“Baba.” James’s voice wakes me. It’s dark in the room, and it takes me a second to orient to where I am. The hotel on the hospital campus.
“Baba is not here, sweetheart.” I pull James closer but he wriggles, not wanting to nurse. He is trying to get to the edge of the bed. And that’s when I see the silhouette in the darkness. My heart slams against my ribs and I shoot up, launching myself over James and tackling the figure.
Blue barks—he was at the end of the bed, why didn’t he attack? Nila and Frank are also here. What the fuck!
We go down in a tangle of limbs, my thumbs find his eyes as I straddle him and that’s when his scent hits me. When the feel of his body breaks through the wall of adrenaline.
What the fuck is Peter doing here?
I rear back, scrambling away. My back hits the bed and I reach for the bedside lamp, flicking it on. Peter is on the floor, propping himself up on his elbows, one knee raised. “I almost gouged your eyes out!” Peter’s gaze flicks down my body.
I’m naked except underpants, and I swallow the urge to cover myself. Instead I open the bedside table and take out the gun case Mulberry gave me. I start to key in the code.
“We need to leave immediately,” Peter says. He’s not even breathing hard.
“You’ve lost your damn mind,” I say as I get the safe open.
Peter stands, using that athletic grace of his.
“Baba!” James yells, his voice so high and happy it breaks off a piece of my heart.
But I can’t have this man showing up in my bedroom. He has the trust of my dog. The trust of my son. I don’t want to kill him. Especially not in front of James—in fact I won’t do that. But I need him to get a very clear message that there will be no return to the Johnsons. Not in this lifetime.
I get the gun free and aim it at Peter. He ignores the weapon, moving in toward James. “We don’t have time. They’ve already arrested Mulberry. The only reason you’re still free is because they broke down the wrong door—they went to the room reserved by Maxim’s team instead of this one. If we don’t move now, they will have you too.” I stand, blocking him from James, my gun at my side.
Peter stops moving, only three feet from me. Not a safe distance for either of us. “I’m not going to kill you in front of James,” I say, my voice low and deadly. “But I will take out a kneecap or two.”
His eyes meet mine. “If you don’t trust me now, you will lose everything.”
Blue growls low in his chest, standing on the bed next to James, his head level with mine. Nila moves in close to my side. Frank’s collar jingles as he starts to wake up; the big goof can sleep through a freaking war, I swear.
“I don’t believe you.” My eyes fall on the lineup of phones on my bedside table. The one Brock gave me lights up with a new text message and then starts to ring.
“He’s calling to warn you. We have to get out of this hotel room.”
James uses my body to pull himself to a standing position. “Baba!” he wails.
I turn my gaze back to Peter and his eyes do that anchoring thing they do, but I shake my head.
His jaw clenches and he just holds my gaze. He really does not look like he is lying. The phone stops ringing and then immediately starts again.
“Baba!”
Blue leaps off the bed and dashes out of the bedroom door toward the entrance. “They are coming now, Sydney.”
“Baba!” James slaps my leg. I put my free hand back to keep him steady.
“Who?”
“A team lead by Declan Doyle. With the senator dead and Robert in a coma, you’ve lost protection. We need to move. They are already in the hotel.”
“Baba!”
“If they are already in the hotel how will we get out?”
“There is always a way, Sydney. I promise you that.” It sounds like he’s talking about more than an exit from this room. “Put on some clothing. We need to go.”
“Baba!” James sobs.
“Please,” Peter says, his eyes drifting to James. “Let me help.”
Nila’s nose brushes my bare thigh again. I turn quickly, the decision made, and pick up James. He struggles to get to Peter and I turn, letting my son fall into the arms of the only father he’s ever really known. Peter’s eyes shine as he holds James close. My son puts his arms around Peter’s neck and wails against his skin. “It’s okay, honey,” Peter promises. “Everything is going to be okay, Baba is here.”
I yank on my pants, a bra, and long-sleeved shirt. Frank is up, sniffing at Peter, his eyelids still heavy with sleep, his fur all mushed to one side. I’ve never met a dog who got such intense bed face.
Blue returns to the room and paces to the window. Peter hands James back to me then rips back the curtain. The desert glows under the light of a half moon.
Peter crouches down, opening up a black duffel I hadn’t noticed on the floor. Petey Fucking Poppins pulls out a baby carrier and tosses it to me. “Put James on your back.” I look down at the thing, quickly recognizing how it works. I hesitate to put James down, like if he’s not in my arms he might be ripped from me.
But Blue’s nose against my hip assures me that won’t fucking happen. I put James down and my eyes graze over Peter as he pulls out handled suction cups from his pack and places them on a window.
Blue moves next to James and he grabs the loose skin at my dog’s neck to steady himself. I pull on the baby carrier, then pick James up and swing him up onto my back, leaning forward to position him.
A whooshing sound draws my attention as I pull the flap up to cover James. Peter has a blow torch in his hand and is wearing a face mask as he cuts a large, clean opening into the window.
James claps. “Baba!” he yells, clearly super proud of what his Petey Poppins is doing. I clip the baby carrier into place, standing up. James can just see over my shoulder and his breath is on my neck, his warm belly against my back, his legs kicking excitedly.
I turn to the gun case and pull out the fob, slipping it into the zippered pocket on my thigh. I put the pistol in the other pocket. Then I take the three phones—one from Consuela, one from Brock, and one from Zerzan—and put them into other pockets.
“Get the dog harnesses out,” Peter says, his focus still on the glass.
I find three black harnesses in the bag and start to put them on the dogs while he pops the large rectangle of glass free using the suction handles.
Peter places the glass carefully against the wall then removes the suction cups, kneeling down to push them back into the bag and pulling out lengths of rope and what looks like a fucking pulley system and some kind of construction gun. I resist the urge to laugh at my own stupidity. How did I ever think this guy was just an air marshal? It’s amazing what we will believe when we want to feel safe.
Peter crosses the room to the far wall and taps on it for a second, looking for a stud. Then he lifts the gun and shoots an anchor into the wall. Mounting the double-sided pulley, he laces the rope through it before crossing back to me in long strides. He starts to attach the ropes to Blue’s harness.
“Baba!” James yells again in that same, you’re so cool voice he used at the sight of the blow torch.
“I’ve got you, honey,” Peter says, leading Blue to the window. “I’ve got you all.” Peter clips the ropes to carabiners. “Out,” Peter tells Blue once he’s fully hooked up.
Blue doesn’t hesitate—he leaps out the window. The ropes catch him and Peter lowers him down. With a fancy flick of his wrist Peter brings up an empty rope. “Frank,” he calls, and the dog steps up as if he leaps out of hotel room windows all the time at the order of total strangers. Frank’s tongue lolls out while Peter hooks him up.
Time ticks in my head. “How long do we have?” I ask.
“Put your harness on,” Peter responds, pointing at his Petey Poppins sack.
I root around for it while Peter helps Frank out the window—his exit is not as graceful as Blue but gets the job done.
It’s only about 20 feet down so the rope is back and attached to Nila quickly. I get my harness on and by the time Peter’s lowered Nila I’m ready to go. “Pull up the rope,” he commands as he moves toward the bag. I follow his order and by the time I get it back up, Peter’s harness is on.
He snags the diaper bag off the dresser and passes it to me. I sling the well-stocked tote over my shoulder.
Peter attaches the rope to both our harnesses, his hands executing assured, practiced movements. He steps flush to me, his scent filling my nose, and wraps his arm around my waist, so that James’s butt is resting on it. He lifts, pulling James and me off the ground and flush to his body.
Peter steps onto the edge of the window, using the rope to help balance us. I look up at him, at his superhero jaw. Petey Fucking Poppins, bounding over buildings and leaping out of them with the greatest of ease.
He leans back out the window, our bodies cantilevered over the edge, my weight on his stomach, and I keep my eyes on his jaw, trusting him with James and my safety. His concentration is fixed on the rope. He starts to walk down the wall. Getting more vertical as we go. At the very end we are hanging from the rope, as he uses his top hand to inch us down.
“Petey Fucking Poppins,” I say.
“Petey Fucking Poppins and Sydney Motherfucking Rye has a ring to it, don’t you think?” His lips are right above mine, his bicep next to my face, his hand controlling our descent. James’s cheek presses against my back, each breath growing longer as he falls asleep during this daring escape. Well, no one could accuse me of coddling the boy.
“You’re going to help me get Mulberry back,” I say, tilting my chin up so that our lips are dangerously close.
“Anything,” he answers.
And I fucking believe him.