On the bedroom floor.
After someone tossed her entire house.
“Oh God,” she whispered, covering her face.
Because of course.
Of course whoever had ripped apart her home had found it. And then Officers Brown and Gebhardt had photographed herbedroom. Which meant that somewhere in San Diego, in an evidence file or an incident report or possibly the deeply private jokes of two patrol officers, Maren Walsh’s personal device had been documented beside a heap of smutty paperbacks and the ruins of her dignity.
Wonderful.
Terrific.
If whatever it was her sister had done didn’t kill her, embarrassment still had a solid shot.
From the front room, Mac said something about coloring at the table. Juni answered him in the weary tone of a princess making the best of her royal exile.
Oh, Juni. Maren was immediately back to smiling despite herself. That girl was the proverbial sunshine of her life.
Then she heard the front door open and close quietly.
Colin was gone.
For a moment, the safehouse felt different without him in it.
Maren hated that she noticed.
Yesterday’s clothes were folded over the chair where she’d left them after her shower, and while they had survived the road trip, the safehouse, and one emotional apocalypse, they did not deserve to be pressed into service again without a formal apology and possibly a hazmat team. She opened the suitcase Colin had carried into her room the night before and stared into it.
Not much.
A couple changes of underwear. Two shirts. One pair of jeans. Leggings. Pajamas. Random toiletries. A life packed in half-panic, but she figured she and Juni would only be at a hotel and out of the house for a couple of days, at least until they felt safe enough to go back home. Packing a ton of clothing had not felt important at the time.
Now, standing barefoot in a beautiful bedroom in a safehouse in Colorado with two full-time bodyguards, it felt very important.
Besides, Juni needed clothes. Socks that hadn’t been worn for three straight days. Pajamas that didn’t smell faintly like hotel detergent and fear. And Maren needed—well, she needed everything, apparently. Including a functioning brain and possibly a new identity.
One thing at a time.
The Colorado morning still held a little overnight chill, so she pulled on leggings and a soft, oversized cardigan that was basically her security blanket over the tank top she’d slept in. Not exactly ready-for-company, but better than wandering out in said tank, panties, and bedhead.
With a libido that has apparently returned from the dead and is now pointing helpfully toward the front room.
Nope.
Still not doing that.
She opened the bedroom door and went down the hall.
The first thing she saw was Juni at the kitchen table, knees tucked up under her on the chair, coloring with intense focus. Her hair was a sleep-tangled net around her face. Mr. Kibble sat beside the coloring book like an elderly chaperone, Snoopy had been propped against a napkin holder, and the Blue Fairy reclined in front of the salt and pepper shakers as if recovering from surgery.
Mac sat across from Juni with a coffee mug in one hand and a crayon in the other. He was filling in the sky of what appeared to be a unicorn picture with extremely careful blue strokes, a warm, half-smile on his face.
And still, Maren noticed, positioned where he could see both the front door and the hallway.
His gaze lifted to her the second she stepped out. He didn’t look startled or surprised and she realized he’d probably been tracking her since she opened the bedroom door. He hadn’t chosen his seat by accident. He’d set Juni up where she could color and he could work.
“Morning,” he said, his smile spreading in a way that probably made elderly women trust him to carry their groceries. “Hope we didn’t wake you.”
