“Time for bath and bed, pumpkin,” he said, wiping chocolate frosting from the corners of the little girl’s mouth.
“Tell me a story, Grandfather?” she asked.
“A good one, Lizzie,” he promised. “You go to Grandma and take your bath. After you get in your jammies, Grandfather will tuck you in and tell you the best story you ever heard.”
“About magical princesses?” She beamed, clasping her hands. “And fairies?”
“What else?”
She kissed her grandfather on the cheek and scampered out of his office and down the hallway. Was there anything better than these moments? Could there be a stronger bond? He thought not. They were more father and daughter than grandfather and granddaughter. It was like they were emotionally welded together in a way that sometimes shocked him.
A phone rang in one of the drawers, broke into his thoughts.
He retrieved the phone, answered, said, “Wait.”
He went to the doorway and heard giggling voices and running water in the bathroom down the hall. Shutting the door, he said, “Talk.”
“They had Cross dead to rights, and they let him get away.”
Lizzie’s grandfather rubbed at his brow, wanted to break something.
“Idiots,” he said. “How difficult can it be?”
“He’s tough.”
“Cross is a goddamned threat to everything we’ve built.”
“Agreed.”
He thought several moments, said, “We need to go professional.”
“You got a player in mind?”
“Contact that woman we used last year. She’ll get it done right.”
“She’s expensive.”
“There’s a reason. Let me know.”
Lizzie’s grandfather broke the burn phone and threw it in the trash. Then he left the office and padded down the hall toward the bathroom. With every step, he turned his thoughts toward magical princesses and fairies.