Maggie K. Black - The Littlest Target

For Daisy, growing up in a small English village where jobs were scarce, being hired to care for the son of a wealthy Canadian computer developer had felt like a dream come true. It wasn’t until she’d arrived in Canada that she’d discovered the truth. Fitz’s mother, Jane Pearce, had died in childbirth. A hasty wedding to Anna, one of Pearce Enterprises’s lead graphic designers and almost thirty years Gerald’s junior, had followed. But despite being newlyweds, their relationship was fraught with shouted accusations and slamming doors, and even one late night visit from two police officers. None of which was helped by Daisy’s suspicions that Gerald’s paranoid and scattered mind was slipping.

She could hear things breaking now, as if Anna and Gerald had given up on shouting and decided instead to trash their expensive home. Fitz’s pudgy hand grabbed a fistful of her long blond hair and held it tightly. She slid a finger between his gums and felt the telltale bump of a new tooth getting ready to come through. He was teething.

Daisy tightened her arms around him.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”

There was nowhere to go and reminding herself of that always helped somehow. The estate was in the middle of nowhere, and they didn’t need gates or fences to keep her there. In fact, Anna often told her with her smug little smile that she was free to leave on her days off and then wouldn’t let her use the car.

Daisy gritted her teeth and refused to let her eyes even consider forming tears. It wasn’t like there was anything good waiting for her back home either. Her stepfather was a drunk and a thief, her mother hadn’t put up much of a fight when Daisy had been first kicked out of the house seven years ago—when she was just sixteen—and now there were four tiny half siblings back home that her mother desperately needed Daisy’s pay to help feed.

Lord, if reminding myself of that is what keeps me here, then please don’t ever let me forget. Fitz needs me. I can’t imagine what would happen to him without me.

Anna screamed and her shrill voice rose above the noise, so clearly it was as if she was standing on the other side of the door. “No! Don’t shoot! Please!”

Then, before she could even blink, a sudden deafening crack seemed to split the air. Anna’s screams died. Fitz howled.

Daisy’s heart smacked inside her slender frame, telling her to move, even as her brain scrambled to think. She crossed the nursery, slid the door open and positioned herself in the doorway so that she could look out, while keeping the child in her arms still sheltered behind her. She glanced over the landing.

Two of Gerry’s business associates were tossing the place. Silent and hulking, with bald heads and cold stares, she’d always imagined that “Mr. Smith” and “Mr. Jones” had been carved from the same block of cement. She’d always wondered if those were their real names and found them almost indistinguishable except for the fact that Smith’s large nose was crooked and Jones had an ugly scar on his throat. Considering Gerry’s creeping paranoia, Daisy had always guessed they were some form of security. Now Smith was knocking over shelves and tossing glass and ceramics to the floor, while Jones took a knife to the furniture.

Then she saw Anna, lying still on the floor of the grand foyer, her long fair hair and dress stained from the dark pool of blood spreading out from what looked like a gunshot wound deep in her chest. For a moment, panic curled like smoke inside Daisy’s throat, choking out her ability to think or even move.

Then Smith grunted and said, “I’ll finish down here. You go do the baby’s room.”

Jones turned toward the stairs, knife in hand. Daisy ducked back into the nursery, closed the door and locked it. Then shifting Fitz to her hip, she wedged a chair under the door. She doubted it would hold long. Her eyes scanned the nursery, piled high with stuffed animals, model trucks, electronic gizmos and plastic toys, all meant for a child much older than Fitz. Gerry seemed to think that every weekend he came home required giving his son a gift.

She slid on the chest carrier and buckled Fitz in, then zipped her raincoat over them both, so that his head poked out the top. His cries faded to whimpers. She dashed into the walk-in closet that served as her room, grabbed the rucksack she’d brought from England and tossed in a change of clothes for herself, more clothes for Fitz, his blanket, diapers and bottles.

Unfortunately, her cracked cell phone hadn’t worked in days; not since it had died at the hands of Fitz’s obsession with pushing buttons and grabbing anything shiny and electronic he could get his hands on.

Footsteps sounded on the landing. Jones was on his way. Daisy yanked the nursery window open, swung her leg over the ledge, reached for the trellis and climbed down, praying with each step that it would hold their weight. She heard the crash of the nursery door burst open, then the sound of Jones cursing.

She hit the ground. Her feet pounded around the side of the house. A pair of headlights raced toward her. Her hands rose to block the glare. Then she heard an engine stop and Gerry’s befuddled voice. “Daisy? What are you doing out here?”

She stumbled toward the sound. “We need to call 911. Anna’s been shot.”

“What? Who?” He grabbed her arm.

She prayed his reaction was from shock. His memory gaps had been getting more frequent, even though she’d always assumed a man in his fifties was too young for dementia.

“Your new wife, Anna.” She blinked and her vision cleared. His gray hair and beard were an odd, sickly yellow in the glare of his sports car headlights. “Anna was shot, in your house, just now. Smith and Jones shot her. We need to call an ambulance and the police.”

“No, not Smith and Jones. They wouldn’t hurt Anna. They’re loyal to me.” His hand tightened its grip until she could almost feel bruises forming, then he dropped her arm as suddenly as he’d grabbed it. “I will call the police. I know which ones I can trust. But you—you have to stay away from the police, okay? There are some corrupt cops who are out to steal my work and they will hurt Fitz to do it. Two of them came to the house. They threatened me and tried to blackmail me. You have to promise me you won’t let them hurt Fitz.”

“Of course.” Panic crawled up her throat. She remembered those cops. There’d been two of them, one man and one woman. But could she really believe any of his ranting? “I promise, I won’t let anyone hurt Fitz.”

“Good.” Gerry blinked and she saw clarity return to his eyes. “Everything is going to be all right. I have an apartment in Sault Sainte Marie. Take Fitz there. Don’t stop. Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll call a cop I know I can trust and get them to meet you there. I have very powerful enemies who are trying to steal my work and they will use Fitz to do that. But you and Fitz will be safe at my apartment, and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

He reached into the sports car and programmed an address into the GPS. There was a car seat buckled into the back seat and next to it a large wooden sailboat with a bright red bow.

Gerry pushed a cell phone into her hand. “Text me when you get there. I’ll take care of Anna. If I can find a police contact who I know isn’t corrupted, I’ll text you and send you to them. I can’t promise this line is secure, though, so be careful who you call. Trust me, Daisy, do what I say and everything will be okay.”

She didn’t trust him. Not fully. But Gerry was her boss. If she refused, then what? It wasn’t like running back into the house was an option.

Fitz whimpered. Gerry reached out, brushed a gentle touch over his head and leaned in toward his son. “You’re the best thing I ever made. We’ll play with your toys again soon.”