"To give you what you need." I pressed a kiss to Pip's forehead. "Which includes bossing you around when necessary."
Pip's soft laugh turned into a yawn. "Lucky me."
"Lucky us," I corrected, and held him close.
CHAPTER 19
Pip
I was sprawledon Henny’s bed, half-dressed and contemplating whether to order room service when my phone rang. Ricardo's name flashed on the screen.
"Howdy there," I answered, already grinning at whatever he was about to say.
"No time to fuck around, Pip. Bomb threat. Get Pharrell and get out. Now."
My grin died. I was on my feet before he finished the sentence, phone already tucked away as I grabbed my gun from the nightstand.
"Done."
I disconnected and bolted for the bathroom, where the shower was still running. Rel was in there doing his whole grooming routine, taking his sweet time because he'd complained about Ricardo’s ice-cold hands and feet this morning and wanted extra heat.
It was cute then.
Now it was deadly.
I yanked the bathroom door open. "Out. Bomb threat. We got to move."
To his credit, Rel didn't ask questions. Just shut off the water, grabbed a towel to wipe his face, and was moving before I'd finished talking.
"Do we know anything?” he started.
"Not a clue. Ricardo called. Said to move."
We hit the hallway at a run. Other guests were already streaming toward the stairs and elevators, some panicked, some annoyed, all of them in various states of dress. The elevator at the end of the hall dinged open and we pushed our way in with a family of four and an elderly couple.
My hand stayed on my concealed weapon as the elevator descended. Everyone was checking their phones, muttering about what was happening. I tuned them out and focused on threat assessment.
If this was a real bomb, we had very little room to find it based on typical timelines. If it was a distraction for something else, we had less. Either way, we needed to be downstairs and mobile.
The elevator opened to chaos. The bottom floor was packed with displaced guests, staff trying to maintain order, everyone funneling toward the exits. I spotted Ricardo immediately—he stood out, even in a crowd, with that deadly look I knew made Rel giddy.
We cut through the masses toward him. Rel was looking surprisingly composed for a man whose business had been threatened.
"Go to him," I said as we neared Ricardo. Then I was already turning away, my eyes tracking over the crowd.
Because bomb threats were rarely just threats. They were a cover for something more. A way to move people where you wanted them or to clear an area for a more devious plot.
I scanned faces as I moved through the crowd. Looking for anyone too calm, anyone moving against the flow, anyone with their hands hidden or eyes tracking targets instead of exits. The exits themselves were bottlenecks, creating perfect spots for secondary attacks.
My instincts screamed that something was off. The timing, the location, the fact that it happened without any kind of warning. This wasn't random.
Someone was making a move.
Before I could figure out who, I needed to find the damn bomb.
Fucking hell.
What a disaster.
