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KIRA BIT DOWN on her tongue so hard she tasted blood.
Everything within her screamed for her to intervene, but that wasn’t her place. Not yet.
Bryce could handle the man. This was his battle. One that she had a feeling he had to win in order to truly heal.
“I’m not leaving. You can’t make me.” Mr. Lambert sounded like a petulant five-year-old throwing a tantrum.
And while she kept her mouth shut, the pain of his father’s words rattled through her as if he’d hurled the insults directly at Kira.
Bryce stood and nodded to Kira. “He’s not moving. Let’s go. I’ll ask if an agent or local police can continue to watch the place.”
An inner voice pumped a steady anthem through her head. Don’t intervene. Don’t intervene.
Bryce’s father studied Kira. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you about this one.”
Oh, she was intervening.
Bryce stormed out of the trailer, the door slamming so hard the walls rattled and the crooked picture above the sofa crashed to the floor.
Kira moved to stand next to the old man in the chair. She had plenty to say, but to be respectful, she let the man have it . . . in Russian. “You are a sorry excuse for a father. Your words have caused your son so much pain and suffering when all he’s ever done is take care of you, worry about your well-being.”
The man’s eyes widened at the inflection of her tone. Russian was a harsh language for most Americans. He didn’t understand the words, but her meaning was clear through the tone.
She carried on, telling him exactly what she thought of him, holding nothing back. With her hands on her hips, she let her Russian words fly off her tongue. “You will leave this house. He needs to solve this case without worrying about you. And we will have someone come in and clean the place from top to bottom. All your son wants is to restore a relationship with you, and you need to work on accepting grace and forgiveness. It’s not something you can earn or that you deserve.”
A memory flashed with a phrase her adoptive mother told her a thousand times. “God wants us to come as we are.”
Maybe she needed a lesson in extending grace to herself.
Mr. Lambert sat in the old chair with wide eyes. She hadn’t threatened him, but with her Russian accent, he might have misconstrued her intentions.
Oh well.
She switched to English and softened her voice. “Your son wants a relationship with his father. To do the right thing. Is that too much to ask?”
He blinked. “He’s the one who—”
“No more excuses. No more blame. It’s time to move forward. Your son is extending grace to you. Please come with us. He’s trying to protect you, because despite the past, he loves you.”
He wriggled under her stare. She stepped back and watched the man’s resolution fade.
Finally, he heaved a sigh. “Oh, all right. If you insist.” The man shuffled to a back bedroom and within a minute had a duffel bag stuffed with who knew what.
She opened the front door, and he marched out. Bryce stood by the car, talking on his cell phone. He lowered the phone from his ear to watch his father emerge with his packed bag. Mr. Lambert opened the back door of the sedan, tossed his bag across the seat, and crawled in.
Bryce gaped at Kira. “What happened?”
Kira held her hands up. “We just had a conversation, and he had a change of heart.”
Mr. Lambert piped up from the background. “Your girlfriend threatened me.”
Kira laughed. “Did I now?”
“Well, if I could understand what you said, I’d know it was a threat.” The man crossed his arms and sulked.
Bryce glanced at Kira, and she feigned innocence. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. Do you have a key to the door?”
He pulled it from his pocket, and she hurried to lock the door and placed the key under the ceramic bunny. And smirked. Of course it was a bunny.
