He cut himself off when she made a weird, panicky noise, turned desperately to the next box and tore off the tape.

Travis started fretting in his arm.

“Carrie,” he whispered as she pulled back the flaps and dug through.

Then suddenly, she yanked a frame to her chest and fell to her ass, knees up, curling her upper body over it, rocking.

He crouched beside her. “Baby.”

“Now I have everything I need from him. Now I don’t need anything from him. Now I have everything I need,” she said like a chant, her voice husky.

Travis made an unhappy sound as Joker lifted his hand and pulled her hair away from her shoulder.

He saw the tears wetting her cheek.

“Carrie,” his voice, too, was thick, “talk to me.”

Her damp eyes came to him as she uncurled, dropping her arms and the back of the frame hit her thighs, exposing what was in it.

Joker looked at it and his throat closed.

“Now I have everything I need,” she whispered, her words trembling.

Joker dropped to a knee, tightened his arm on her boy, holding him close as he slid the fingers of his other hand into her hair, pulling her head back gently.

He went in for the kiss.

Travis gave them what they needed, allowing time for Joker’s mouth to move on hers, drinking at the same time giving her all he had to give in order to say all he had to say.

Then the kid was done and they both knew it when he shrieked, latched on and yanked on both their hair.

Which meant when they quit kissing, they were smiling.

* * *

That night in a big bed with expensive sheets and a fantastic mattress, while a little boy snoozed in his crib a room away, Carson Steele and Carissa Teodoro slept a deep sleep, tangled together with a sketch in a frame resting on Carissa’s nightstand.

In its proper place.

Where it should be.

As was everything and every being in that home.

In its proper place.

Precisely where it should be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Being Right

Joker

JOKER WAS STANDING in the garage, hands to hips, staring at the car he was building, its hood up, new engine shining, scratch guards draped over the sides, interior empty because the seats they’d ordered wouldn’t be in for a couple of days.

But if they stayed on schedule, they’d be turning the key at the end of the next day.

He just hoped she’d turn over and catch. As many builds as he’d done, that was always a crapshoot, and if it didn’t happen, finding out why could tack on anywhere from half an hour to half a week.

“Joker! Honey! You have a visitor!”

He turned to the door to the office at Cherry’s call.

Then he smiled when he saw the man walk out behind her.

Mr. Robinson. Keith.