"He is pathetic," I agreed.
Mr. Cheddar meowed indignantly.
"Why were you hiding in the closet?" Etienne asked gently.
Maeve's bravado crumbled. "I heard footsteps in the hall. Heavy footsteps. I thought—I thought it was him. Callaghan. I thought he'd found me."
I crossed the room and pulled her into my arms. She was shaking, her whole body trembling like a leaf.
"He hasn't found you," I whispered. "And he's not going to. We're getting you out of here."
"Where?" Maeve pulled back, her eyes red-rimmed. "Where can I go so that he won't find me? He has money. Connections. He'll hunt me down no matter where I—"
"You're staying in my hotel," Hastings said.
We all turned to look at him.
He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "The Kensington Grand. Penthouse suite. Top floor. Twenty-four-hour security. No one gets in or out without clearance."
Maeve's mouth opened. Closed. It opened again. "I can't afford—"
"You're not paying." Hastings' voice was firm. "You're Presley's family. That makes you our responsibility."
"But—"
"It's the safest way for you to go through the bond severing process," Hastings continued. "You'll need medical supervision. Psychiatric support. A safe environment where you can heal without fear." He paused. "We'll pay for all of it."
Maeve stared at him. Then at Fritz. Then at Etienne. Then at me.
"You're serious," she whispered.
"Completely," Fritz said.
"But why? You don't even know me."
"We know you saved Presley," Etienne said simply. "That's enough."
The helicopter ride back to London was quieter.
Maeve sat between me and Fritz, her hands twisted in her lap, her eyes darting to the window every few seconds like she expected Callaghan to appear in the clouds.
Mr. Cheddar had settled on Hastings' lap, purring so loudly it was audible over the rotors. Hastings looked vaguely bemused but didn't try tomove him.
We landed on the roof of the Kensington Grand as the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.
A woman in a smart suit was waiting by the elevator. "Mr. Hastings. Everything is prepared as you requested."
"Thank you, Samantha."
We took the elevator to the top floor. The doors opened directly into the penthouse suite.
Maeve stepped out and stopped.
The space was enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Hyde Park. The furniture was cream and gold, plush and expensive. A grand piano sat in the corner. Fresh flowers filled crystal vases.
"This is too much," Maeve whispered, her hand going to her throat.
"It's not," I said, taking her hand. "It's what you deserve."
