My shoulder stings like hell. I reach behind me as I leave the kitchen, finding a large piece of glass that’s lodged there. I yank it out with a growl. Someone fucking shot at Hayden. If I hadn’t got her down when I did it would have hit her. What the fuck is going on? Blade is a stupid fucker, sure. He’s an idiot. I don’t see him trying to kill her, though. Not with the baby still inside of her. At least, I didn’t think he would. Jesus. Maybe he’s more of a sick, twisted fuck than I gave him credit for.

The shot came from the right of the house. I lock the kitchen door, hopefully leaving Hayden safe inside. I didn’t want to leave her, but I can’t keep us there like sitting ducks either. I pull my gun out that I grabbed from the holster I had lying on the kitchen counter. I take off the safety and begin walking around the side of the house. Just as I hit the corner of the house—turning slowly so I can surprise whoever the fuck it is—I hear a vehicle start up. I stop trying to be slow now. I take off running.

I see the back end of a fucking pickup and it’s fishtailing, trying to get away. I shoot, through the back windshield, trying to kill the motherfucker. The glass shatters, but the shot goes wide. I then try to shoot the tires, the back one blows and I know a moment of victory. The asshole doesn’t stop, however. He just lays on the gas, ignoring the pieces of tire that tear away from the rim and spit out in all different directions. I run as fast as I can, but ever since the explosion, running is not one something I do easily. My leg has lost muscle mass and the scarring causes tightness and loss of feeling. I’m left standing in the middle of the street, staring at the truck. It’s swerving like crazy and barely misses several other cars on the street. Sparks are flying from the rim which is now serving as the tire. I jog, because by this time the pain is causing me to hop, to my truck.

I start it up, and I’m backing out of the driveway, when I hear that voice again. The same voice that told me when Hayden was in trouble the other day, and the same voice that told me to get Hayden away from the window today.

“Hayden needs you.”

The voice is as clear as a sunny day. I hear it as if the person saying it is right beside me—only no one is there. Fear makes my blood run cold. Am I losing it? After all these years have I finally cracked? After years of not caring what happened to me, suddenly it matters a hell of a lot. I have Hayden now. I have a new reason to keep going. I can’t be going insane now. I can’t give in.

For that reason, I ignore the words. I continue backing onto the street. I chance a look over at the house and guilt hits me. The voice hasn’t been wrong. Am I risking Hayden’s life by ignoring it now?

“Motherfucker!” I growl, watching as the taillights from the truck I’m chasing completely disappear in front of me. I slam my hands up against the steering wheel, fighting rage and the need to pursue the fucker who tried to take Hayden from me.

“Hayden needs you.” I hear again, and I want to scream. I’m about to scream like a madman at the voice and tell it to go away. I’m driven by the fear of actually losing my mind. Then, I hear it again and this time the words take away my breath. “Please Daddy. Go to her.”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

A cold sweat breaks out over my body and I begin shaking. I’ve lost it. I’ve completely fallen apart. That soft voice. That beautiful soft voice…that can’t be her…It can’t be Annabelle. Tears sting my eyes and I try to hold them in, I really do try. Maybe I would have succeeded I’m not sure. It’s then I feel the warmth. It starts at the base of my back and spreads up, reaching around over my stomach and to my chest. My heart feels so full and warm I think it might burst. And I can literally feel arms go around my neck as the heat continues to spread through me.

“Ann…Annabelle?” I whisper, afraid to breathe, afraid to hope and scared I’m right—terrified I’m not. The scent of strawberries surrounds me. It clicks into place. Her shampoo. She loved strawberry…

The voice isn’t loud. It’s faint and she…it sounds tired. I press the gas and move the truck back into the driveway at Hayden’s. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m so confused. I recognize I’m crying when I have to wipe the tears out of my eyes to see to park the truck.

“Annabelle? Can you hear me? Can you talk to Daddy?” I ask her, needing to continue the connection in case…

In case I’m talking to my dead daughter? How fucked up is that? It doesn’t matter, there’s just silence. I should have kept going. Now, whoever it was that shot at Hayden, is still out there.

I unlock the door and open it roughly, pissed at myself, at the man who shot Hayden, at…the world. It doesn’t help that when I open it Hayden is standing by the table and phone.

“Michael!” she cries.

“I thought I told you to stay under the table till I got back?” I growl, pissed off about what’s going on in my head and pissed off that Hayden can’t do the one thing I asked.

“Michael we’ve got a problem,” she says again, her face white.

“Yeah. You’ve got someone taking pot shots through your window. That’s why it would be good if you would stay where I tell you to fucking stay,” I bark, shoving my hand through my hair so frustrated I can’t see straight.

“Not that.”

“I think that’s our biggest problem right now. If you don’t mind, I need to call the police—for the good it will do—and then I’m going to call Victor.”

I walk over to the phone hanging on the wall, pick up the cordless handset that’s resting in the base’s cradle and start to dial 911. If ever there was an emergency, this would be it.

“Will you listen to me, Michael! We have a problem!”

“Hayden I really—”

“Damn it, Michael! My water broke!”

It’s then I notice the front of her dress, below her waist is completely wet.

Motherfucker.