When Charlotte was born, I made a promise to never bring my work home with again.

Before then, I’d leave the station, come home, and sit at my kitchen table with case files sprawled out across the surface. It was easy to justify. Looking at the same set of clues from a different perspective almost always led to me seeing something I didn’t see before. Countless eureka moments have taken place at this table and I’m hoping for one more right now.

Two murdered mobsters. One red herring in the form of a scam artist with a smile that just so happens to rattle my knees.

I can’t believe I asked him to father another baby.

I hang my head in my hands, feeling the hot blood rush to my cheeks. All my attention and focus keeps drifting back to that moment in his truck. Why the fuck did I say that? Why did the thought even enter my damn head?

Why did he say yes?

Milo made good points. Using the same donor would give Charlotte a full-blooded sibling. Couples use the same donor all the time to do just that. There’s nothing unusual about it. Nothing to be ashamed of about it. He’s got the good stuff and I might want to partake in it again in the future and — oh, god — did I just think about his good stuff?

I groan, letting my head fall down to the table. There’s a simple explanation for all of this somewhere and Trevor’s right in thinking that I’m a bit too entranced to see the forest for the trees. I should apologize. He’s just looking out for me like a good partner should.

My hand slinks sideways, slowly searching for the wineglass near the edge of the table. I pinch the stem and pull it closer but groan in defeat when I see that it’s empty.

Dammit.

I slink off my chair and open the refrigerator behind me to fetch a refill. My eyes land on that Hot Sauce to-go cup sitting on the shelf. A twitch trembles my tongue as a bit of sensory memory brings that taste back.

I set my wineglass down and reach for the cup. I should probably just throw it away. I’m not a fan of spicy foods but I don’t stop myself from cracking the lid and taking a quick whiff of it.

Spicy yet sweet. It’s strong but not unpleasant.

The doorbell rings.

I jerk my head to check the clock. It’s after nine.

It rings again. And again.

I grit my teeth. Whoever is out there is about to wake my damn child.

I put the hot sauce back and close the fridge, rushing down the hall toward the foyer. My patience dies a little more with each new hit of that damned doorbell.

“Detective, open the door!”

I halt, furrowing my brow. “Milo?”

I flick the lock and swing the door open. He stands with his back to me on the porch. I look down at his hands locked in handcuffs. His fingers drop from the doorbell and he spins around to look at me, covered in sweat and rainwater.

My jaw drops. “Milo, what the hell—”

“Do you have handcuff keys?” he asks, out of breath.

“What?”

He turns around, revealing his cuffed wrists again. “This is really inconvenient and uncomfortable.”

“Why are you handcuffed?” I ask. “And what the hell are you doing here?”

He rushes inside and I hop back as he kicks the door closed behind him.

“You need to come with me,” he says, trying to flick the lock with his elbow. He fails, repeatedly, before I reach out and do it myself. “People are coming.”

“What people?” I ask.

Milo nudges the light switch, knocking out the porch lights. His wild eyes scan the walls and he walks around me to flick off the foyer one, too.

“Milo, stop. What are you—”

“Mommy?”

I look up the dark stairwell. Charlotte’s little shape lingers in the shadows, just barely lit by the nightlight behind her in the hallway.

I force a soothing tone. “Go back to bed, honey. It’s okay.”

“No! Don’t go back to bed, honey,” Milo shouts up the stairs. “It’s not okay. We all need to go right now. Daniel Quinn sent people here to kill you.”

I glare at him, my rage spiking. “Charlotte, go back to your room. I will come get you in a minute.”

She spins around and runs down the hall.

I take an angry step forward and Milo recoils against the door. “Can you please not scare the shit out of my kid?” I scold. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, “but there’s no time to explain—”

“Make time, Milo.”

He sighs. “They followed me here last night and saw me talking to you, which is — apparently — a really big no-no in the Irish mafia. They tried to kill me, I escaped, but they sent two very scary dudes here for you guys and they’ll be here any second. Do you have handcuff keys?” he asks again.

I pause, staring into his dark, panicked face. This isn’t a joke or a sick game. He’s terrified… but he came out here because we were in danger.

He came here to save us.

“Yeah,” I answer, blinking out of it. “Up in my room.”

His brow arches in surprise. “Really?”

I roll my eyes. “Any second?” I ask.

“Any second,” he repeats, turning back to look out the windows. “We need to go.”

“Okay…” I run a hand over my head, feeling my ponytail. “Stay down here. Hit the rest of the lights. I’ll get Charlotte.”

He nods and beelines through the living room toward the kitchen. I look out the window and scan the street once before turning around the taking the stairs two at a time to the top.

What the hell am I doing?

I can barely think two steps ahead. I have no proof of any of this other than Milo’s word and his stupid, handsome, frightened face.

“Charlotte?” I stick my head in her room, my eyes instantly drawn to the open window shades. I rush over and slide them closed, making the room even darker.

“Mommy?”

I follow her voice to her bed in the dark. “Come on, honey. Mommy needs to run an errand, so get dressed, okay?”

I grab a random shirt from her dresser, along with the first pair of pants I feel. My eyes adjust to the dark and I kneel down beside her. Charlotte moves slowly but she’s never been one to argue. She raises her arms and I slide her nightgown off.

“Just a quick trip into the city,” I say, forcing that soothing tone as I push the shirt over her head. “It’ll be fun.”

“It’s dark,” she says.

“I know, honey. Step in.”

She does as she’s told and I help her slip her feet into her pants. I pull them up and grab her jacket hanging from the bed frame.

“Detective.”

I hear Milo whispering for me from the foot of the stairs but I keep my focus on her. I take Charlotte’s hand and lead her out into the hallway.

“My scope!” she cries, reaching back into her room.

I spin back in and grab the stethoscope off her bedside table. “I got it. Here,” I say, handing it to her in the hall.

“Detective, come on!”

Milo whispers at us again, adding a little more bite to his voice. I bend over and pick Charlotte up to carry her down faster.

“What is it?” I ask him, holding her tight.

“Black car on the corner,” he says. “Wasn’t there before.”

“Have they gotten out?”

“Doesn’t look like it. Keys?”

“Shit,” I whisper, biting my lip instead of censoring myself.

I set Charlotte down again and she looks at me with confusion. “Stay right here,” I tell her, sitting her on the bottom step.

I start up the stairs, but quickly stop to look back at Milo. Am I really going to leave my daughter with this stranger — even only for a few seconds?

“We’ll be okay,” Milo says, reading my body language.

We. Milo and his daughter.

I look from him to the windows. Those men could be walking up the sidewalk right now.

Make a choice, Anna.

I bolt up the stairs, running fast to fetch the extra keys I keep in my jewelry box on my bedroom vanity. The memory is faded. I haven’t seen or used them in years so I run my fingers along the bottom drawer, feeling along the velvet lining for that tiny, familiar piece of metal…

I find the keyring, sighing with relief at the two small keys attached to it, and run back into the hallway.

I look down the stairs and my heart stops.

Charlotte is gone.

“Milo?”

I nearly tumble down the stairs, my eyes losing focus as fear takes over.

A shape appears in the windows around the front door, inching closer to try and look inside.

I jump into the living room to avoid detection, instantly colliding with someone kneeling in the dark corner. I gasp as instinct rolls my fists and prepares me for a fight.

“Shh! It’s me! It’s just me.”

Milo stands up but I keep my fists raised.

“Where’s Charlotte?” I ask.

He gestures into the foyer, mouthing the word, “Closet.”

I relax my stiff hands. He saw them coming and hid her away. He protected her. My heart pounds.

“Looks like no one’s home.”

I flinch, hearing a muffled voice behind the front door.

“Nah, car in the driveway. They’re sleeping,” someone replies.

“Even better.”

They chuckle quietly and their feet move softly down the wraparound porch.

Milo and I press our backs against the wall, clinging to it as the men lean down to look into the windows beside us. Milo nudges my arm and gently angles his cuffed hands toward me with begging eyes. I unlock the cuffs quickly and he slides them off.

“Thank you,” he whispers as he pockets them.

I nod, keeping calm and biting my inner cheek as I follow their sound around the house.

“Your car,” Milo says.

“The keys are in the kitchen,” I say.

“Where?”

“Hook by the fridge.”

He nods. “Get Charlotte, go outside,” he says. “Wait for me by the car.”

I study the shadows on his adrenaline-soaked face. “You need a weapon,” I say, reaching for my ankle holster.

“No, you take it. Go now while they’re around back. If I’m not out in one minute, run to a neighbor’s.”

There’s no time to dwell on it. His courage and bravery. It’s not what I expected from Milo Murray. I never saw it in him before now. I feel like I should have.

I push off the wall and head back to the foyer on slow, steady toes as Milo slinks toward the kitchen… right toward the men looking to break in and kill us in our sleep.

I shift my focus back to my daughter.

“Charlotte?” I whisper outside the closet. I turn the handle, opening it slowly just in case it squeaks.

My little girl looks up at me from the floor. She holds a phone in her hands, the gentle light giving just enough illumination so she doesn’t feel scared. It must be Milo’s.

I throw on a smile. “There you are!” I whisper, kneeling in front of her. “Such a good hiding spot. You’re so good at this game, honey.”

She stands up, her lips growing into a smile.

“We’re gonna play a new game now,” I say, taking the phone from her. “It’s called the Quiet Game, okay? First one to make a peep loses. Winner gets an extra cherry in their cupcake from Uncle Vin. Sound good?”

She grins. “Yes!”

“Shh…” I mime a key with my fingers and twist the phantom lock on my mouth. “Starting now.”

Charlotte does the same and presses her lips together, still clinging to that pink scope in her hands.

Milo’s shadow crosses into the kitchen down the hall. I pick up Charlotte and back up, laying my hand on the front door and focusing my hearing on the outside just in case they came back around.

A light shatter echoes in from the kitchen. Breaking glass. They’re coming in.

I twist the knob and back out onto the porch. It feels good to put a door between me and them but I worry about Milo. Sixty seconds, he said. If he’s not out by then, run. I have no idea how much time has gone by already. Thirty seconds? Forty? The whole minute?

I walk into the rain, turning onto the lawn to limit the sound beneath my feet as I head toward the driveway. I pop up onto the tips of my toes when I reach the concrete and lower down to hide behind the trunk.

Come on, Milo.

I look at Charlotte’s wide, curious eyes and lay a finger over my lips to remind her to be quiet. Rain sprinkles along her nose and cheeks. I pull her hood over her head to block it and kiss her cheek.

Movement draws my senses to the far side of the house. My heart jolts into my throat as I fear the worst but Milo sprints toward us around the porch. He carries my car keys in one hand and a large kitchen knife in the other.

“Go, go, go,” he says with a biting whisper. “I’ll drive.”

I rush around to the passenger’s side, leading Charlotte with me. “Did they see you?” I ask him.

The locks click open and I open my door.

“Not yet,” he answers, lowering himself into the driver’s seat.

I sit Charlotte in my lap, holding her close.

“Mommy, you lost,” she tells me.

I wince. “Yeah, you’re right, honey. Keep your head down.”

She lowers her head, resting it against my chest.

Milo turns the ignition. He moves fast, shifting us into reverse, and hitting the gas. The car jerks around onto the street and he drives us forward down the block to the corner. Relief fills my chest and I look back to see if we’ve been noticed yet.

He hits the brake, coming to a quick stop.

“Milo, what are you doing?”

He hops out of the car with that large knife in hand. I twist in my seat, watching him rush toward their black car on the curb. He bends over and stabs the front tire, letting all the air out of it.

“Hey, you motherfuck!”

I look toward my house. The two men race across the front lawn in our direction with angry eyes and guns drawn.

“Milo!” I shout.

He returns to the car and shifts into gear again, slamming his foot on the gas before the door is even closed. The men shout obscenities at their car, raging at the knife sticking out of their tire. We race through multiple stop signs, gaining as much distance from them as possible.

I close my eyes and lay back against the headrest. The Irish mafia tried to kill me and my daughter. No amount of deep, soothing breaths is going to make me feel calm about that right now.

“Are you okay, Detective?”

I open my eyes again. Milo has slowed our speed somewhat. We’re out of my neighborhood and into the city, surrounded by the usual late-night Boston traffic.

I look down at Charlotte, still resting her head on me.

I nod to answer his question. “Where are we going?” I ask.

Milo stares straight ahead. “I know a place,” he says.

It’s vague and frustrating but I choose to trust him. It happens quickly, without me even thinking about what it might mean.

I look out into the pouring rain, watching the orange puddles pass by as they reflect the street lights above us.