Emmy walked farther into the kitchen, Big Bun hanging lazily from her hand. “You shouldn’t say that,” she said. “Can I have cereal?”
He rinsed and dried his hand then reached for the box of sugar-covered grains he’d somehow let Emmy pick out yesterday. “Sure, kiddo.”
She hopped onto a stool at the island but could barely see over the counter. “Mommy’s still sleeping.”
“Then we should be quiet, huh?” he responded absently as he fixed her breakfast.
Emmy accepted the spoon and dug in. “She sleeps like a rock.”
He grinned. Emmy was cute. She was very much like Laine as a kid—talkative, bold, and a little too quick for her own good.
“Morning.” Laine waltzed into the kitchen wearing his damn T-shirt again. Her eyes were bright.
He smiled and fought the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her ... and take her right back to the sofa. He couldn’t do any of that under Emmy’s watchful stare.
They had a quick breakfast, then Laine showered and got dressed while he packed some snacks and Emmy’s crayons for the plane ride. Emmy jumped from couch cushion to couch cushion.
Laine came out of the bedroom with her tote bag packed and hesitation creasing her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
Emmy stopped jumping. “Sure about what?”
How had she even heard Laine over the squeaking of the couch springs? Plus, she was ten feet away.
Laine kept her back to her daughter and winced.
He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure.”
Going to London took time, money, and risk. But there was no help for it. Emmy had lost enough. He sure as shit didn’t want Laine to think the trip was an inconvenience.
Emmy’s feet landed on the smooth floor with a slap.
Laine turned and scooped up her daughter. “Please stop jumping. People might be sleeping below us.”
Emmy made an O with her lips. “Sorry, Mom.”
“It’s okay.” She plopped Emmy on the counter and pulled a hairbrush from her bag. “Are you excited for the plane ride?”
“So excited!”
The people across the hall surely heard that. Roarke grinned.
Knock,knock,knock
Laine’s body stilled, but her gaze flew to his.
Roarke tensed. He withdrew his gun from his waistband and motioned for Laine and Emmy to be quiet.
Laine pulled Emmy into her arms and moved against the far side of the fridge.
He went to the peephole and gazed through the tiny glass hole. Tango stood at the door, lifting his fist to knock again. Roarke reached for the lock. “It’s just Tango,” he said to Laine.
She let out an audible sigh, and he opened the door.
Roarke caught sight of Emmy’s wide eyes on his weapon, and the fact she’d been afraid even for a fucking second made him cringe. Almost made him want to whack his friend over the head. But surely that wouldn’t settle Emmy’s worry.
“Hey, man. Thanks for texting and not startling anyone,” he said dryly, tucking his weapon away as Tango closed the door behind him.
Tango smiled and nodded at Emmy and Laine. “Sorry ’bout that.” His dark baseball hat was pulled low over his eyes, and the collar of his zip-up jacket was hiked to his chin. Likely to remain unrecognizable in the security cameras.
