Maybe someday she’d trust him enough to tell the rest.
Kit spotted Malcolm heading their way from Residential, an honest-to-goodness picnic basket slung over one arm, and decided to let his granddaughter have her picnic without Grandpa hanging around. “Well, here comes your lunch date. I guess I’d better tackle that paperwork. Just do the fish a favor and don’t flip Malcolm into the pond between the sandwiches and the desserts?”
The sparkle came back to Margo’s eyes. “Okay. Although after what Sven did to me, I don’t think I could flip a soda straw into the fish pond,”
Kit rumpled her hair affectionately. “Good. Proves you’re doing it right. See you at dinner, imp.”
Her smile brightened his whole mood. “Okay.”
Kit returned Malcolm’s wave, then headed back up to his office. Very deliberately, Kit switched the camera view on one particular video screen, leaving his grandkid her privacy. Besides, with Malcolm Moore as chaperon he didn’t really have anything to worry about. Kit chuckled, recalling the full-blown panic in Skeeter Jackson’s eyes when he’d cornered that worthy and made matters crystal clear, then settled down to the bills in a better frame of mind than he’d enjoyed in days.
Two days into Margo’s weapons training, Kit started getting bad news. First came the altercation on Commons when a drunken tourist accosted her. She flipped him straight into a fishpond, almost as though deliberately recalling his advice not to toss Malcolm into one. Bull Morgan had not been amused when the drunken idiot turned out to be a billionaire who threatened to sue. Fortunately, Margo had plenty of witnesses for Kit to counter-threaten with sexual assault charges. The billionaire had slunk away down time on his tour, muttering into his expensively manicured beard.