My eyes jerked to Daisy, finding a set of crayons and a few sheets of paper set out in front of her. She was already carefully outlining a shape that could generously be called birdlike. I turned back to Pierce.
We needed help. I needed help. At this rate I could not do this alone.
"What happened?" he asked, leaning forward to murmur the words quietly, in an effort to not have Daisy hear. With the loud music, and barista banging, and happy chatting of the customers, I was sure Daisy was in a world of her own. Especially now she had a penguin masterpiece to create at the request of her new best friend behind the counter.
This was it. The moment I let another person into my world. And in all honesty, he is a policeman, it is his job to help people like me. But this was such a dangerous tightrope to walk. I could only ever let Detective Ryan Pierce know part of my story. I could never, ever, let him know the entirety of my regretful acts.
So, I needed to be at my best, to manoeuvre this conversation where I needed it to go, and away from where it must never be.
Just then coffees were placed in front of both of us, a glass of water in front of Daisy, and three Kelly King Penguins on a single plate.
"Bon appétit and all that jazz!" Blonde number two announced cheerfully from over our shoulders.
"Thanks, Kelly," Pierce said just as cheerfully, and I cringed.
"Your name is Kelly?" I asked, mortified we'd named a King Penguin after her.
"And what a super name it is," she said with a wink at Daisy, who was giggling as she nibbled on Kelly's namesake.
The young woman sauntered off with an exaggerated swing to her hips. I spun back to see if Pierce was watching the show, but his eyes were on me.
"Drink up," he ordered softly, head nodding towards the coffee before me as if I didn't understand the command. And it was a command, he expected me to follow his instruction.
I crossed my arms over my chest and stared back at him. He might be a police officer, a detective in the Police Force, but he was not the boss of me.
Oh God, too much alone time with a five year old. It was beginning to rub off.
He lifted his own coffee to his lips and smirked, as though he was enjoying my immature defiance.
But damn it, the coffee did smell good. I shifted in my seat and then reached out and snatched up the cup, downing a good portion before I managed my next breath. Pierce actually let out a laugh, hiding the response with another sip from his own cup.
I chose to pretend that exchange had never happened and placed the container back on the table with a contented sigh.
"Good coffee," I declared.
"The best," he agreed.
"Good choc'lit," Daisy added, letting us know she was quite capable of keeping up with our conversation as she coloured in the yellow feathers on her penguin.
"Also the best," Pierce agreed. But didn't reach for a Kelly King Penguin morsel for himself. Instead he gently pushed the plate towards Daisy, who looked up at him with adoration in her eyes.
I did roll mine at that. Buying a five year old with sweets. How typical. He should know better, considering his occupation. Daisy snatched one up without checking with me first. I gave her The Mother stare and she ducked her head a little.
"He didn't want it," she defended.
"You should ask first," I replied, in my best I'm-your-mother-listen-to-me voice.
"Please," she said with a wide chocolate tooth covered smile.
"Just the one, we'll save the other for later."
"Wokay," she chimed happily.
And as I had done so many times over the past few hours my heart began to ache, as I watched her smiling. Her attention back on the drawing for now, happy in her project, safe with her parent, excited to be out of school at a grown-ups café eating treats.
How was I going to do this? How was I going to keep her safe?
How?
"You don't have to do this alone," Pierce said quietly to my side. "Let me help you, Marie. This is what I do. I'm good at it. The best in the country, in fact."
My head jerked up at those words. What exactly did he mean?
I searched his face for the subterfuge. For the ego that explained his confident words. I expected to see something, I was adept at using confidence to hide my fears, I assumed I could spot someone else using the same emotion to hide their lies too. But there was only sincerity. Concern. Worry. He was either better at this than me, and I'd been pretty damn good over the past five years, or he was just a genuinely caring man.
Were there such men out there?
"How?" I asked. The all important question.
"I need to know what I'm up against," he replied steadily. "Preferably how badly he wants you and why?"
I shook my head. That wasn't going to happen. Would he deny us help because I wouldn't open up about my past?