Chapter 3 - Thirty Minutes With Her Father
At 9:55 the next morning, Damian Blackwood stood beside the Grey Harbor beach holding absolutely nothing.
No flowers.
No toys.
No stuffed animals.
No enormous box containing everything a wealthy, guilty father could buy.
Claire had said no gifts.
Damian had obeyed.
It nearly killed him.
He had spent half the night looking online at toys for four-year-olds.
By midnight he had placed thirteen items into a shopping cart.
At 12:03 he deleted them all.
This was not a business acquisition.
Emma could not be won with money.
At 10:02, Claire appeared at the end of the boardwalk.
Emma walked beside her, holding Mr. Buttons.
Damian’s heart began beating far too quickly.
Claire wore jeans, boots, and a dark coat.
Emma wore a yellow rain jacket.
She saw Damian.
Her face brightened.
“Hi!”
Damian had negotiated contracts worth hundreds of millions without visible nerves.
Now he forgot what normal people did with their hands.
“Hi.”
Emma ran toward him.
Claire immediately called, “Emma, slow down.”
Emma slowed—but only slightly.
She stopped two feet from Damian.
“You came.”
“I said I would.”
“Mom says people don’t always do what they say.”
Damian looked at Claire.
Claire did not apologize.
“She’s right.”
Emma nodded.
“Do you know how to find shells?”
“I’ve found other things.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Claire covered a smile.
Damian looked at the beach.
“I can learn.”
“Good.”
Emma marched toward the shoreline.
Damian followed.
Claire remained several steps behind.
For ten minutes they searched for shells.
Emma talked almost continuously.
She liked pancakes.
She hated peas.
She knew eleven letters.
Mr. Buttons was not actually old even though one ear had nearly fallen off.
Nora let her put extra whipped cream on cocoa when Claire wasn’t looking.
Claire was “bossy but mostly good.”
Damian absorbed every detail.
“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.
“Yellow.”
“Favorite animal?”
“Rabbit.”
“I should have guessed.”
“Favorite person?”
Emma stopped.
Damian immediately regretted asking.
She looked toward Claire.
“Mom.”
“Good answer.”
“And Mr. Buttons.”
“Of course.”
“And maybe Nora.”
She studied Damian.
“You’re not on the list yet.”
Claire choked on a laugh.
Damian nodded solemnly.
“I’ll work on it.”
They found a perfect white shell.
Emma held it up.
“This one is yours.”
Damian stared.
“For me?”
“Yes.”
He took it carefully.
It was worth nothing.
He had watches worth houses.
Cars he rarely drove.
Paintings he didn’t enjoy.
Nothing he owned had ever felt more valuable.
“Thank you.”
Emma suddenly asked, “Why didn’t you know me?”
Claire stiffened.
Damian looked at her.
She gave a small nod.
Answer honestly.
He crouched so he was closer to Emma’s height.
“Your mother and I stopped being together before you were born.”
“Because you hurt her feelings?”
He looked at Claire.
“She told you?”
“Yes.”
“She was right.”
“What did you do?”
Damian chose his words carefully.
“I made a very selfish decision. Then I said something cruel instead of admitting I was wrong.”
Emma frowned.
“Did you say sorry?”
“Not enough.”
“You should.”
“I plan to.”
“Today?”
Damian looked at Claire again.
“If your mother lets me.”
Claire folded her arms.
“That’s between adults.”
Emma sighed.
“Adults make everything complicated.”
“Yes,” Damian said. “We do.”
The thirty minutes disappeared.
When Claire checked her watch, Damian felt panic.
“Time.”
Emma looked disappointed.
“That was fast.”
“We agreed.”
Damian stood.
“Yes.”
Emma hugged Mr. Buttons.
“Can I see him tomorrow?”
Claire hesitated.
Damian stepped back.
“Whatever your mother says.”
Claire noticed.
No pressure.
No argument.
No command.
“I’ll think about it.”
Emma accepted the answer less gracefully this time.
“But—”
“Emma.”
“Fine.”
Damian reached into his coat.
Claire immediately narrowed her eyes.
“No gifts.”
“It isn’t.”
He showed her the shell.
“I was making sure I still had it.”
Emma smiled.
“Don’t lose it.”
“I won’t.”
They walked toward the boardwalk.
A man stood near the parking lot pretending to photograph the ocean.
Damian saw him instantly.
Wrong shoes.
Wrong posture.
Lens pointed slightly too low.
Marcus’s warning returned.
Someone knows.
Damian moved without thinking.
He stepped between Emma and the stranger.
Claire noticed.
“What?”
“Take Emma to the car.”
Her face changed.
“Why?”
“Please.”
“Damian—”
“Claire.”
He caught himself before using the tone that had once controlled rooms.
His voice softened.
“Please take her to the car.”
Claire looked toward the photographer.
Then she understood.
She grabbed Emma’s hand.
“Come on.”
“Why?”
“We’re leaving.”
Damian remained on the boardwalk.
The stranger lowered the camera.
Their eyes met.
The man turned.
Walked quickly toward a gray sedan.
Damian did not follow.
That was the old instinct.
Chase.
Confront.
Control.
Instead, he took out his phone.
“Marcus.”
“I see him.”
Of course Marcus did.
“Do not approach here.”
“We can follow.”
“Quietly.”
Claire’s car pulled from the lot.
Damian watched until it disappeared.
Twenty minutes later, Claire called.
“What happened?”
“Someone was taking photographs.”
“Of us?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then:
“You told me your security wouldn’t come near us.”
“They didn’t.”
“Then how do you know who that man was?”
“I don’t.”
“Damian.”
“He wasn’t one of mine.”
Claire stopped breathing.
Damian closed his eyes.
He should have lied.
No.
He had spent four years learning what lies cost.
“Someone in Chicago knows I found you.”
“Oh my God.”
“I’m handling it.”
“No.”
“What?”
“You don’t get to handle this.”
“Claire—”
“Every disaster in your life begins with those words.”
He remained silent.
“Emma and I were safe until you walked through my door.”
“I know.”
“You need to leave Grey Harbor.”
That hurt.
But Damian understood.
“If I leave while someone is watching you, you’ll be less protected.”
“I survived four years without you.”
“Because no one knew you mattered to me.”
She went silent.
There was no softer way to say it.
Damian continued.
“I will keep my distance. Marcus will watch the café from two streets away.”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“No armed men around my daughter.”
“They don’t need to be armed.”
“They always are.”
Damian couldn’t deny it.
“What do you want me to do?”
The question surprised both of them.
Claire took several seconds to answer.
“Find out who took the picture.”
“I will.”
“Without hurting anyone.”
Damian looked at the ocean.
Four years ago he might have considered that impossible.
Today he said, “All right.”
“And don’t lie to me.”
“All right.”
“If there’s danger, I know immediately.”
“Yes.”
“Not after you solve it.”
“Yes.”
She exhaled.
“Emma wants to know whether you like grilled cheese.”
Damian blinked.
“What?”
“She asked while we were driving.”
He almost laughed.
“I do.”
“Apparently that matters.”
“It matters to me.”
Claire became quiet.
“Tomorrow. Café. After closing.”
His heart stopped.
“For how long?”
“One hour.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“I already gave you enough reasons to regret knowing me.”
The sentence escaped before he could stop it.
Claire said nothing.
Neither did Damian.
Finally she whispered, “Yes, you did.”
Then she ended the call.
Damian stared at his phone.
Marcus approached from behind.
“We got the plate.”
“And?”
“Rental.”
“Name?”
“Fake.”
“Camera footage?”
“We’re pulling it.”
Marcus hesitated.
“There’s something else.”
Damian looked at him.
“The anonymous message originated through multiple relays, but the person knew your schedule.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning whoever this is didn’t discover Maine by accident.”
Damian’s gaze hardened.
“Someone followed me.”
“Or someone sent you here.”
That possibility chilled him.
The meeting Damian had planned near Grey Harbor had been arranged by one of his own executives.
A supposed investment opportunity.
A property deal.
Damian had walked into the Tidal Cup because he arrived early and wanted coffee.
At least, that was what he believed.
“What executive suggested the Maine property?”
Marcus already knew.
“Anthony Russo.”
Damian stared at him.
Anthony had worked for Damian for eleven years.
The same number of years as the trusted man whose earlier betrayal had helped push Damian into the exhaustion that destroyed his marriage.
Coincidence.
Maybe.
But Damian no longer believed in coincidences.
“Call Anthony.”
Marcus reached for his phone.
“No,” Damian said.
Marcus stopped.
Damian looked toward the road leading back to Grey Harbor.
“Don’t tell him we know anything.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking someone may have wanted me to find Claire.”
“Why?”
Damian’s expression became grim.
“Because the fastest way to control a man like me is to give him something he finally can’t afford to lose.”
And ten miles away, Claire was locking the café door when an envelope slid beneath it.
No knock.
No footsteps.
Nothing.
She stared at the white paper on the floor.
Her name was written across the front.
Inside was a photograph.
Emma and Damian on the beach.
On the back, five words had been written in black ink.
May you like
He found you. So did we.
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