Page 24 of The Nanny Game Plan
“Here, hold Bella, I’ll be right back,” I say, shifting my youngest into her arms.
“Okay, we’ll check the garage, in case she?—”
I’m outside before she can finish, jogging down the front steps and across the empty yard. The hammock Ava insisted thatI hang again, the second the snow melted yesterday, is empty. The tree she likes to climb—also empty.
And the gate…
Fuck, the front gate is wide open.
“Ava? Ava, where are you?” I burst out onto the sidewalk, head swiveling and pulse slamming in my ears. The street is quiet. No cars. No movement. No tiny four-year-old with my crookedly wavy brown hair in a unicorn sweater.
Nothing.
Not even Edgar the crow is up this early.
Edgar…
My pulse spikes with hope as I dash across the street toward Maybelline’s house. Edgar and Ava are tight. He flies over to play with the girls on the swing set in the backyard every day after school, but it’s been too cold and wet for them to play the past few weeks. Ava mentioned how much she’s been missing him during story time last night.
Please, let her be here,I pray.Please, let her be at Maybelline’s front door asking if Edgar can come out and play, not in the back of some unmarked van that happened to be cruising through the neighborhood when my daughter stepped outside.
I’m rounding the corner of Maybelline’s classic Victorian cottage when I hear it.
Laughter.
Bright, little kid laughter, coming from the old fort in the corner of the backyard, where Maybelline’s kids played twenty-something years ago.
I skid to a stop at the fort’s entrance, relief spasming through my chest when I see Ava cross-legged on the wooden floor, feeding bites of croissant to Edgar from a crinkled brown bag. A woman with brown curls in a fluffy green coat stands behind her, stooped over to avoid hitting her head on the fort’s low roof.
I clock those curls instantly.
It’s Clover.
Here.
Across the street from my house, with my missing daughter.
Maybe she was in the neighborhood to check on Cristina’s place while she’s overseas? But no, Cristina’s renting her home out. Right?
Before I can come up with another reasonable explanation, Clover glances over her shoulder, her eyes widening at my, no doubt, freaked-out expression.
“Hey, Dean.” She lifts a hand with a breathy laugh. “My cab dropped me off a few seconds before Ava headed across the street.” Another nervous laugh. “I mean, I didn’t know it was Ava, but she was little and didn’t have a coat on. I figured she was probably one of your girls, so I followed her to make sure she was okay. We were about to call and let you know we were fine and headed home any second.”
“But I had to feed Edgar first, Daddy,” Ava says, barely glancing my way as she delivers another chunk of croissant into Edgar’s beak. “He’s starving! He says he hasn’t eaten in days because Maybelline is on vacation.”
“Maybelline is not on vacation,” I say, fighting to keep the anger—and fear—from my voice. “She’s probably still asleep, and Edgar is fed every day, twice a day. You should know better than to believe his stories, and you should absolutely know better than to go outside without permission.”
Ava looks up, her smile slipping. “But I said I was going outside.”
“We didn’t hear you,” I say. “And saying something and getting permission are two different things. We’ve talked about that.”
She shrinks a little. “Right.”
“And what are you wearing? Those aren’t your shoes.”
“I put on Bella’s rain boots. They’re not too small.” Her eyes widen as I bend down, attempting to wedge myself through the narrow door, only to curse beneath my breath when my shoulders won’t fit. “Daddy, you aren’t supposed to say that word.”
“I didn’t say it, I muttered it,” I mutter, motioning with one hand. “Come out of there, Ava. Right now. You scared us all half to death, and unless the nanny’s finally here when we get home, we’re all going to have to drive Grammy to the airport.”
