“I’m coming…I’m coming.” Peyton undid the straps on the car seat and lifted the baby into her arms. Grace immediately quieted down, her eyes locking on Peyton’s face. A crease formed between her small brows, as if she was confused. The look brought a smile to Peyton’s face. “I’m your Auntie Peyton. Well…technically you and I are cousins once removed or something like that…but you can call me Auntie.”
Grace’s hand latched onto Peyton’s finger, and her heart melted into a puddle right there. She kissed the little girl on her forehead. “I bet you’re getting hungry. Let’s fix a bottle.”
While Peyton was figuring out the formula, she heard the faint hum of the elevator. Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway, and then the door to a nearby room opened. Thankfully, her neighbor remained quiet. Grace, on the other hand, proved she had a healthy set of lungs. She cried and fussed no matter what Peyton tried. She fed her, burped her, rocked her, and desperately searched online for solutions to soothe her. By three a.m., the hotel room looked as if a hurricane had blown through. Half-drunk bottles, burp cloths, soiled clothes, and an assortment of toys littered the space.
Blurry-eyed and exhausted, Peyton stood in the middle of the living room, gently rocking her body side-to-side. The migraine that’d threatened to rear its head at the hospital had arrived. Still, she rocked on. Slowly, Grace’s eyes fluttered and her breathing evened out. Peyton waited a few more minutes, and then slowly walked to the crib. Ever so gently, she laid the baby on the mattress and held her breath as Grace’s eyelashes fluttered. Then the baby sighed.
On silent steps, Peyton backed away, only daring to breathe once she was across the room. She collapsed onto the bed, too tired to even pull back the covers.
A loud pounding on her door brought her to an upright position. Peyton groaned in pain as the sudden movement seemed to rock her brain inside her skull. The knocking on the door persisted. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 3:20 in the morning. Suddenly worry sent a wave of adrenaline shooting through her. She grabbed her Glock from the nightstand drawer.
“Maintenance! Please open up!” The pounding on her door came again, the voice nearly panicked.
Stumbling into the living room, she shut the bedroom door in a desperate attempt to prevent the foolish individual at her door from waking up the baby. “Stop knocking.” Peyton peeked through the keyhole and found a man of average height and weight wearing a hotel uniform on the other side of the door. He carried a toolbox in one hand.
Keeping her gun out of sight, she flipped open the deadbolt, but kept the chain lock in place. She opened the door a crack. “I didn’t call for maintenance.”
The man’s face was partly hidden underneath the brim of his ball cap. His uniform was wrinkled, and a tattoo peeked out from the collar. “No, ma’am, the people below you did. Water's leaking through their ceiling from your pipes. I gotta access your bathroom to stop it.”
Peyton stared at him. Her head was pounding and her brain felt sluggish. Something about this seemed off. She didn’t know much about plumbing, but how could he fix a leak downstairs by accessing her bathroom?
A cry came from the bedroom as little Grace woke up. Peyton glanced behind her.
Suddenly, she was shoved back as the man slammed into the door. The feeble chain snapped in half. Peyton raised her weapon, but the attacker was ready for it, swinging his toolbox into her arm. Agony exploded through her shoulder, and the gun dropped from her numb fingers as she cried out in pain. She stumbled back.
He lunged for the bedroom door.
“No!” Peyton threw herself at him, grabbing his jacket. He spun, intending to backhand her across the face, but she ducked. Momentum sent him crashing into the kitchen table. Cans of formula scattered. Peyton grabbed one, and with the skill she’d used on the high school softball team, flung it at his head before following up with a kick to his kidneys. He grunted in pain.
She spotted her gun on the floor and dove for it. He grabbed her foot, yanking her back before smashing a steel-toed boot into her stomach. Peyton doubled over. Through tear-filled eyes, she watched helplessly as the assailant lunged once again for the bedroom.
For Grace.
SIX
Dawson barreled down the hall and pivoted into Peyton’s room with his gun raised. Grace’s screams pierced the air. In a heartbeat, he took in the scene. Peyton crumpled on the floor, clutching her stomach, and a man wearing an ill-fitting hotel uniform headed for the bedroom.
“Police!” He pointed his weapon at the assailant. “Freeze!”
Dawson's finger moved to the trigger, but he couldn't take the shot—not in a hotel full of occupied rooms. A miss, or worse, a through-and-through could hit an innocent person. He crossed the room in three strides, but the attacker vaulted over the railing.
He hit the ground below—a ten-foot drop—rolled and vanished into the darkness between the buildings.
Gone.
Frustration roiled through Dawson, but the groan from Peyton behind him and Grace’s continued screams set his priorities. He whirled to find Peyton struggling to sit up. Her hair tumbled loose around her shoulders, and her sweatshirt was spotted with blood. He dropped to her side. “Where are you hurt?”
“I’ll…survive.” Her breath came in puffs as if she’d had the wind knocked out of her. “Grace.”
The baby was still wailing. Dawson went into the bedroom and found her in the crib, tiny fists and feet flailing. Other than being mighty upset, she thankfully appeared unharmed. He lifted her into his arms. “It’s okay, little one. You’re okay.”
Grace was not convinced, her frantic cries unyielding. Dawson snagged a pacifier from the nightstand and urged the baby to take it as he carried her back into the living room. Peyton had lifted herself onto the couch and sagged against the cushions. Dark circles marred the skin under her eyes, and her complexion was pale. Seeing her like that—exhausted, fragile, and hurt—filled him with concern.
“Is she okay?” Peyton asked.
“Grace is fine.” The baby finally latched onto the pacifier and quieted down. Dawson called the incident in. Dispatch promised to send officers right away. He hung up and focused back on Peyton. “What happened?”
She rubbed her temple as if her head was aching. “I was stupid. He came to the door, demanding to be let in. Something about a leak in the room below me. It didn’t sit right, and I was just about to close the door and call the front desk when he shoved his way in.” Her hazel eyes were filled with concern and pain. “He wanted Grace. He kept trying to get into the bedroom.”
