Chapter 6: The Sandbox Siege
1452 Words
POV: Julian
"You are wearing a three-piece charcoal suit to a sandbox, Julian."
Ezra stood by the front door, holding a canvas tote bag filled with sunscreen, wet wipes, and—if I knew him—at least three improvised explosive devices made out of juice boxes.
"It’s a casual suit," I argued, adjusting my cufflinks. "No tie."
"You look like you’re about to serve a subpoena to a toddler," Ezra sighed. He walked over and unbuttoned the top button of my shirt. His fingers lingered on my collarbone for a second, warm and grounding. "Relax. We’re just going to the park. Not a board meeting."
"The park is uncontrolled terrain," I muttered, checking the load in my shoulder holster. "Sightlines are terrible. Multiple egress points. Too many civilians. It’s a nightmare."
"It has swings," Leo signed.
I looked down. Leo was wearing a hoodie and cargo pants. He looked ready for a mission. He tapped his wrist, indicating the time.
"The asset is impatient," Ezra noted. He opened the door. "Move out, Mr. Vane. Try not to look like a Fed."
Regent’s Park was, as predicted, a nightmare.
It was Saturday. The sun was out, which meant every Londoner within a ten-mile radius was currently lying on the grass, half-naked, drinking Pimm's and burning to a crisp.
I walked stiffly next to Ezra, scanning the perimeter constantly. A man with a camera near the fountain. Threat? No, tourist. A woman with a stroller moving too fast. Threat? No, late for yoga.
"Sit," Ezra commanded.
He pointed to a wrought-iron bench facing the playground.
"I’ll stand," I said, putting my back against an oak tree. "Better vantage point."
"You’re making the other parents nervous," Ezra whispered, leaning in close. "See that mother over there? She thinks you’re here to repossess her stroller. Sit down, Julian. Read a book. Look bored. Blending in is the best armor."
I sat. I didn't have a book. I pulled out my phone and pretended to read emails, while actually watching the reflection in the screen to monitor the path behind me.
Ezra took Leo into the sandbox.
It was fascinating to watch. Other nannies sat on the edge, scrolling on their phones or gossiping. Ezra got in the sand. He didn't just build a castle; he engineered a fortification. It had fortified walls, a moat, and what looked suspiciously like a sniper tower made of wet sand.
He was talking to Leo low and fast. Leo was nodding, using a plastic shovel to dig a trench around the perimeter.
"What are they doing?" I wondered aloud.
"Digging a perimeter," I realized.
Suddenly, Ezra froze.
He didn't make a big movement. He just stopped pouring sand. He adjusted his glasses, turning his head slightly to the left, catching the sun in the lenses.
He stood up.
He dusted off his knees. He said something to Leo. Leo immediately dropped into the trench he had dug, curling up so he was effectively hidden from the waist down.
Ezra walked toward me. He was smiling—that bright, bubbly, terrifying smile.
"Julian," he chirped, loud enough for the nearby bench to hear. "I’m going to grab us some ice cream! Vanilla for Leo, espresso for you?"
"I’ll come with you," I said, starting to stand.
"No!" Ezra laughed, pushing me back down by my shoulder. His grip was iron. "You stay and watch the... castle. I’ll be right back."
He squeezed my shoulder. Hard. It was a signal. Stay put.
He turned and skipped—literally skipped—toward the ice cream truck parked near the tree line.
I watched him go. And then I saw what he had seen.
A man in a grey hoodie was standing near the public toilets, about fifty yards away. He wasn't watching the kids. He was watching me. He had a hand in his pocket, and he was sweating despite the shade.
I reached for my gun under my jacket.
But Ezra was already there.
POV: Ezra
I hummed a little tune as I approached the ice cream truck.
The wheels on the bus go round and round...
I bypassed the queue. I didn't stop at the truck. I kept walking, aiming for the man in the grey hoodie.
Target identified.
Height: 5'10".
Weight: 180.
Stance: Military. Feet shoulder-width apart.
Weapon: bulge in the right jacket pocket. Likely a subcompact 9mm.
He was focused on Julian. He didn't even see the pastel yellow cardigan coming until I bumped into him.
"Oh, excuse me!" I gasped, stumbling.
I spilled the contents of my tote bag. Sunscreen, wet wipes, and a heavy metal water bottle clattered onto the pavement at his feet.
"Watch it," the man grunted, trying to step back.
"I’m so clumsy!" I apologized, dropping to my knees to gather my things.
I grabbed the water bottle.
I stood up fast.
I didn't hit him. I just stepped into his personal space, invading it aggressively. I grabbed his jacket lapel with my left hand—the hand holding a sticky, open packet of wet wipes—and used my right hand to press the bottom of the metal water bottle into his gut. Hard.
"Hi," I whispered. My voice wasn't bubbly anymore. It was dead flat.
The man froze. He felt the cold metal against his stomach. He thought it was a suppressor. It was just a Hydro Flask, but he didn't know that.
"Who are you?" he hissed.
"I’m the Nanny," I smiled. "And you’re loitering in a child-safe zone."
I tightened my grip on his jacket, pulling him down to my eye level.
"You have three seconds to walk away," I murmured. "If you don't, I’m going to shatter your kneecap, drag you into that port-a-potty, and drown you in blue chemical water."
The man’s eyes widened. He looked at my face—at the absolute lack of hesitation in my grey eyes. He saw the predator behind the glasses.
"You're bluffing," he stammered.
I tapped the water bottle against his liver. Thud.
"I really hope you think that," I whispered. "I haven't broken a bone in three days. I’m getting stiff."
The man paled. He looked past me at Julian on the bench. Then back at me.
He broke.
He stepped back, hands raised. "I'm leaving. Just... I'm leaving."
"Good choice," I beamed, stepping back and instantly reverting to the harmless baker persona. "Have a lovely day!"
He turned and walked away fast. Too fast. He nearly ran.
I watched him go until he rounded the corner of the park exit.
Amateur, I thought. Who wears a hoodie in July?
I turned back to the ice cream truck.
"Two 99s with flakes, please. And an espresso. Double shot."
POV: Julian
Ezra came back holding three ice creams. He looked unruffled. There wasn't a hair out of place.
"Here you go, darling," he said, handing me a cup of black coffee ice cream.
I took it. I looked toward the toilets. The man in the hoodie was gone.
"Who was he?" I asked quietly.
"Just a tourist," Ezra lied smoothly, sitting down next to me. "He was lost. I gave him directions."
"Directions to where?"
"Away," Ezra said. He licked a drip of vanilla melting down his cone.
I watched his tongue. I watched his throat work as he swallowed.
"You threatened him," I stated.
"I strongly encouraged him to explore other boroughs," Ezra corrected.
Leo popped up from his trench in the sandbox. Ezra waved the ice cream. Leo sprinted over, leaving his fortified position.
Ezra cleaned Leo’s face with a wet wipe, gentle and efficient. Then he turned to me.
"You have chocolate on your lip," he murmured.
Before I could wipe it, Ezra reached out. He didn't use the wipe. He used his thumb. He brushed the smudge of ice cream from the corner of my mouth.
His skin was rough—calloused from holding knives—but his touch was electric.
He didn't pull away. He held my gaze, his grey eyes searching mine. For a moment, amidst the screaming children and the chaos of the park, the world narrowed down to just him.
"You're safe, Julian," he whispered, so only I could hear. "Stop scanning the perimeter. Watch your son eat his ice cream. Let me be the monster for a while."
I looked at him. I looked at the lethal weapon in a yellow cardigan who had just cleared a threat so I could have five minutes of peace.
My chest ached.
"Okay," I breathed. "Okay."
I leaned back on the bench. I took a bite of ice cream.
And for the first time in my life, I let someone else watch the door.
- Writer
