The Abandoned Daughter's Secret Golden Fortune

but her grip was too tig

h the cold evening air of the Rust Belt town. Sandra, the CPS worker, tugged Izz

chirping like a bird trying to sing in a snows

was so thin it felt like paper. Izzy stood perfectly still, her shoulders hunched up to her ears. Her eyes, dark and hollow,

should be here by now," she muttered,

ed past a rusted trash can. The silence was heavy, pre

d leaves scraping against asphalt-whis

d one i

atch of weeds was fighting for survival in the crack of th

the far end of the parking lot, where the shadows were de

d alien against the grime of the bus station, its paint

ooth earpiece in his ear, his jaw clenched tight. He didn't look at the bus station. He didn't

up. "Oh, there he

Izzy's sneakers scraped against the asphalt. She trie

bright smile. "Mr. Solomon? Hi, I'm Sandra with Child Pr

gled hair to her worn-out shoes. His lip curled, a tiny, involunta

tbelt. He just stared at Sandra, his voice flat

n her face. "I'm sorry? Mr. Solomon,

is tone sharp enough to cut glass. "I have a family.

but it was nothing compared to the ice in his eyes. He l

voice hardening as she pulled out her phone. "If you

locking onto Izzy's. "She hasn't been my responsibilit

the car i

d out, but the Merced

of gray exhaust spewed out of the tailp

h ripped through her chest, bringing a hot sting of tears to her eyes. She doubled over, her tiny fra

ng on the screen. "Come on, come on... Evette Solomon i

ered in her throat. She looked at Sandra's panicked face, at the

eft behin

orner, the weeds let out a high-pitched wail, a sound only she cou

cold asphalt, her body curling into a tight ball. She couldn't breathe. The pani

said, her voice trembling. "Stay rig

ne pressed to her ear, leav

engine shatte

ing growl, like an angry beast waking up. Headli

eating at the wheel wells-slammed to a halt at

r's door

c's uniform. His arms were covered in dark ink that snaked up from his wrists, and his kn

oked like the kind of man you

nst the concrete pillar. Her heart hamm

vement. He stopped a few feet away. He looked down at her-t

g over her, but he made himself small. He reached out a hand-rough, calloused, stain

ble, but it was soft. Clumsy, like he wasn't used to speakin

anger, or disgust, or the cold ind

er-it was directed at the world that had hurt her. But beneath the fire, there was som

y flannel, worn soft from years of use, smel

whole. The fabric was warm from his body heat. The smell was sharp and masculine, nothing lik

led lik

hone still in hand. "Who

shielding her from the social worker. His eyes

his voice dropping an oc

Sandra stammered, stepping back from the sheer intensity

Conrad is my brother. Arthur Solomon is my father. Call the old man if you don't believe me. His number is in th

at the tiny girl hiding behind the giant man, clut

around her back. He lifted her up with a careful, deliberate gentleness that contradict

d muscles beneath his shirt, and deeper still, the steady, rhyth

pped her throat loosened. She let out a shaky breat

d across her, pulling the seatbelt down. The metal clicked into the buckle, and he tugged it tight, making sure it

e door with

e Mercedes had gone. His hands curled into fists for a second, his knu

r shut. The engine roared to li

. The lights of the bus station faded in the rearview mirr

behind an exhaustion that went bone-deep. She slumped against the head

p, the steady rumble of the engine lulling her in