The Protector (Barrett Boys #3) - Jordan Ford Page 0,25

and then Mr. Shaw before slipping behind the wheel and starting the engine.

“Arrivederci!” Loretta is waving and crying.

“Addio!” Indigo calls back, lowering the window and waving as we head down the long driveway.

Before we reach the gate, which slowly opens for us, Indigo slides the window back up and hunches down. It doesn’t take much for her to be out of view, and I have to bite my tongue against teasing her.

Oh, so many shorty jokes right now.

So many.

I bite my teeth together and stay silent for nearly twenty minutes.

Once we’re out of Hollywood and well away from the house, Indigo sits up and gets to work messing around with her phone and connecting it to the car stereo. Smooth R & B is soon filtering through the speakers.

She starts to sing, then suddenly stops herself like she’s aware that she’s basically traveling with a perfect stranger.

I catch her sideways glance and notice her squirming.

I could tell her she’s welcome to sing. That little snippet I just heard was freaking awesome. Better than my walrus impersonation anyway. But I get the feeling that might embarrass her and she won’t sing anyway.

I’ll talk. That’ll work.

“So, you speak Italian,” I blurt over Rihanna’s sweet tunes.

She glances at me.

“I mean, I think it was Italian. It didn’t sound like Spanish. I guess it kind of did a little, but… nah, it definitely wasn’t Spanish.” She’s still not saying anything, so I look at her. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are we not supposed to talk? You’re sitting in the front, so I thought maybe… We don’t have to talk. That’s cool. I can be quiet. I can be chill.” My voice is starting to sound dopey. Why the hell am I drawing out my words like that?

I bite my lips together and berate myself for coming across like a douchebag.

Indigo’s soft voice reaches me a moment later. “It was Italian, and I don’t speak it as fluently as I’d like to.”

My lips rise at the corners, my fingers loosening on the wheel just a touch. "What'd you guys say to each other?”

“Um…” She frowns and looks out the window. “I told her it’s okay and that I’ll be back. I told her I love her, and she said, ‘I love you, little mouse.’”

“Little mouse.” I chuckle.

“Yeah.” Her whisper sounds kind of sad. “She’s been calling me that ever since I was a kid."

“Oh, so she's your nanny, then? I thought she was a live-in housekeeper.”

“Well, she is. She’s been everything to me: nanny, housekeeper, chef."

I nod but can’t really relate. Since Jake and I got moved out of that first foster home, we’ve kind of been raising ourselves… or playing child slaves.

I shudder, remembering foster house number three.

I thought doing chores at Grandpa’s was bad. We didn’t know shit. At least on the ranch, you were working for the greater good. You were a team, all pitching in to keep a house running. A house full of love and warmth, where your efforts were appreciated. Foster home number three was nothing but endless cooking, cleaning, and yard work. Jake and I quickly figured out the only reason they took teenage foster kids was to keep their house immaculate.

Thankfully, we were only there six months before Jake managed to convince our social worker that it wasn’t the right place for us. He’s good with words. Knows how to argue a point. I’ll be forever grateful that he does. Unless I’m trying to argue with him, of course; then I wish he wasn’t so damn smart.

A phone starts ringing through the speakers, and I press the Answer Call button on the wheel.

Indigo gives me a sharp frown, which only deepens when an overly cheerful voice filters into the car.

"Indigo? Hi, baby. It's Mom!"

Indigo bites her lower lip before replying. "Hey, Mom."

"I heard about that awful letter. You must have been terrified!"

"No, I think it's an empty threat, actually. Azim’s not too worried, and he tends to know best about these things, so…“

"Well, you just be careful. Wouldn’t want you snatched away by some weirdo.” She laughs.

Indigo just stares out the windshield, her lips a flat little line on her face. "Daddy’s taking good care of me. You know what he’s like. Looking out for his girl.“

Am I sensing an underlying dig there?

I steal a quick look at Indigo’s face and think maybe I am.

I don’t know where her mother fits into the picture, but something about this conversation makes me wonder if she’s been off scene for