"It's okay, baby," Britt said, fighting to keep her voice calm. "Everything's going to be fine."
The Visitor held Paloma’s arm tightly, preventing her from moving. A remote control device dangled casually in his other hand.
"Let her go," Britt demanded, her gaze locked on Paloma. "She has nothing to do with this."
"On the contrary," The Visitor said, circling the bed to stand behind Paloma. He placed his hands on her small shoulders, and Britt had to suppress the urge to lunge at him. "She has everything to do with this. The daughter of Brittany Freeman is quite the bargaining chip. Especially since you got past the punks I had stationed to escort you here.” Suspicion clouded his face.
“They weren’t necessary,” Britt said, thinking fast. She couldn’t let him figure out that she’d disobeyed his orders. That Lachlan was in the hallway. “You wanted me to come alone. It’s only fair that you should be, too. Your guards will wake in several hours, after the blue hibiscus powder wears off.”
“I’m impressed by your new resourcefulness. Does that mean you remember who you are?” The Visitor asked.
“I know who I am, and I know who you are, too,” Britt said. “Wesley Thomas, Palmchat Islands Special Command Operator. With introductions out of the way, what will it take for you to let my daughter go?”
"The same thing I've always wanted," Wesley said, his voice eerily reasonable. "Help me take down Quattro. Give me the evidence you gathered on your father’s cartel. Names, operations, offshore accounts—everything. It’s no secret that Titus was grooming you to take over. Now that your memories have fully returned, you can give me exactly what I need to cripple the cartel.”
“I’ll get it for you. Whatever you want," Britt insisted. Paloma was shaking now, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. "Just let her go."
Wesley seemed to consider this. "A tempting offer. But how do I know you'll follow through once she's safe?"
"Because I'll stay," Britt said, the words tumbling out before she could reconsider. "Let her go, and I'll stay. I'll wear the vest. I'll do whatever you want."
Something flashed in Wesley's eyes—triumph, perhaps, or the dark satisfaction of a man who believed he'd won. He released Paloma's shoulders.
"A fair exchange." He pointed to the vest. "Remove it from the child and put it on yourself. Slowly."
As Britt reached the bed, Paloma launched herself forward, tiny arms wrapping around Britt's waist.
"I knew you'd come," Paloma whispered against her stomach.
Britt held her close, inhaling the strawberry scent of her hair, memorizing the feel of her daughter in her arms. "Of course I came," she whispered back. "I told you I would.”
Britt unfastened the crude explosive vest from Paloma. The device was simple but effective—pressure plates connected to blocks of what looked like C-4, all wired to a receiver that would accept the signal from Wesley's remote.
"Careful now," Wesley warned. "One wrong move, and neither of you will leave this room."
As she worked, Britt leaned close to Paloma. "When I'm done, I want you to be brave and walk out that door. It’s dark, but don’t be scared.”
Paloma nodded, her eyes wide but determined. "But what about you?"
"Don't worry about me," Britt said, easing the vest off Paloma's shoulders. "Just remember that I love you. That I've always loved you, even when I couldn't remember who I was."
"I know," Paloma said, a wisdom beyond her years in her solemn gaze. "You're not just my mommy angel from heaven. You're my real mommy."
Tears pricked at Britt's eyes. "That's right, baby. And nothing will ever change that. Promise me you'll never forget how much I love you."
Britt slipped the vest over her shoulders. The weight of the explosives settled against her chest, and a cold clarity washed over her. This room—this prison that had stolen so much from her—would be her last memory.
"I promise," Paloma whispered, then reached for the silver Celtic knot necklace. She lifted it over her head, then placed it around Britt’s neck. “Daddy will protect you from the bad man,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to look at Wesley. “Be brave, Mommy.”
A sob escaped Britt as she blinked away her tears. “I will, baby. Now go.” Britt pushed her toward the open door. “Go and don’t look back.”
"I love you, Mommy," Paloma said, backing toward the door.
"I love you too. Go!"
With one last look, Paloma turned and slipped through the door.
Before Wesley could react, Britt pushed the door shut with a decisive thud. The automatic locking mechanism engaged with a metallic click that echoed with finality.
