Protecting Melissa (Holiday Cove 4)

Chase’s eyebrows lifted with surprise at my harsh statement. “You don’t mean that.”

I considered it and then nodded. “Yes, actually I do. Henry is not going to hurt Jackson. As much of the monster as he is, he’s never lifted a hand against his son. He’d make sure Jackson went to the top schools, and that he has everything he needs to succeed—which would be better than living the rest of his life on a boat, drifting up and down the shores of Mexico, and never having a sense of stability.”

Chase listened to me and after a long moment, he nodded, though I couldn’t tell if he agreed, or if he was merely trying to placate me.

I stared out at the water, tears pricking my eyes behind my sunglasses. Could I really let him go? It seemed an impossible choice.

“Mom!” Jackson bellowed from the bridge.

I twisted in my chair to look back at him. “What, sweetheart?”

“Do you have my binoculars?”

Binoculars? He didn’t have binoculars. “Honey, come here. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His face screwed up with frustration. “I can’t, Mom! I have to steer the boat.”

I shot a sideways glance at Chase. “A little help here?”

Chase smiled and stood from his chair beside me. “I didn’t tell him that it’s on cruise control,” he said, smirking as he went to the bridge to relieve his “first mate.”

Once Chase took over at the helm, Jackson came racing over to me. “My binoculars, mom.”

I sighed. “Where did you see them last? Are you sure you packed them?”

“They were in my happy meal right before we left for our adventure!” he explained, his voice rising with irritation that I didn’t know what he was referring to. The day we met Chase at McDonald’s seemed like so long ago. I barely remembered that day and didn’t even remember Jackson getting a toy, let alone what he did with it after the meal. “Let me check my purse.”

Jackson followed me below deck and into the bedroom we’d been sharing. I got on my hands and knees to dig out my purse from underneath the bed. There were a series of cupboards for extra storage and I’d locked my purse away at the last one on the very end. I punched in the key code that Chase had set up and pulled the drawer open. My Gucci handbag was lying on its side next to the stacks of money we’d taken from the duffel bag back at the park Chase had taken us to. I took the purse and rocked back on to my knees to start digging through the contents while Jackson watched over my shoulder.

“There they are!” Jackson cried, pointing his finger at the interior of my purse. It was lined with dark fabric and the red plastic binoculars stood out against it. I laughed softly to myself, marveling how I couldn’t even remember putting them in there. But then again, things were so different now. I hadn’t needed to take my purse anywhere. I’d just grab a few bucks from the stacks and go.

Since having a child, my purse had become less of a storage place for lip glosses, spare deodorant, and makeup. Instead, it was more of a garage for Hot Wheels, plastic airplanes, and the occasional dinosaur.

I lifted the binoculars from the bottom of my purse and handed them over to Jackson, who clutched them to his chest as though they were made of solid gold. Or chocolate. “I’m going to go try them out,” he said, absolutely giddy. “Maybe I’ll see a whale!”

“Maybe you will,” I agreed, though considering the fact that the binoculars were free, alongside a package of french fries—I didn’t hold out much hope. But if it made him happy then they were well worth it.

Jackson scampered off upstairs, and I rummaged through the rest of the contents of my purse, wondering what else I’d left inside. Two blue crayons, a half a granola bar and one small Camaro. All of the things a mom with a toddler needs.

As I scraped the sticky bottom, my fingertip snagged on something. I squinted into the bottom of my purse trying to identify the strange object. It appeared to be stuck to the bottom. I wrinkled my nose, imagining it was a hard candy or some other snack food Jackson had tossed inside and was now adhered to the lining of my $3,200 purse.

“When am I going to realize that designer bags and children don’t mix?” I muttered to myself.

The circle wouldn’t lift out so I took the whole purse to the bathroom to get a better look under the bright light. I pulled the bag apart and tried picking at it with my nail, but it wouldn’t move. As I continued to try and pull it out, a sick feeling washed over me, as sudden recognition dawned.