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He could feel Sophie shoot him the evil look of death, but after living with her for the past few months he was mostly immune to it. Her death look now brought no more than a mild sting.
“Eighteen, sir.”
“Eighteen,” Mark repeated, probably too loudly. “How about that. You’re legal now. It’s official. An adult. Not a kid anymore.”
Bay smiled and nodded as if he understood Mark’s implied message. “Yes, sir. Look, I’ll leave you two alone. It was good to see you again, Mr. Sharpe.”
“Hey, call me Mark. After all, we’re two grown men. Two men should call each other by their first names. Don’t you agree, Bay?”
“Uh. Sure. Mark.” He waved and walked to the string section, where the performers were starting to regroup.
“How could you?”
Mark fixed a fairly stern glare on Sophie. “Nuh-uh. Not this time. This time—” he looked pointedly at her chest “—it’s on you. How could you? We’re not going to talk about this here. I know this is your place of work—I respect that even if you are only fourteen. So we’ll discuss this at home.”
“Stop calling it home. It’s not a home. It’s an apartment.”
“Fine. Then we’ll discuss it at the apartment.”
“Whatever. Why are you here anyway?”
“I told you, I had some time. I wanted to listen to you play.”
Actually he wanted to check in on her. While she knew about the existence of the note, Mark was fairly sure she didn’t understand its significance. To her it was some meaningless prank. To him it meant trouble. It was okay with him if she was oblivious to that—the girl had enough on her hands getting ready for opening night.
“You can do that Friday night. I told you before I really don’t like to be interrupted when I’m working. I’m sorry if that sounds like diva city, but you have to respect that, too.”
It wasn’t said with any real heat, probably because she wasn’t really mad at him. Instead, she was suffering from embarrassment and maybe a little bit of heartbreak. Fourteen and stuck smack in the middle of her first crush. And if Mark’s instincts were correct, her first rejection.
Which really sucked. For her and for him.
It was easy to think that because she had just come into his life they would have all this time to get to know each other, to come to love each other, and be what a father and daughter were supposed to be to one another. Yet she was growing up—fifteen in two months. Yes, she was still young, but she wasn’t exactly a kid anymore. He had to respect that her feelings were real and they had taken a hard jab that went to their soft, gooey core.
“Okay. Listen, though. Do me a favor and call me when rehearsal is over. I’ll pick you up.”
“Why? I usually take a cab home with some of the others.”
“I know, but humor me.”
“Is this about the note?”
His daughter was too damn bright for her own good. Which meant it didn’t make sense to lie to her. “Yeah. This is about the note. Someone sends me a note like that and I worry.”
“It was so stupid, though. It didn’t say anything. I mean, lose me how? It’s not like I’ve seen some creepy villain lurking offstage waiting to grab me.”
He imagined someone making a grab for Sophie. He could see the fight she would put up. His girl wasn’t the quiet or shy type. But a teenage girl didn’t know what kind of evil there was in the world.
He did. He knew too much of it.
“Humor me. Call me. It will save you cab fare.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ve got to go.”
He watched the orchestra come together onstage and took the stairs to the auditorium. She’d already told him this conductor was particularly difficult to work for. Pushing her to five, sometimes six, hours of rehearsal a day when three hours was the norm. Apparently Romnasky was a perfectionist.
Mark lingered in the dark shadows, where he knew she couldn’t see him. She would probably know he was still there because the main doors hadn’t opened and closed.
“Come, come, Sophie. This time perfect, yes?”
She settled on her bench and Mark held his breath as the conductor lifted his baton above his head and the music began to play.
You’re going to lose her.
Words of advice from a conductor who had been working with his daughter for the past few weeks and had observed her behavior?
Mark spotted Bay in front of the row of strings, his violin tucked under his chin. Or maybe a warning from someone she considered more than a friend?
It didn’t matter. In time Mark would know who sent the note because gathering information and finding answers was what he did best.
When it came to doing that for Sophie, nothing would stop him.
* * *
“HEY.”
Mark stopped at the door to his office. Behind his desk sat JoJo, looking rather at home. She wore all black today. Some tights that made her legs look impossibly thin, with a wide top that should have made her seem witchy but instead showed off her impish face. A thin red belt held all the material together at her tiny waist. An elf witch. A magical fairy elf witch. With tattoos.
When he moved around the desk he saw that the Gothic ensemble was highlighted with red shoes, which transformed her style from angsty teenager to sophisticated woman.
“You do understand you’re in my office. Yours is the one next door. The small one.”
When he had decided to hire another detective, Mark had rented a bigger space in the same Liberty Plaza building. The new office had a reception area, two offices, a conference room and even a small kitchenette with a single-serving coffeemaker. He was intensely fond of that, as he preferred fresh coffee to stale coffee that had been forming sludge on a burner.
“I’ve been here for days already and you haven’t given me anything to do.”
JoJo had not waited until Monday to start her new job. Instead she had shown up the very next morning, on time and ready to work. He’d had no idea what to do with her so he introduced her to the receptionist, Susan, and gave her an excessive amount of paperwork to fill out.
“I checked with Susan and she said she put a bunch of new cases on your desk.” JoJo stood with the files in her hand, assessing him. “You’re not going to be one of those bosses, are you?”
“Those bosses?”
“The ones that are always telling everyone what to do and when to do it.”
“Isn’t that the very definition of a boss?”
She sat on the edge of his desk, her tights-wearing perfect little butt touching his phone. “I work best if I’m left alone to do my thing. Hand me the cases and I’ll get you results.”
“You sound confident.” A self-starter. Wasn’t that exactly what he wanted in a colleague? Someone who wouldn’t wait around to be told what to do? “Do you always sit on furniture like that? More specifically, furniture not made for sitting on?”
For whatever reason it bothered him. The way she sat. The way her body touched his stuff. The way she seemed to take up all the space in his office. The way she called attention to her very small bottom. He could probably hold it in two hands.
No. He did not just have that thought. He didn’t.
She stood. “Sorry. Jeez. Sensitive about people being in his office, sensitive about people sitting on his desk. I’m starting to wonder about you. I took you for the laid-back sort.”
He stepped in front of her even as she tried to walk around him. “I’m not a sort. And you don’t know anything about me.”
He was sure it was the expression on his face that made her body tense. Mark knew the power of his glare well. Hell, he practiced his hard-core intimidation look. He used it to knock people off guard.
She was right. For the most part, he was a laid-back guy. Right up until the point when he wasn’t.
It was time JoJo—and, really, what was with that ridiculous name?—knew that about him.
He’d sent hardened soldiers, Taliban fighters and steely covert operatives into retreat with this very expression. No doubt it would work on her.
JoJo snorted and shoved his chest. “Give me a break. You don’t scare me, spy man. Now, do you want me to go over these cases or not?”
Mark was stunned by her lack of fear. Her lack of awe. Her lack of every reaction he was accustomed to. Had he become so domesticated since returning stateside that his once infamous back-the-hell-down face was no longer effective?
He sighed with disgust. It was official. He was no longer a badass. Merely the remnant of one. He supposed that was a good thing, but it felt deflating.
She still waited for him to give her enough room to pass, her arms filled with the cases he’d planned to have her go over. But he abruptly knew he didn’t want her working on any of them.
A woman who could stand up to him when he was being his worst was someone who also stood a chance with Sophie when she was being her worst.
Leaving Sophie at rehearsal today had been difficult. He didn’t like the idea of her without protection. But given her attitude toward him, Mark knew he needed an alternative to following her around himself. Having someone Sophie actually liked do it was the answer he was looking for.
“No, I don’t want you to look at those cases. I have something more important that I need you to handle. Something incredibly important to me.”
“And that would be?”
“My daughter’s safety.”
CHAPTER FIVE
JOJO LOOKED AT the note and felt a jab of anger behind her breastbone. Like someone had stabbed an old wound, reminding her of how real pain used to feel. The kid had lost her mother and she was building a relationship with a father she hadn’t known growing up.
Now this? It didn’t seem fair.
JoJo walked the few steps to her office. She felt more in control in her office. More of a problem solver and less of an empathizer. Mark followed and leaned against the door, his arms crossed.
“What are you thinking?” She sat behind her desk. Placed her elbows on its surface. Asked questions. Acted out the same role she would with any client.
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Old enemies, new enemies? You’re starting to build a reputation in this city as someone who solves unsolvable crimes. There must have been people along the way who would want to hurt you. Hurt you through her.”
“You’re not going to ask me if I think she sent it?”
“No. I’ve met Sophie. This isn’t her.”
“You say that confidently. You met her this week and chatted for a few hours.”
JoJo shrugged. “I know what I know. Giving your father a hard time is something I’m an expert on. While Sophie might sarcasm you to death, sneaky scare tactics aren’t her style. She’s too up front.”
“Is that what you did after it happened? Gave your father a hard time?”
She didn’t need to ask what he was referring to—any investigator by trade would certainly ferret out his employees’ personal details. JoJo wondered if poor Susan knew the extent to which her privacy had been violated. It was most likely beyond what many employees would consider reasonable.
No, there was no question whether he knew about her past. But she didn’t know what to say in response.
He wore a sheepish grin, yet didn’t look apologetic. “It’s who I am. It’s what I do. I knew about it peripherally when I did the background check before I hired you. I heard you tell Sophie about it at dinner and I learned everything there was to know. I’m sorry for your loss, of course.”
Right. This was the point where she nodded demurely and said thank you because it was usually the most expedient way to get people to stop talking about it. With her eyes lowered and her lips turned down in a hard frown, most people didn’t press the topic. No one actually wanted to make a woman cry. Not that she had. Not for a long time.
But something about what he said rubbed her the wrong way. The way he stood in front of her thinking he knew everything, when all he had was facts from his internet search. Trying, but failing, to be apologetic for invading her privacy. It made her want to punch him in his smug face.
It made her want to cry, just to watch him squirm.
“You don’t know shit about it. All you know is what you read. You don’t know what happened to me. To my family. Nobody does.”
“Then tell me.”
“Why would I do that? I don’t know you.”
“But I want to know you.”
Her eyes widened.
“I meant for professional reasons,” he said quickly. “I need you. I need someone to watch my daughter because she won’t let me. You have to be someone I can trust and that trust has to be built instantly. I agree that sometimes facts aren’t enough. So tell me what really happened.”
“Telling you about my family tragedy will build trust?”
“Telling me about what happened between you and your father might.” Mark’s expression was dour. “Okay, fine, it also might help give me some insight into Sophie. Figure out how I can change us. Fix us.”
JoJo smiled sadly. “Trust me when I tell you there is nothing about what happened between me and my father that will help you to fix anything. You might say my dad and I are...permanently broken.”
“It was that bad?”
“It was worse.”
“I don’t want to break things with Sophie. I really don’t.”
“Then you won’t. The problem my dad and I had—and eventually my mom and I—wasn’t the result of what I did. It was because of them. A kid can try to let go and parents can refuse to allow it. But if parents let go, there is nothing for the kid to do but walk away. As long as you refuse to let her go, it doesn’t matter how angry Sophie gets or how snarky or how combative. That bond will still be there.”
She could see him absorbing her words. Understanding what it said about her own family. What it meant.
“They had already lost one daughter. How could they let you go?”
