Chapter 6
The beam of the security guard's flashlight cut across the damp boxwood hedges, illuminating the fine dust motes hanging in the cool night air. Clara instinctively shrank back against my side, her small fingers bunching into the fabric of my black suit jacket.
"We're just getting some air," I said, raising a hand to shield my eyes from the glare while keeping my body positioned between Clara and the guard.
The guard stepped closer, his boots heavy on the gravel. He was a middle-aged man with a broad chest and an expression that suggested he had dealt with wedding crashers and lost attendees all evening. His gaze dropped from my face down to Clara, noting the tear-streaked cheeks, the crumpled paper note with its red crayon heart, and the gray stuffed rabbit clutched in her arms.
"That's a child," the guard said, his tone shifting from routine annoyance to guarded suspicion. "And this is a restricted VIP terrace. Guests aren't allowed to wander out here unsupervised during the gala transition."
"She's with me," I replied, keeping my voice even, though my pulse picked up a steady, hard rhythm against my ribs.
"Right. And what's your relation?" The guard crossed his arms, resting a hand near his radio handset. "Because the event coordinator just took a report about a missing little girl matching this exact description down in the west foyer. A woman in a gray coat is tearing the lobby apart looking for her."
The trap had closed faster than I anticipated. The woman in the slate-gray coat wasn't just a distant relative who had stepped away for coffee; she had already raised the alarm, framing the situation as a missing child rather than an act of neglect. If I let the guard take us back inside right now, the narrative would be written before Clara or I could say a single word.
"She asked me to be her daddy for today," I said quietly, offering the raw, absurd truth because any polished lie would crumble under scrutiny.
The guard stared at me, his mouth opening slightly as if waiting for the punchline. When none came, his expression hardened into official irritation. "Mister, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but you need to step away from the kid and put your hands where I can see them while I call the desk."
He reached for his radio, his fingers brushing the plastic clip. Clara let out a small, terrified gasp and buried her face in my shoulder, her arms locking around my neck with surprising strength.
"Don't let them take me back," she whispered into my collar. "Please."
I looked down at the soft curve of her blonde curls, then up at the guard's approaching hand. The temporary game was over. Whatever happened next would dictate whether she went back into the cycle of casual abandonment or found a real anchor.
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"Hold on," I told the guard, reaching into my inside jacket pocket with my free hand, my fingers closing around my contractor badge and my wallet. "Before you call anyone, look at the back of this paper she's holding. Check the numbers."
The guard hesitated, his hand hovering inches from the radio, caught off guard by the calm authority in my voice. He took a half-step forward, his flashlight beam shifting down to illuminate the crumpled note in Clara's small hand.
