Chapter 5 - The Shattered Glass
I drove them home. Clara lived in a small, ground-floor apartment in a slightly run-down complex on the edge of town. It was clean and filled with books and plants, but the locks on the doors were flimsy.
After I put Lily to bed, Clara collapsed onto the worn sofa, burying her face in her hands.
"He's going to take her, Julian," she wept. "He comes from money. His family has lawyers. I have... I have nothing. He doesn't even want her. He just wants to punish me for moving on."
I sat beside her, pulling her into my arms. She rested her head on my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair.
"He's not taking her," I promised, my voice a low rumble. "I won't let him."
I stayed until she fell asleep on the couch, covering her with an afghan. I dozed in the armchair, my senses on high alert.
At 3:00 AM, the silence was shattered by an explosive CRASH.
I was on my feet in a microsecond. The front window of the apartment had been smashed in. Shards of glass covered the living room floor, gleaming in the amber light of the streetlamp. A heavy landscaping brick lay in the center of the rug.
Clara screamed, bolting upright. Lily came crying out of the bedroom, clutching her stuffed dinosaur.
I rushed to the window, looking out into the parking lot. A dark SUV was speeding out of the complex, its headlights off. Mark.
"Get your coats," I commanded, turning back to Clara. My blood was boiling, a protective rage surging through my veins that I hadn't felt in years. "Pack a bag for Lily. A week's worth of clothes for both of you."
"Julian, the police—"
"I'll call the police from my truck," I said, grabbing my keys. "But you are not staying here. Not tonight. Not until he's dealt with."
Clara was shaking so violently she could barely zip Lily's coat. I stepped in, doing it for her, then lifted the little girl into my arms.
"Are the bad men coming?" Lily whispered into my neck.
"No, sweetheart," I said, holding her tight. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. You're coming to my house. It's built like a fortress."
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Within ten minutes, we were in my truck, leaving the shattered apartment behind. I dialed my best friend, David, who happened to be one of the most ruthless family law attorneys in the state of New York.
"Dave," I said when he answered groggily. "I need a favor. The biggest one you've got."
