A dozen emotions pinged through his chest, rapid-fire like an AR-15 and with the same devastating effects. Rage battled to the surface, making him want to rip apart the first thing he could get his hands on. Ten years ago—hell, three—and he would’ve done just that. He was a different man now, and especially since Maribel had come into his life. The image of his little girl waving to him at the kitchen door wearing the Mickey Mouse backpack that was almost as big as she was assaulted him. His military training kicked in, and that was the only reason he didn’t explode in anger. It was the only thing keeping him from putting his fist through the nearest wall. “Tell me exactly how it happened,” he said through clenched teeth. “First of all, Mrs. Applebee tried to call. She didn’t want to lose time, so she immediately phoned me when she couldn’t reach you or Ms. Anderson.” Ms. Anderson was first on the emergency call list.
