Rafael groaned. “What am I supposed to say—she was left on my doorstep?”
“I don’t know. Figure something out—and fast. I can’t have some little kid die on me.”
“Fine. Give her to me.” Grant could make out the sound of fabric shifting, rapid footsteps, and then Rafael complaining. “Hey, you can’t leave! My car’s not here—I don’t have any transportation.”
Grant rounded the edge of the house and strode onto the patio where Rafael stood in the fading light, a pitifully small bundle in his arms. The girl was asleep—or unconscious—but Grant didn’t need to see her eyes to know they’d be the same crystal blue as her sister’s. He summoned his coldest, most intimidating tone. “Don’t worry about transportation—I’ll drive you.”
Rafael’s face went stark white. In an instant, every drop of blood had gone elsewhere to hide. Good. The man deserved a little terror, having inflicted so much on those children.