Viper gave a brisk nod. “Copy.”
Roarke led Laine below deck, and he flicked on the light.
“Mommy?”
Without hesitation, he passed Laine her daughter. Emmy wrapped her arms and legs around her mom. Laine dropped to the couch holding her.
Roarke let out a long, low sigh as he braced his hands on the minibar. He hung his head for a beat. One glance at the couch confirmed Laine and Emmy were unharmed. The two spokesoftly to each other. The innocent, still-scared sound of Emmy’s voice would forever be etched in his brain.
His gaze drifted to the bedroom they’d been tucked in safely only minutes earlier. On the ground lay a small pink lump. He moved into the room, picked up Big Bun, and carried the toy to the couch.
Without a word, he wedged it beneath Emmy’s arm. Her large green eyes misted as she hugged the animal closer to her. Roarke’s nerves sizzled. Those bastards had scared the life out of a child—had almost fucking taken her from him.
He’d never let it happen again.
Viper came downstairs. “Captain’s fine, and we’re set to arrive in twenty minutes. He said the radio’s abuzz with questions about the shoot-out, but with the bribes made ahead of time, we shouldn’t have any problem at customs.”
“Good.”
Viper handed him a pile of clothes. “Here. From Hassan.”
He accepted the sweats and long-sleeved shirt. “Thanks.”
Viper disappeared upstairs.
“Roarke, you’re soaked,” Laine said. “Are you all right?”
At her words, he became aware of the cold, heavy material covering him. The stench of fish and saltwater clung to his skin. “I’m fine. Just went for a swim. I’m going to rinse off and change quick. Do you need anything?”
“No. We’ll wait right here.”
He nodded and covered them with a blanket. She smiled and mouthed “Thank you.”
He wished Emmy would go back to sleep. Her forehead was puckered with worry.
Christ. Once they got to his apartment, they’d be able to rest for a day or two while waiting for their passports.
He went to the small bathroom and stripped off his wet clothes. Not wanting to waste time, in case more trouble found them, he rinsed fast and put on the clothes from Hassan.
They were snug, but his body was warm and dry. He dragged his fingers through his damp strands.
They’d survived the voyage. Getting through customs would be another fucking story.
Laine adjustedher hair as they moved forward in the short line to the customs desk. Women weren’t required to wear a hijab in Kuwait. Part of her craved the material that hugged her face and offered a sense of protection, but she needed to resemble the woman in the fake passport Roarke had provided.
She stared down at the name next to the picture of the woman resembling Laine: Isabel Lamir. Roarke would be her husband, Hugh Lamir, and Emmy their daughter, Lacey.
A cold chill shot down her spine. If they got caught here, she’d be immediately deported back to Iraq.
To Cameron.
Anxiety intensified her headache. Emmy was asleep, on Roarke’s shoulder, so at least she didn’t have to worry about her daughter calling Roarke by his real name.
The couple in front of them were waved through. Roarke stalked forward as confident as a Kuwait citizen who traveled internationally daily. The man at the desk looked to be about thirty years old. His amber eyes swept over Roarke with indifference.
Her lungs burned with the need to breathe deeply, but she couldn’t do anything but stand like a statue, wishing she could hide her face.
The man accepted their passports, asked Roarke a couple of basic questions, and waved them through. Laine blinked, and her gaze whipped to the man’s face, but he was already motioning at the family behind them.
