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“Yeah. I…yes. I gotta run, Mom, but I’ll call you later. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
She hung up. Pressed the contacts and added Iris’s new number. Then she forwarded the number to Garrett’s phone with a text.Iris called. She’s in Paris.
Her hand shook as she put down the phone.
“She okay?”
“Yes. No. I mean—one of her crew died. Sounded sudden.”
Pippa drew in a breath, nodded.
“How?”
She looked over, and Fraser stood in the landing. He too was dressed in his pajama bottoms, a T-shirt, his wrist and hand in a cast. She hadn’t been thrilled when he’d taken off with Ned two weeks ago—or that he’d had to have his hand recasted when he returned. But at least the old fire was back in his eyes.
Her oldest son always looked a little on edge, capable and unwavering. At least, until this summer, when he’d been rescued from the Boko Haram. And then he’d become quiet and brooding, secretive and not just a little grumpy.
Now, he walked up to the counter. “Was he murdered?”
Jenny stilled. Stared at Fraser. “Murdered? What aren’t you boys telling me?”
He drew in a breath.
Aw, she knew it. Justknewit. Right in her bones.
And right then, Her Royal Highness Princess Imani came down the stairs. She wore a pink bathrobe, her dark hair in a night bonnet. “What’s going on?”
Jenny pinned Fraser with a look, then turned and pulled out her cast iron skillet. “I’m making pancakes. And then I want some answers.”
* * *
He didn’t wantto do any high-fiving yet, but the fact Hudson had gotten Iris to Paris still alive felt like a win.
And how terrifying was that?
It used to be that a good day was a ninety percent completion rate and a frothy Vienna lager at the end of the day. Now he was running around Europe, one eye over his shoulder, hoping that he didn’t step out in front of a speeding car, Iris in tow.
He gripped her hand as they reached the metro stop, a reflex of protection more than affection, although—
Nope. They were just friends.Onlyfriends.
And if he just kept telling himself that, maybe he’d figure out a way to believe it. Because back in his real life, the one where he played football for the ELF and she worked on a crew of officials…
He dropped her hand.
She gave him a thin smile, maybe reading his mind.
She wore a pair of black pants, a white shirt, a black jacket, her blonde hair pulled back, bare makeup, and fatigue around her blue eyes. He probably looked the same, really, having spent the night in the Athens airport for their six a.m. flight to Paris. He’d wanted to mention that they could have stayed at the hotel with the view in Santorini just one night, maybe taken the morning flight to Paris, but there’d been no reasoning with her after she’d gotten the news from her crew chief, Yannick Mayer, about Abe’s death.
She’d barely slowed down to purchase winter attire and a jacket for the memorial service of sorts at Abe’s flat in Paris, before his body was shipped back to Georgia.
She had, however, bought a disposable cell phone as soon as they’d landed in Paris.
“Everything okay at home?”
“Yes. My mother was worried, and I would have liked to talk to her longer, but I’ll call her later. I still can’t believe that Abe isdead.”
