard opened the door. She paused, clinging to the roof of the car, fighting the urge to dive in after the dog. “Is he still watching?”
She didn’t need to say her father’s name. Richard knew what this brave show was costing her. “He’s standing on the porch.”
A drop of cool water splashed across her knuckles, momentarily snapping her thoughts from her father and her fears. Almost of their own volition, her fingertips inched toward the drops of rain pooling on the Beamer’s roof. How she missed being outside in the—
“Miss Charlotte?” Richard prompted, as the rapid patter on top of the umbrella indicated the real deluge was about to hit.
The impulse to reach out vanished and the paranoia returned. Curling her fingers into her palm, Charlotte climbed in and slid to the middle of the leather seat. Richard set her backpack beside her and closed the door, saluting a promise to her father before shaking off the umbrella and slipping behind the wheel.
Charlotte
