A generator was being used to power the fridge and freezer. Windows, windows, windows and French doors were open to reveal the living room, dining area, and kitchen. The place was made to capture breezes blowing through, perfect architecture for the Bahamas. Someone had spent some serious dough building this place. But it appeared that money had stopped long ago.
The kitchen would have been top-of-the-line twenty years ago. High-end appliances, slate floors, and countertops were pristine clean but showing signs of age with scratches and dulled yellow.
She’d worried at first that the woman—Jocelyn—might be affiliated with the Guardian, perhaps his wife. But Jocelyn said she was a widow living with her two nieces. Jocelyn’s supply of baby gear had seemed strange, but she’d smoothly explained it away as leftover from frequent visits from her nephew’s family in Miami.
If she was lying, she was doing it so damn well, even Amelia couldn’t read a hint of deception in the woman’s calm hazel eyes. And this place certainly didn’t appear to be the affluent compound of someone trafficking in babies and women.
She’d seen that this was a working farm—Jocelyn stepping outside to give fertilizing instructions to a worker on a tractor, staking the trunk of a fledgling tamarind tree in a pot off the back step, tending a spice garden on the kitchen sill. She’d witnessed the evidence of time and effort put into the sugarcane plantation, and Jocelyn clearly knew how to keep the cogs in the machine running smoothly.
They were safe. For now. Her hand was barely even throbbing anymore, and she could move her fingers again.
Joshua pushed the soccer ball toward her, sweet baby laughter rolling free just as fast. He was such an adorable child, six teeth gleaming as he smiled. His joy just reached out and filled her right up.
“Beautiful boy,” Jocelyn Pearson-Stewart said from the open doorway. She’d ditched the hat on her gray-blonde hair. She was one of those women who aged with grace, comfortable in her own skin, free of implants or injections.
Amelia couldn’t help but think if she’d met this woman in everyday life, she would have liked her, respected her. She wanted to do that now, but this experience had made her a much more cautious person.
“Thank you, Jocelyn, for taking us in. Truly.” Amelia rolled the ball back to Joshua. “You’ve been so generous.”
“It’s nothing.” She sank into a wide rattan chair, a palm fan in her hand. “In a crisis, we all do what has to be done.”
“Once I’m back in the States”—she caught the ball as it rolled to her again—“I would like to reimburse you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Jocelyn fanned her face with slow swipes, but her eyes were sharp, alert. “I don’t have any needs.”
“All right.” Pride was a tricky thing. “Do you have a favorite charity? I’ll make a contribution to show my appreciation.”
“That’s very thoughtful.” Jocelyn nodded regally, odd given she was wearing stained khakis and a loose peasant shirt, but somehow, the whole package fit. “Something to do with the homeless would be appreciated. That’s first in our minds after a tragedy like this.”
The horrible catastrophe a few miles away came roaring back to the forefront of her mind. “Joshua and I are very lucky to be alive.”
“You’ve both been through a lot. I’ll be happy to watch this little sweetheart while you sleep.”
Amelia looked up fast, then forced a smile through the protective urges flooding her. “Thank you. That’s generous, but I can’t stand to be apart from him, especially after all we’ve been through. You understand.”
“Of course.” Jocelyn pushed to her feet. “I actually came out to let you know we’ll be eating supper in about fifteen minutes. Nothing fancy, but it’ll be a step above the mangoes and bananas you’ve probably been eating.” She dropped a kiss on top of Joshua’s head. “See you inside.”
As the woman left, Amelia snagged the fan left behind on the chair and whipped up a breeze for herself. Jocelyn was doing everything right, being completely nice and gracious. Still, Amelia desperately wanted to take Joshua and run somewhere… anywhere else, but her reality was here and now, making the best decisions she could in between earthquakes and snakebites.
The ball bounced off her foot. Joshua giggled, pulling her attention back to him. Where it should be. Where she wanted it to be.
“Hey, there, cutie-pie.” She waved the fan in front of his face until he laughed again, tugging the palm from her hands and whacking the ball.
Such a perfect moment. So simple, but pure. Normal, after far too much insanity.
Other than some scratches on his arms and one leg, there were no signs of the hell he’d been through. His arms waved with excitement and energy. His eyes were bright and alert. There was just… happiness. Happiness in spite of an earthquake and kidnapping. In spite of the fact that he’d been in an orphanage last week and his new parents could be dead.
Which left Joshua… where?
She rolled the ball back. With a soft baby chuckle, he flung himself over and into her arms. She hugged him close automatically. Then tighter. He wasn’t going anywhere except with her.
And God forbid anyone try to get in her way.
***
Jocelyn Pearson-Stewart pulled a knife from the wooden block in her kitchen and whipped the edge across the sharpening stone. Again and again, flipping the blade to get both sides.
She had always trusted her inner circle completely—until she’d been forced to put a bullet through Oliver’s head today. Killing Oliver tore at her soul. He was hired muscle, and disposable for the greater good of making sure her organization wouldn’t be exposed. She’d been warned he might be a loose cannon, but he’d been efficient. She hated those moments when she was forced into positions that made her feel no better than her drug-dealing family.