Another thing to change about his life. His language. Just what he needed, Austin swaggering into preschool cursing like a crewdog.
Preschools? Double damn. What did he know about freaking kiddie day cares?
"Hello, Daniel." The deep bass rumbled from the speakerphone. His father's voice.
Shock sucker punched Daniel. His lungs constricted, tight. For a surreal moment he wondered if the past days had been a sick game. His father would come pick up Trey and Austin. Life would go back to normal.
Except for Mary Elise.
Trey's gasp slammed him back to the present. Daniel's gaze locked with his brother's saucer-wide eyes staring back from a pale face as they listened to the voice of the one man who joined them.
And it wasn't a dream or game. The message was more than two weeks old. Daniel listened to the words, the voice, couldn't make himself shut down this last link to a father he hadn't been connected to in years.
"Son, call back as soon as you receive this message. We need to talk about…" He cleared his throat.
Mary Elise? She had said his father arranged the job for her. How long had she been there? Maybe she'd only just arrived.
But why would his dad play Cupid when father-son chitchats were pretty much nothing more than a biannual affair? At best.
Daniel shook free the questions and, for his young brother's sake, reached to lower the volume. Trey sidled closer to the machine, his eyes glinting with a willfulness Daniel recognized well from the mirror.
Their father's voice continued to swell into the room. "I don't want to go into details over an answering machine. It would be better if you placed the call from the base on a secure line."
The message clicked to an end. Trey shifted from his guard post to let Daniel jam the off button.
Secure phones? The limited intelligence that had filtered in about his father and stepmother's deaths rolled through his mind. Their car had been caught in the crossfire between extremist dissidents and local militia. A tragic accident.
Right?
His heart pounded in his ears, each tight breath in sync with Trey's faster gulps of air.
Trey. Crap.
The nine-year-old stood rigid with his small can of orange juice in one white-knuckled fist and his Pop-Tart shaking in his other hand. Glassy brown eyes refused to shed tears. The T-shirt seemed to swallow him whole as his snotty air fell away, leaving behind a grieving little boy.
Daniel thumped his mug on the counter and knelt in front of Trey. "Hey, bud, I hate that this happened to him, too."
He cupped a comforting hand around the boy's shoulder.
Trey shrugged it off, chest filling his T-shirt again. "Like you even care about him." He flung his breakfast pastry toward the sink. Missed. The Pop-Tart slapped the tile floor. "I'll bet you just forgot to mail that 'World's Best Dad' card for Father's Day last year."
Shot well taken, kiddo. "Trey…"
"That's right. I'm Trey. Franklin Baker III. Third. Trey, after my dad. I was named for him, not you."
Damn but the kid fought with the gloves off. "I realize you're upset. Hell, I'm upset." Hell? Damn. Damn. Damn. Watch the mouth, Baker. "You don't want to be here. I understand."
"Like you want me here."
What could he say to that? His brother needed reassurance, but would recognize a lie in a heartbeat.
Daniel stared at the blueberry Pop-Tart on the gray-flecked tile while the drip, drip, drip of the coffeemaker echoed. Finally he scrounged for words in a situation he'd never imagined facing.
"Trey, you're a smart kid, like the old man. You were well named." No bull in that statement. "So I'm gonna be straight with you. No, this is not what I would have listed on my schedule for the year. Of course I wish you were with your dad and mom right now. That's the way things should be. But life didn't give us a choice, so let's help each other out here."
Trey wavered forward. His bottom lip quivered twice. Daniel squeezed the boy's shoulder.
"No!" Trey jerked back. "I don't know you and I'm not staying here." He spun on his heel and ran down the hall. The slamming door rattled dangling mugs.