John

One last wide, toothless grin up into his face, one last grip from tiny fingers, and Leila was gone. John watched, stone-faced, as Harold carried her carefully across the street to her eager grandparents.

It was just as well. Obviously. He had been almost the worst possible guardian for a baby (those goons of Elias's being the very worst)—a lion tasked to care for a lamb. That innocent fragility had brought out all his protective instincts, and unnerved him at the same time. A bad combination.

His job had been tough enough when he was shielding older kids like Teresa and Darren. With Leila, it had been all but impossible. He had made moves out of desperation, driven from blunder to blunder by that very helplessness that made her so utterly dependent on him.

He saw Leila's grandparents taking the car seat from Harold, saw the joy shining in their faces. She was safer with this gentle couple who had never even heard of Elias, and would be totally incapable of defending themselves against him if they had. Ironic.

But for the best. Obviously.

John watched them until unaccustomed tears burned his eyes, and he had to look away.