Page 4 of The Beekeeper

“How did they find us? I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to go back,” she wailed, and I held her tight.

“You won’t. I’ve got you, pumpkin. I won’t let them see you.”

I hated them. Hated myself. And I hated Megan’s sister; Angela Eckhardt had never given a damn about Paisley. But Megan hadn’t had a choice but to name her guardian. Megan’s mom had Alzheimer’s and her dad had Parkinson’s. Her sister was her only competent option. Meanwhile, Angela wanted nothing to do with Paisley until the moment she realized I was her father. Then, all of a sudden, Angela wanted custody over her niece…and the child support payments that would come along with it.

It wouldn’t surprise me if she was the one who’d tipped off the press to where we were living. Angela would do anything to give herself the edge in the guardianship petition she’d started against me, including weaponizing all the weaknesses of my former life and turning them against me. All of it suited her claim that I was unfit to be a parent even though she was the one turning her niece into collateral damage.

“W-why are they at our house?” She hiccuped. “I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to see them.”

Shit. This was why we’d moved up here from Boston—because the paps caught us leaving Wade’s apartment. To a six-year-old, dozens of camera flashes and shouting was the equivalent of an ambush with weapons in a warzone. She’d been traumatized, and I got us out of the city that night with measures that were nothing short of a covert ops ex-fil.

“I’m going to make them go away, I promise. We’ll be able to go home, don’t worry, pumpkin.” Still holding her, I shifted to pull out my phone. I needed to call my brother and then the police.

“Blaze…”

I froze, wishing the voice I’d heard was a figment of my frustrated imagination.

It wasn’t.

“Is everything okay?” Harper’s voice got louder, her concern obvious as she approached.

“Yeah, I just…” I just fucking failed, again. My jaw clenched. “The press realized I’m staying above your brother’s shop.”

Pais started to cry.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” I promised, catching Harper move by us and peer around the corner of the building before returning in front of me.

I tipped my head, finding her eyes. I didn’t want her to see this—didn’t want her involved in this, but I didn’t have much of a choice now.

“How did they find you?” she whispered like they had supersonic hearing.

I’d done everything I could to keep our location secret from the press—I’d even taken the offer from Harper’s brother to use his apartment rather than staying at my sister-in-law’s inn because they’d found me there once before. But it wasn’t enough.

“I don’t know.” And right now, I couldn’t care. “I need to call my brother—actually, hey, Pais, how about we go visit Uncle Wade and Aunt Lou for a little?” I just needed some time to fix this—and a safe place to do it from.

Pais shook her head and started to breathe heavy. “What if they come there? They found Uncle Wade’s house before. I don’t want to go. I don’t wanna—” She started to break down again, and how could I blame her?

“Hey, Paisley, do you want to come pet my bees?” Harper’s warm voice melted through my daughter’s panic.

My stare snapped up, and Paisley pulled her head off my chest.

“B-bees?”

“Yeah.” Harper smiled wide. “I can introduce you to the queen and all the sister bees. Show you their home and where they’ll make all their honey. And then, if you want, you can pet them. They are cute and fuzzy.”

Paisley’s eyes bulged, but…she didn’t say no. Slowly, she looked to me, wordlessly asking if it was okay.

Of course, the only place my daughter wanted to go was with the woman I didn’t want to be around.

“Her car seat is in my SUV…” I said through locked teeth, hating that I had to say no not because I wanted to but because she physically couldn’t go without one.

Harper frowned, her brow scrunching adorably before she explained, “Oh. I have an idea. Give me one minute.”

She darted back inside the pastry shop, and it wasn’t even a minute later that she returned, following an older woman in an apron whose arms were covered with flour.

They went to a car parked a few spaces up and sure enough, Harper pulled a car seat from the back. She thanked the woman who quickly rushed back inside.

“Ella mentioned she took her granddaughter to school today—her granddaughter is six,” Harper explained when we met at the back door of the truck’s cab.