Surviving the Dead (Book 7): The Killing Line by James N. Cook

Maybe after I was finished here I could find a few puppies to kick, or old women to threaten.
    “So do you understand, now? Do you understand why I want to see him?”
    “Yes, Sabrina. I do.”
    She spun her teacup on its saucer, an absent gesture. “What’s he like?”
    I leaned back in my chair. “He’s big. That’s the first thing people notice about him. Big and scary looking. And he is scary if you cross him, but he’s not usually quick to anger. Quick to irritation, maybe, but not anger. I’ve never seen him raise his hand against someone who didn’t earn it first. He’s also highly intelligent. And I don’t mean normal smart, I mean, like, genius smart. If you lie to him, he’ll know it. Best if you’re honest. If he asks you something and you don’t want to answer, just say so. He won’t push. But you should expect him to ask you things only someone who lived with his ex-wife should know. He’s a suspicious man by nature. He’ll want to make sure you are who you say you are, although I think one look at your face should be plenty convincing.”
    “Do you … do you think he would even want to see me?”
    “Sabrina, I know for a fact he’s going to be thrilled to meet you. In fact, I’m actually glad you found him and not the other way around. If he knew he had a daughter out there not under his personal protection, he would leave a trail of destruction between here and wherever he had to go to find you.”
    The girl looked up. “You say that, and it makes me nervous. I don’t want to meet him if he’s going to be violent toward me. I’ve seen plenty of that out on the road, and I want no part of it.”
    “He won’t be. He’s not like that. Maybe toward anyone who tries to hurt you, but not to you personally.”
    She stopped spinning her cup. “So you can take me to him?”
    “If that’s what you want.”
    “I’d like that.”
    I reached out slowly and patted the back of one slender, long-fingered hand. “Finish your tea first, sweetheart. This shit is expensive.”
    She smiled again. Not small like before, but a full one, broad and genuine. It made her beautiful.
     

FOUR
     
     
    I walked Sabrina to my house and introduced her to Miranda. She stared at Sabrina in confusion for a moment, then realization dawned and her mouth fell open.
    “Is she?”
    I nodded. “I believe so.”
    “But how?”
    “Probably the usual method.”
    A frown. “You know what I mean.”
    “Sure. Is Gabe home?”
    “Yeah, I think so.”
    “You mind waiting here a little longer?”
    “Not at all.”
    Sabrina looked uncomfortable as she stared at little Gabriel snoozing in Miranda’s arms. “Is that your kid?”
    “He is,” I said. “His name is Gabriel.”
    Sabrina looked at me. “Like my father?”
    “Yes. He’s named after him.”
    The gray eyes left me and settled on the baby again. “You two must be really close.”
    “We are. Wait here. I’ll be back shortly.” I started walking toward the door, then stopped. “Hey, you still have that picture of Gabe from his wedding day?”
    Sabrina reached into a pocket of her shirt and produced a small plastic bag. The photo was inside. “Be careful with it.”
    I held the picture up and studied it. Yep. That was Gabe all right, holding the waist of a pretty young woman with a bright smile and dark brown hair. He stood tall in his Marine Corps dress uniform, hair buzzed short, face still mostly unscarred. It was hard to believe my big, gruff friend had ever been this young.
    “Mind if I hang onto this for a few minutes? I want to show it to Gabe.”
    “Why?”
    “I think it’ll make breaking the news a little easier.”
    “Fine. But I want it back undamaged.”
    “You have my word.”
    I walked the short distance to Gabe’s house slowly, mind racing, trying to think of what I was going to say. My feet stopped just short of his front porch. A minute or so passed. How was I going to do this? I looked up at the glass panes in the top half of