School and Rock (Raptors Book 5)
opens, visitor arrives, gate closes—”“Simon—”
Mr. Dangerous, AKA Simon, ignored him and carried on berating Colorado who was growing tenser by the minute. “Gate opens, visitor leaves, gate closes. Set the freaking alarm, you idiot, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Fuc—I set the alarm.”
Simon glanced pointedly at the panel by the door and raised an eyebrow. At least I knew their names, but being this close to such a testosterone-filled standoff had me nervous, and my first instinct was to grab the baby and run, particularly as the soft burbled cry had become something more. Poor thing was picking up on the temper and the fighting and I wasn’t having it.
“What if someone had walked in off the street, or a drug lord handing a supply to one of your guests, or another freaking emu, or some delivery of whatever the hell you’re eating times twenty because your house is home to a shit ton of strangers?”
“Simon—”
“You need to take this seriously.”
“There’s nothing more serious that finding out you’re a dad, and your daughter is dumped on your front step!”
Colorado shouted, Simon snapped back, and in the middle of it the baby was squalling at the top of her lungs. Instinctively, stupidly maybe, I stood between the two big men, and held out my hands for her.
“Both of you stop it, you’re scaring her. Give her to me,” I demanded, and Colorado snapped out of the face-off and blinked at me, lifting the baby and holding her protectively.
Colorado made no move to let me have what he held, but I gestured with my hands to emphasize the firm request and he stared at me, so much pain and worry in his hazel eyes. I nodded a little to indicate it was okay, and I don’t know what he saw in me at that moment but he finally passed her over as if she was made of delicate glass and he was worried she would shatter. I could smell she needed a diaper change, and she was red in the face from crying, fat tears running down her face. Me holding her didn’t stop any of those things, and I waited to be shown where the supplies were in this house.
“This way,” Colorado staggered back and turned all at the same time, strangely elegant as he tripped over a discarded box, Simon catching him as he nearly face-planted, steadying himself. He stared down at the offending box, looking as if he’d gone into a fugue, and I put a hand on his elbow to encourage him to move, but Simon was instantly there, and I rounded on him.
“This baby needs to be helped,” I stated. “Show me where the supplies are.”
“This way,” Colorado said, and stumble-tripped his way through black sacks in the grand hallway, and down a corridor to a door, pushing it open and standing aside. If I’d thought that the house was chaos, it was nothing like this room. Filled to the ceiling, it held every single baby supply possible, from nipple cream to boxes of diapers for toddlers. First off, didn’t anyone realize toddler diapers would be too big, and also where was the mom who needed the nipple cream?
“Is the baby breastfed?” I demanded, and all the while I was cradling the screaming infant and searching for wipes and newborn diapers, plus a clean onesie and somewhere to work.
“No, her mother left her and fu—she isn’t here.”
I spotted a changing mat pushed down between six round containers of baby formula and I yanked it out, one-handed.
“Careful of her!” Colorado shouted, right in my ear.
I turned to face him. “Stop shouting. Back off. Let me do my job.”
I wasn’t sure my job was dealing with one drugged-up tall guy and a glowering bodyguard. Who the hell was this Colorado person? A dealer? He looked as if he’d been on a ten-day bender, the entire right side of his face bruised, and long tangled hair pulled back in a random pony tail, secured with a bright pink scrunchie.
Something in my tone must have gotten through to him, and ignoring the fact the two big men were tousling by the door, I concentrated on the little one.
“What’s her name?” I asked, as I pulled over wipes, the diapers, and undid the snaps revealing the over warm baby beneath. Quickly and efficiently, I wiped away all traces of anything nasty, at least she didn’t have diaper rash, and her belly was soft and round, her eyes still wet with tears, and her tiny fist in her mouth as she sucked.
“Madeline Celeste,” Colorado blurted.
I glanced up to see him pinning Simon to the wall, only to see the hold switch just as fast. I finally got her into a clean diaper, but a onesie in this heat was probably overkill. She was hungry, and I pulled a cardboard box toward me, throwing in a box of bottles, a microwave sterilizer, formula, and then found the motherlode, cartons of premixed formula. I cradled Madeline and nudged the full box toward Simon as he was in the middle of shoving Colorado. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but I wasn’t interested in being in the middle of this crap.
“Get that to the kitchen,” I ordered, then slipped past the two men and headed god knows where to locate the kitchen. It wasn’t difficult to find, huge vaulted ceilings, stainless steel and glass everywhere, and a view out over the foothills of the Catalina Mountains that reminded me we lived in a desert. Someone was at the counter, head down, asleep, and there wasn’t much counter space left to work on. There were mountains of takeout containers, three frying pans and several more saucepans piled in the sink, eggshells everywhere, sports drinks, plates, cups, you name it and it was out. I found the microwave, a huge monstrosity of a thing with enough buttons to land a space shuttle, but in quick moves, entirely one-handed, Madeleine hiccupping her sobs, I unboxed