Twist the Knife (Lost Kings MC #24)

“This is what kept me awake.” She pats the blanket affectionately.

After she leaves, I honor my promise.

I’m finishing up when my father joins me.

“Horrible, horrible thing.” He rests his hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

I start to nod but end up shaking my head. “No. I’m angry. That man shouldn’t be granted bail. But it looks like he’ll get out.”

My father nods in agreement. “I was hoping he’d get served inmate justice, but he won’t even be in there long enough. Hopefully, he’s convicted and gets sent to prison.”

Hopefully. Too many variables. Too many what-ifs.

Where’s the justice?

“Babies and children are always the hardest.” My father’s voice cracks. He touches the edge of the blanket. “This is a beautiful way to make sure she’s wrapped up in her mother’s love.”

“I thought so too,” I whisper.

He focuses on me with concern in his eyes. “I heard you singing to the baby earlier.”

I nod. We always take special care with children and babies.

“Your mother used to do that too.” His voice turns distant but full of affection.

I swallow hard. My memories of my mother are few but the ones I have are of her warmth and gentleness. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Dad rarely brings her up—it still hurts too much even after all these years. Hearing him mention her now, in the context of my work, stirs something deep inside me.

“I don’t remember her doing that,” I admit, my voice clogged with emotion. “But it feels like the right thing to do.”

My father’s hand tightens on my shoulder, a small gesture of support. “She was always so gentle with them,” he says, his voice low and filled with sadness. “She loved you very much. She’d be so proud of you.”

I blink back the tears, trying to keep my composure. “Thank you.”

“Set your anger aside. Our job is to give her peace and help her say goodbye in the most loving way possible.”

“I know.” A tear slips down my cheek and I brush it away. “I wish I could do more.”

He pulls me into a rare hug. “You’re doing more than enough.”

“Thanks,” I say against his sweater.

He gently nudges me toward the door. “I’ll finish this.”

He may have said my concern for the babies who come into our care was passed from my mother. But it came from him. I’ve watched him read to children, leave lights on for them, and tuck stuffed animals into their caskets since I was little. Although he seems cold at times, now that I’ve been doing the job myself for a couple of years, I understand why.

Alone in the hallway, I put my back to the wall and close my eyes.

How to fix this? How, how, how?

Where is the closest Horizon Inn?

My mind races with possibilities, dark thoughts I pull closer and examine. Doing nothing, letting that monster get away, gnaws at me. I see so many awful things, but some are just too much.

A rumble from outside intrudes on my murderous musings. Is that Jigsaw?

My heart trips over itself. I push away from the wall and hurry toward the back door.

It is him. Standing at the bottom of the porch steps. He smiles as soon as he sees me, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.