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half-finished milk forgotten, less than half an hour into the movie, but Demon was in no hurry to put him back to bed. He liked this movie; it was funny and pretty cute. Way better than some of the other movies Tucker liked—and some of the TV shows made him want to tear his eyeballs out.
     
    But it was more than just enjoying a movie he’d seen about a hundred million times. He was warm and happy, snugged up with his son. Sure, he’d be wiped out for work, but he could just close his eyes right where he was and get a couple more hours of sleep.
     
    He was drowsing off when he heard the grind and squeak of the automatic garage door going up. Bibi was home. The door into the garage was in the family room, so Demon stayed put, knowing he’d be one of the first things Bibi saw when she came in.
     
    It took longer than he expected for the door to open—long enough that he was working out the logistics of laying Tucker down on the sofa without waking him so he could go out and make sure she didn’t need help. But then the door opened, and Bibi came through.
     
    She flipped the switch near the door, and the can lights over the fireplace came on, brightening up the room a little. Then she saw him and stopped in the doorway, her hand still on the knob, and just stared at him.
     
    He lifted his hand in a little wave and smiled. His voice low, he said, “Shh. Tucker had a rough spell. He’s okay now, though.”
     
    Still, Bibi just stood where she was, saying nothing—and that was not like her at all. She even pulled the door back toward her, almost as if she were thinking about reversing course.
     
    “You need help with something, Mama?” he asked, keeping his voice low and steady.
     
    Bibi sighed and then squared her shoulders, like she was about to face a firing squad or something. “No, baby. I brought a friend home, Deme.”
     
    “Okay…” He was curious, but more about Bibi acting strangely than anything else. The thought flickered briefly that maybe Beeb was bringing home a boy toy while Hoosier was off on the run, but he shooed that nutso notion away.
     
    She opened the door all the way and then stepped into the room.
     
    A woman stepped in behind her, looking even more reluctant than Bibi had been. He thought it was a woman, though maybe just a girl. She was petite, not more than five-two or five-three, wearing baggy sweatpants and a baggier hoodie, and those fucking ugly Eskimo boots lots of chicks used to wear. She had dark hair, caught up in some kind of disheveled knot on the back of her head.
     
    He hadn’t seen her face, because she was staring at those butt-ugly boots.
     
    And then she looked up. It took maybe three-quarters of one second for Demon to really see her, those fucking gorgeous eyes that had, long ago, looked up at him with perfect trust. By the time that first second was complete, his world had collapsed around him.
     
    “Hi, Michael,” she said. That beautiful, sweet voice cracked over his name. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
     
    Forgetting that his son was sleeping on his lap, Demon jumped up, remembering just in time to catch Tucker before he dropped him right on the floor. Fuck!
     
    Tucker woke and began to cry. “No, Pa!” he wailed as Demon tried to turn him and settle him on his shoulder. “No!”
     
    Bibi finally moved again and came to them. “I’ll take him, honey. I’ll rock him back to sleep. Okay?”
     
    Tucker turned at Bibi’s touch and held his arms out to her. Still staring at Faith—fucking hell, Faith was standing right there—Demon let his son go, and Bibi carried him, still crying, out of the room and down the hall.
     
    And then Demon was alone in a room with Faith Fordham.
     
    Sweet Jesus fuck. He didn’t know what to do.
     
    Maybe she didn’t, either. She hadn’t moved. The garage door was even still open.
     
    “Your son is beautiful.”
     
    She spoke hesitantly, shyly, and her voice broke again. Fuck, that