And she had her parents’ support.
Even if her mother would probably start interviewing ex-SAS soldiers for nanny duties by lunchtime.The same type of nannies who’d taught Taryn how to disarm a grown man using nothing but a shoelace and a ballpoint pen before she could spell kindergarten.And yes, the teddy had been a worthy opponent, who had to be re-stitched so many times, her father was worried she’d need therapy.
Her father?Oh, he didn’t get off that easily.No, her father would already be tinkering in the garage designing a baby-sized Kevlar.Possibly a GPS chip to subtly insert at birth.And some sort of satellite-linked pram defence system, just in case someone tried to cut the line at the baby clinic, or park, or wherever it is that prams filled with children congregated.
Yes, they were terrifying.
And yes, she loved them.
Especially when she was terrified herself.Her.A mother.
But Finn Wilde?
She hadn’t planned on him, either.And that look he’d give her when he thought she wasn’t watching.Or the way they moved together in sync, like they’d trained for years in a language only they knew.No, she most certainly had not meant to fall for a man who left behind more coffee cups than conversations.
But having a baby?
And giving the Stock Squad a permanent future?
That was the kind of long-term plan she could hold on to.
It was the perfect medicine to forget a man like Finn Wilde.
Or so she told herself.And would keep telling herself, too.
She glanced at her watch.Ten minutes until wheels-up.Everyone had already been chased away after their goodbyes—except the buffalo—with their hugs and theirplease come backs.
Drew was already shackled on board like a taipan in transit.Right where he damn well belonged.Bound for a high-security institution under Commonwealth order, where they sent the nightmares in neckties and the big fish to rot.
From there she was hoping to go home, shower, and face dive into a bowl of whatever unholy combo of carbs and sugar her hormones had decided was gourmet this week.
Probably Milo, straight from the tin, with mashed potatoes and a mango sorbet.Separately, she hoped.
But no promises.
Oh, and a big block of cheese she wasn’t planning to slice.
And maybe with some macaroni.And caramel sauce.
‘Mickey, you need to move the buffalo.’And she needed food, sleep, and to plan doctor visits.
‘How?’Mickey flicked another fly off his elbow, utterly unbothered by the chaos.
‘Try psychic suggestion?Bribery and corruption?That always works.’
‘Aren’t you a cop?’He grinned at her, with that one-eyed squint like Popeye but without the corn pipe.
‘I’ve got half a croissant on the plane.Or some cheesy chips and a box of gummy bears.One of them might work.’
And that’s when she saw him.
Out of the corner of her eye, over by the hospital.Finn Wilde.
Running.
Taryn froze on the outside, while inside her heart did something weird in her chest.
Not panic.Not quite.
