“We’re both lucky.Armita’s amazing, but Sean’s having a rough time,” Sophie said.“He’s been unsettled lately.”
“Kids pick up on stress.”Marcella bundled up Sophie’s barely touched food with efficient motions, the paper crackling, and handed the sub to her.“Even when we think we’re hiding it.”
The observation hit too close.Sophie shoved the wrapped sandwich into her bag.“I’ve got to go.”
“Sophie, we’re going to need to finish this conversation.”Marcella cocked her head.“Even if it gets uncomfortable.”
“There’s nothing more to say.All I’ve got is in that file I sent you.”Sophie had created a subfile with the tip about Sunan for the FBI, without Connor’s name attached, of course.“Can you keep me posted on the plane situation?”
“Will do.”Marcella stood and gave her a quick hug.“Thanks for the food.Now go take care of your baby.”
* * *
Sophie had textedBill that she was incoming; the gate to her house opened automatically, ushering her into her personal oasis after a hectic, hurried drive home.
Sophie was glad that Momi was at her preschool because she could hear Sean before she opened the front door: exhausted sobs seemed to vibrate through the walls of the house.She kicked off her shoes at the door, her bare feet silent as she hurried to follow the sounds of distress.
Armita was in the master bedroom as instructed, walking Sean around the bed that took up most of the room.His face was blotchy and red, snot mixing with tears, his fists clutching Armita’s shirt.But the moment he saw Sophie, his whole body arched up as he reached for her.
“Mama!”The relief in that single word nearly broke her.
“I’ve got you.”Sophie took Sean’s warm, damp weight, and he immediately burrowed his hot face into the crook of her neck, as if trying to crawl inside her skin.His hair smelled of shampoo and sweet baby sweat.“Thank you, Armita.Why don’t you take a break?Get some lunch.Have a rest.”
Armita nodded, exhaustion clear in every line of her petite body.“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
Alone with her son, Sophie sank into the rocking chair she’d nursed him in as an infant.The familiar creak of wood, the way the afternoon light filtered through the filmy inner curtains Armita had drawn—it all combined to create a cocoon of safety.Sean’s sobs settled to hiccups, his body relaxing incrementally as she rocked.
“Bad dream, baby?”she murmured into his hair.
He pulled back to look at her, his light brown eyes with their ring of gray—Jake’s eyes, though she tried not to think about that—were serious and still frightened.“Bad man,” he said, pointing to the window.
Sophie’s blood chilled, but she kept her voice calm.“There’s nobody there, sweetheart.It was just a dream.Mama’s here now.”
He studied her face, then settled against her again, thumb finding his mouth.Within minutes, his breathing had evened into sleep.
A man at the window.Just toddler nightmares, surely.The pediatrician had warned her about night terrors, about how vivid they could seem to small children.
But as she rocked her sleeping son, Sophie found herself studying the filmy closed curtains.
The faction knew where she lived.Knew about her children.Probably had a schematic of her house.
Couldhe have seen someone?Or one of her security detail, doing a perimeter check?
Her phone vibrated with a text.The world was trying to demand her attention, pulling her back to the shadow games Connor had sucked her into.But Sean’s weight anchored her to this moment, to a priority that outweighed all others.She closed her eyes, savoring the warm spot where Sean’s hot face rested on her shoulder.
She let his breathing regulate hers.
An afternoon shower blew in; raindrops pattered against the window, washing the world clean.In this chair, in this room, they were safe.For now, she was just a mother holding her child, guarding a baby from nightmares dreamed and real.
But just in case there was something she needed to know, she peeked at her phone.A text from Connor:“My operative is arriving this evening.”
“Spawn of a flatulent toad,” Sophie cursed, but softly—so as not to wake the baby.
11
PIERRE
Pierre Raveaux checkedhis reflection in his car’s rearview mirror before getting out in front of Sophie’s Mediterranean style house that evening.Dusk pressed against him like a damp cloth, carrying the scent of plumeria and distant rain.
