LITMIR.BIZ

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      “But hey, I’m just a kid, so what do I know?”

      * * *

      MARK CLIMBED THE steps to the stage, where everyone was milling about. He’d arrived during a break, which was great so he could talk to Sophie, but was disappointing, too, because he wouldn’t hear her play today. Nothing moved him like listening to his daughter. Nothing made him more proud and, conversely, more guilty for having missed so much of her amazing life.

      They hadn’t been able to move her grand piano from her grandparents’ house into his apartment. As spacious as his place was, it couldn’t accommodate a piece of furniture that size. Instead he’d rented studio space where she could practice independently. She spent two hours there every morning before heading to the Kimmel for rehearsal. The performances would soon begin, but other than attending those, the only time he heard her play was when she messed with the electric keyboard in her bedroom.

      This would have been a pre-performance treat. Maybe if the break was short, he could linger. She had informed him that she didn’t care to be watched, which seemed odd since she was used to playing in front of thousands of people. Once, when she’d forgotten her purse, he came to drop off money for her lunch. She had curtly thanked him, then dismissed him. Evidently he was the only person she didn’t want watching her.

      Things were changing, he told himself. Ever so slowly, they were. He had to hold on to that.

      Gone now were any rules Sophie had laid down about when he could see her. That had changed the moment he received that note. Someone made a threat against him and used his daughter to do it. If he wasn’t watching her carefully, it would be someone else. Someone he would have to trust in a hurry.

      Mark approached his daughter, who was talking to Bay, the violinist. Mark had met the boy before. A nice kid who had a path to success similar to Sophie’s. He thought it was a great thing for her to have someone like Bay around with experience performing at this level at such a young age.

      At least he had thought it was good until he saw his daughter wearing ridiculously tight black jeans and a shirt that showed her...gulp...breasts.

      Holy jeezus, his daughter had breasts!

      And they were totally out there.

      “What in the hell are you—” Mark stopped when he saw her face. Tight, flushed. Ready for him to drop the hammer and call her out for wearing something so overtly and inappropriately sexual. Call her out in front of Bay, who was handsome and a friend who she talked about constantly.

      “Uh, rehearsing here today?” he finished lamely. “Yeah. I figured I would stop by for a preview of the show.”

      “We’re working the concerto,” she said, her arms now fully wrapped around her thin body, her shoulders sunken in as far as she could. “You wouldn’t know the composer. It’s not the guy you like.”

      “Beethoven.” Mark smiled at Bay. “I like Beethoven. I didn’t know who did all that sad stuff, but it’s him every time.”

      “Beethoven is great,” Bay agreed. “Sophie does the ‘Moonlight’ like nobody else.”

      Mark smiled and as he did so felt his facial muscles contract. Was this kid flirting with his daughter? “You know, come to think of it, Bay, I don’t know that I ever asked you how old you are.”

      He could feel Sophie shoot him the evil look of death, but after living with her for the past few months he was mostly immune to it. Her death look now brought no more than a mild sting.

      “Eighteen, sir.”

      “Eighteen,” Mark repeated, probably too loudly. “How about that. You’re legal now. It’s official. An adult. Not a kid anymore.”

      Bay smiled and nodded as if he understood Mark’s implied message. “Yes, sir. Look, I’ll leave you two alone. It was good to see you again, Mr. Sharpe.”

      “Hey, call me Mark. After all, we’re two grown men. Two men should call each other by their first names. Don’t you agree, Bay?”

      “Uh. Sure. Mark.” He waved and walked to the string section, where the performers were starting to regroup.

      “How could you?”

      Mark fixed a fairly stern glare on Sophie. “Nuh-uh. Not this time. This time—” he looked pointedly at her chest “—it’s on you. How could you? We’re not going to talk about this here. I know this is your place of work—I respect that even if you are only fourteen. So we’ll discuss this at home.”

      “Stop calling it home. It’s not a home. It’s an apartment.”

      “Fine. Then we’ll discuss it at the apartment.”

      “Whatever. Why are you here anyway?”

      “I told you, I had some time. I wanted to listen to you play.”

      Actually he wanted to check in on her. While she knew about the existence of the note, Mark was fairly sure she didn’t understand its significance. To her it was some meaningless prank. To him it meant trouble. It was okay with him if she was oblivious to that—the girl had enough on her hands getting ready for opening night.

      “You can do that Friday night. I told you before I really don’t like to be interrupted when I’m working. I’m sorry if that sounds like diva city, but you have to respect that, too.”

      It wasn’t said with any real heat, probably because she wasn’t really mad at him. Instead, she was suffering from embarrassment and maybe a little bit of heartbreak. Fourteen and stuck smack in the middle of her first crush. And if Mark’s instincts were correct, her first rejection.

      Which really sucked. For her and for him.

      It was easy to think that because she had just come into his life they would have all this time to get to know each other, to come to love each other, and be what a father and daughter were supposed to be to one another. Yet she was growing up—fifteen in two months. Yes, she was still young, but she wasn’t exactly a kid anymore. He had to respect that her feelings were real and they had taken a hard jab that went to their soft, gooey core.

      “Okay. Listen, though. Do me a favor and call me when rehearsal is over. I’ll pick you up.”

      “Why? I usually take a cab home with some of the others.”

      “I know, but humor me.”

      “Is this about the note?”

      His daughter was too damn bright for her own good. Which meant it didn’t make sense to lie to her. “Yeah. This is about the note. Someone sends me a note like that and I worry.”

      “It was so stupid, though. It didn’t say anything. I mean, lose me how? It’s not like I’ve seen some creepy villain lurking offstage waiting to grab me.”

      He imagined someone making a grab for Sophie. He could see the fight she would put up. His girl wasn’t the quiet or shy type. But a teenage girl didn’t know what kind of evil there was in the world.

      He did. He knew too much of it.

      “Humor me. Call me. It will save you cab fare.”

      She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ve got to go.”

      He watched the orchestra come together onstage and took the stairs to the auditorium. She’d already told him this conductor was particularly difficult to work for. Pushing her to five, sometimes six, hours of rehearsal a day when three hours was the norm. Apparently Romnasky was a perfectionist.

      Mark lingered in the dark shadows, where he knew she couldn’t see him. She would probably know he was still there because the main doors hadn’t opened and closed.

      “Come, come, Sophie. This time perfect, yes?”

      She settled on her bench and Mark held his breath as the conductor lifted

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