“She only lets me pick her up,” I blurted. That was only a partial lie. Before Greyson barged into our lives, Maple had been a one-hundred-percent mommy's girl. “She'll start screaming and carrying on in the store.”
“Is that so?” I held my breath as Brant looked at her. Finally, he sighed. “Too bad. I guess it'll have to wait until we know each other better.”
I rushed our heaping plates to the table. The pancakes tasted like sand and rasped down my throat like concrete. Mechanically, I forced myself to keep chewing and swallowing, my heart pounding in anticipation. In contrast, Brant ate with such leisure that I thought I might scream. He poured himself a second cup of coffee and I briefly, vividly fantasized about stabbing him with my fork. Finish your goddamn breakfast and get in the car, already!
At long last, the front door closed. Maple and I were alone for the first time in three days. The bad news was that Brant had taken his laptop and cell with him. On some level, though, I'd expected that. What mattered was how long my window of opportunity was. Without knowing where we were—and therefore where the nearest town was—I could only guess when he'd get back. But an hour seemed like a safe minimum.
Taking Maple's hand, I started searching the house for a landline phone. But the longer I explored, the lower my heart sank. All I found were bare jacks. Brant had pulled the phones themselves out of the walls and either hidden or destroyed them. I checked the clock. Shit, I only had twenty minutes before I had to start watching my back. That wasn't enough time to turn the house upside-down looking for phones that might not even exist anymore. I sat down on the cold hardwood floor, head on my knees, crushed.
Then tiny fingers touched my hair. I looked up into Maple's wide jade eyes, full of worry. “Mommy?” she asked softly.
I sniffed back the tears that threatened. I had to keep it together for my daughter's sake. But what the hell was I going to do now? Just walk out into the wilderness and hope I could flag down a passing car? I still didn't have the slightest clue where we were. And Brant probably wouldn't have left us here alone if there was any help within walking distance.
But there was nothing else left to try. It's worth a shot...
I stood and scooped Maple up against my chest. She made an uncertain noise. But her small hands held tight around my neck, as if she knew how serious this was. I hoped she didn't understand too much; this nightmare could cost her years of therapy later in life.
“It's okay, sugar pie,” I murmured as confidently as I could. “We're just going for a walk.” The longest walk of our lives. I hurried downstairs to the front door, anxious to make the most of our head start.
Just as I touched the doorknob, my heart stopped at the crunch of gravel in the driveway. How could he be back already? I squinted through the frosted glass. That car didn't look like Brant's sedan. It was too big, wrong color, wrong style...
My heart bounded back to life. Could it be? Was I dreaming? A tall figure got out and loped up the driveway.
“Ay-son!” Maple squealed.
I gasped and fumbled with the lock. It wasn't too good to be true. I wasn't going to wake up in that bed yet again, sick with dread, fresh despair twisting in my gut. Greyson really was here. He had come for me and he would make everything okay again, just like he did before. In that moment, the image of us sitting at my crappy little table eating mac 'n cheese ached just as sharply as my memories of Marcus.
I flung open the door and Grey was standing there on the porch, so perfect, my savior. His handsome features were set in a look of pure determination. It was a good thing Brant had gone out, because Grey probably would have killed him on the spot.
Relief shone in his eyes like dawn. “Finley, thank God. Is he here?”
I quickly shook my head. “No, but he'll be back soon,” I managed to croak.
Maple struggled in my arms, giggling. I put her down and she grabbed Grey's leg like a fireman's pole. He ruffled her golden hair. “That's okay. I wasn't planning on hanging around.”
He followed me downstairs and helped me throw all of our meager belongings into a trash bag. As we finished, I turned to see him holding Maple in the crook of one muscled arm. Something about seeing him like that—a strong protector carrying my baby—cracked my heart wide open. All the stress and fear of the past three days finally hit me. I buried my face in my hands and started sobbing. I didn't need to stay stoic anymore. If only for a moment, I could let go. I could let my tears wash me clean.
Firm warmth closed all around me. Grey's other arm, with Maple pressed between us. “What's wrong?” he asked. His voice rumbled beneath my cheek. “Are you hurt?”
Swallowing hard, I gave him a weak smile. “It's okay,” I said, and meant it this time.
Grey may not have understood why I was crying, but he kept on holding me. Maple did her part by reaching up to pet my chin.
A minute later I stepped back, sniffed loudly, and said, “Let's hurry.”
He nodded and started back upstairs, still carrying Maple. I followed with the trash bag.
Once we were all safely in the car, Grey pulled out his phone and dialed a number I didn't recognize. “Mr. Barton,” he said, with no preliminaries. “I've secured the hostages. The target should arrive within the hour. I'd like to have a little party waiting for him when he gets back...arrest him for kidnapping and assault.”
Grey paused for a moment to listen, then turned to me and asked me in an undertone, “Was he armed?”