Roarke ushered her through the doors, and they walked briskly through the building. Viper and Striker would enter separately. Roarke had suggested that they split up here and call each other once they got back to their apartments. If one of them was taken in for questions, at least there was a chance the rest of them could make it out.
She stood beside Roarke as he flagged down a driver. Questions burned her tongue, but she didn’t dare ask anything. Not yet. Not until they were officially safe.
Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to a high-rise apartment building. Roarke continued carrying Emmy, whose head still rested on his shoulder. Guilt gnawed at her. She’d never seen Emmy so exhausted.
“Keep your head down,” he instructed.
Roarke held Laine’s tote as they strode through the building and up the elevator to the fifteenth floor. He removed a key card from his pocket and unlocked a door.
The room was warm, but she wrapped her arms tightly around her as she removed her shoes.
“I’ll put her in my bed,” Roarke said, as he steered down the hall. “Hopefully she can get a few hours’ sleep.”
Laine’s belly buzzed with awareness as she watched Roarke’s large, muscular form carry Emmy with ease. As if he’d done it a thousand times. As if she were his daughter.
She closed her eyes as sadness welled up behind her sternum.
There was no point wishing she’d chosen a different father for Emmy. This version of her daughter wouldn’t exist without Cameron.
Still, regret tugged at her.
If she let her mind go where it wanted to—to imagine even for a minute that Roarke was Emmy’s father—her heart would break.
Roarke’s hands on her shoulders snapped her back to the moment. His eyes held worry. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, but her bottom lip threatened to give her away.
He pulled her into a hug. “It was a fucking rough night, but we’re almost out of this. A couple more days and you’ll be home free.”
She moved her hands to his biceps and pulled away to look at him. God, he was so much bigger than her. Their heights hadn’t changed since the last time he hugged her, but right now it seemed he towered over her. Maybe she was just more aware of his size.
“A couple of days? What do you mean?”
“We need new identities for you two, including passports.”
She bristled. “We just used passports to get into Kuwait.”
He brushed her hair off her shoulder. His touch was so gentle, so natural, that she just wanted to lean into him.
There was no heat behind the action, but there was affection. Simple, masculine, caring. The kind of touch she’d never received from Cameron.
His mouth lifted at the corner. “Yeah, we used passports. Fake ones. I paid the guard a hefty sum to let us through.”
She rounded her eyes. “You knew him?”
“Not personally. Through a friend of a friend.”
She shook her head, wetting her lips. “That’s so risky. What if he’d turned us in?”
“Not gonna lie, I was a little nervous. I did everything I could to prevent that, but anything can happen. We have to be careful until I get you back to the US.”
She lowered her head. Fear, worry, and longing for the home she and Emmy once had churned inside her.
Roarke braced his hands beneath her ears, his thumbs tipping up her jaw. “Honey, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
The low, protective tone of his voice made her sway into him even more. Her belly moved against his groin. God, she cared for this man. Had missed him so much, even though he’d never been more than her friend. Well, aside from that mind-blowing kiss so many years ago.
But a friend was all she needed ... wasn’t it?
