Hugh glanced up from his meal. “Or I can put Amelia right on a plane to the States.”
“Ah, you’re the protective kind. One of those men who takes alpha to a whole new level.” She twirled her fork in the spaghetti. “But you haven’t figured out how tough Amelia is yet, have you?”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, but stayed diplomatically quiet.
“Forgive me for being presumptuous. Let’s eat and get some sleep. There’s nothing more we can do until the truck returns in the morning.” She lifted her water bottle. “Another toast, to having life restored to normal. Now let’s clean up before it gets dark.”
Once she got her guests settled for the night, she could slip out to check on her charges. The first three would be smuggled out of the country on a departing C-17 tonight as the children of three of her staff. That still left the eleven orphans in the guest house. At least a dozen more would be coming in later tonight in the trucks delivering “supplies,” children ranging from newborn to eight years old. Their well-being rested on her getting them out of the country as quickly as possible so she could accommodate the others that would need her. She’d never dealt with placing such large numbers at once.
She’d never been needed more than now.
If these two surprise guests presented a risk to her operation, then she would be forced to deal with them, just as she’d been forced to deal with Oliver. Joshua would be safe either way.
But she could not allow anyone to stand in the way of getting these children to safety.
***
“Do you get the feeling we’re staying at the Hotel California?”
Amelia’s softly spoken question smoked through Hugh’s focus as he checked out their quarters. He turned on his heel toward her. She sat on the bed with Joshua, mosquito netting draped on the thick four-poster.
She leaned forward, snapping her fingers. “Hugh? Don’t you agree? Hotel California?”
The Eagles classic echoed around in his brain until his fingers tapped along the top of the rocking chair.
“Uh-huh,” he said as he stared outside at the pitch-black nothingness.
No lights, which didn’t mean no people, just no power, or others conserving their generators. Even if Amelia and Joshua weren’t depleted, trekking back with them in pitch-black wasn’t safe. Alone, he could find his way, but alone wasn’t an option. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—leave them behind here. So they would stay until the morning, resting and recouping, and then head out in the morning.
Could they trust Jocelyn Pearson-Stewart? Hell if he knew.
At least the woman hadn’t questioned their request to share a room so he could stay near Amelia and Joshua. The room wasn’t large, but it had a private bath and a nook with a crib. Jocelyn had given them everything they could need, including clothes and toiletries, all with perfect explanations for why she had extra on hand, nieces and nephews who wore the same size as him—and Amelia and Joshua.
His fingers strummed along a small chest of drawers with their clothes and a guitar resting on top. Interesting that Jocelyn had picked up on a single moment when he’d admired the guitar on the living-room wall.
She was watching them every bit as closely as he was assessing her and the house. That could be natural behavior for a woman who’d been on her own so long in a remote corner of this island. But what if she had a more ominous reason to be that vigilant?
The bedroom wasn’t packed with other furniture, just the rocker and sofa. And of course, that big bed draped with thin mosquito netting.
Amelia cradled the drowsy kid in her arms. “Come on, kiddo, go to sleep, go to sleep so I can wash my hair three times.” She cooed softly to the little guy. “And if you don’t go to sleep I’m going to start singing, and you do not want to hear my voice.”
She swung her feet off the mattress and started walking the floor, patting the baby’s back until his head settled on her shoulder. “Looking for anything in particular?”
“Just checking the lay of the land,” he said.
He wasn’t ready to talk, and right now, finally, there wasn’t a rush. They had time. They had tonight, here, together, while she and the boy rested. And while he pulled together a plan for what to do next.
While he hated to lose the breeze, keeping the doors closed and locked was wisest. With her bandaged hand, Amelia cradled the back of Joshua’s head as she carried him to the nursery nook Jocelyn had set up. She’d said she had a nephew who came over from Miami with his family to visit sometimes.
A plausible explanation.
And yet “Hotel California” kept playing through his brain.
Shit.
He slumped back against a bedpost, watching Amelia with the baby. She was good with the kid, a natural. Careful not to wake the sleeping little one, she lowered him onto the duck-patterned sheets.
Scratching over the tightness gathering in his chest, he watched the too-sweet mother and child image play out. Joshua squirmed for a couple of seconds before settling on his belly, his sleep deep and exhausted. Amelia rubbed soothing circles along his back even though he’d long ago given up fighting bedtime.