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It’s driving me nuts to just stay in this closet. I want to be in the safe room with my family. Wait for Lachlan there. Even if it means hiding.
I’d rather hide and be alive than macho with a bullet in my head.
Before I go, I decide to scope out the entire house myself. These tiny boxes with limited view don’t satisfy my curiosity.
This will also allow me to grab diapers and other supplies I need for the baby.
I strap a Honey Badger assault rifle across my chest. With a Glock in my hand, and an empty hallway according to my phone, I open the closet door.
First, I immediately close and lock all the bedroom doors with a secret pin installed under each doorknob.
If anyone is hiding in a bedroom, they can still get out, but I’ll hear a door being kicked down or blown off.
In the nursery, I slip a freshly packed diaper bag over my shoulder. I catch my reflection in the mirror and laugh. Rambo meets Mr. Mom.
After locking the nursery, and closing all the hallway window shades, I descend the stairs. I never heard any glass breaking, and didn’t see anyone inside the house.
Whoever drove up in those Escalades is coming back. It’s not if, it’s when. If I had time, I could booby trap the place, but I don’t want to destroy my home.
With no one lingering on my porch, one by one, I draw every shade so someone can’t see me to take a shot.
The conversation with Eoghan weighs on my mind. How I signed away my freedom by calling for help. I know how my family thinks. That same visceral possessiveness runs through me as well. Kieran wouldn’t have sent Anastasia back to her father with our bloodline in her belly.
Shaking my head, it feels so weird to think of her by her full name. I’m completely committed to Ana.
We are going back East after this. This battle is either ending with us dead, or us killing Russian mercenaries hired by someone who will just send more.
My brain mentally makes plans. Finding a new house and a school for Sophie means I have to hire bodyguards. A reminder why I don’t live in Astoria.
Looking down at all the armor strapped to me, I never really left. Mentally anyway.
The smell of turkey hits me when I reach the kitchen. In the sink are mugs from mine and Ana’s morning tea and a bowl Sophie used to eat the stuffing for breakfast.
My stomach rumbles and with the full serving dish right there, I grab it and eat a few forkfuls just to put something in my stomach, so I don’t pass out from low blood sugar.
With the last bite, I taste something that has my heart racing.
My tongue isolates the source of the salty crunch.
A pecan.
I push the stuffing away like it’s poison.
This fucking thing has nuts. And Sophie ate a bowlful. I examine the dish closer and notice the pecans are only sprinkled on top.
Did I mention the allergy to the caterer when I ordered the food? We’re operating on little sleep here with the baby. It’s a robotic question for me, I can’t imagine I missed it.
Or did they just send me stuffing with nuts?
Sophie ate this hours ago, and she was fine the last I saw her. One bite of that cupcake a few weeks ago and she was on the floor. I force myself to relax, figuring she’s got to be okay. Maybe she ate a corner scoop and didn’t get a pecan.
Plus, there’s an EpiPen in the safe room.
I don’t trust this food now. It all has to go. Besides, as soon as Lachlan gets here, we’re being flown to New York. I hate to throw it away so I just re-box everything. I’ll drop it off somewhere.
Jesus, listen to me.
I’m being airlifted out of a danger zone and am thinking about stopping at a homeless shelter.
