Page 49 of Hidden While In Sight

His last client had been more than pleased with his work, and he and Ramiro had both known the double-dealing idiots were likely to be dead idiots soon enough.

Neither of them wanted violence that close to Hannah and her kids, and his friend had come through, moving them out sooner rather than later. Diego carried Emma to the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. He couldn’t look out at the pool without sweating, but Emma pointed excitedly at it. He put her down so she could explore her new surroundings, and he checked out the kitchen, happy with what he found.

Hannah hesitated near the kitchen island, her grip tight on her own suitcase and her gaze shifting between her children to keep an eye on them, the way a mother should. The kids were lucky to have her.

“Which room…?” she asked.

“You decide,” Diego said. “I’m good with whatever you want.” He shut the fridge, heading back to the garage. “I’ll grab the last of the stuff.” He couldn’t close up the garage until it was all inside.

There wasn’t a ton left in the SUV. It was a different vehicle than the one that had belonged to the Ashfords, which had to be stripped and crushed, but the car seats had been switched over. They weren’t as complicated as he’d first thought, but then again, he hadn’t been thinking clearly at the time.

He grinned like an idiot as he grabbed both his duffel bag and a box of diapers.

It took a while for Hannah to decide on the rooms, but Diego let her take all the time she needed. It hadn’t been long since her husband tried to kill her. Ashford had had years to tear her down.

Diego could wait. Patience was a big part of his job, and one of his traits that wasn’t toxic.

He tried not to think about what else he was being patient about as he checked on the monitors Ramiro had already had delivered and set up. The murmur of Hannah and her children’s voices in the background as he did his work had begun to feel normal.

Hannah seemed confused when she entered the kitchen to find him cooking a little while later.

“No, I, let me—” she babbled, her hands shaking in the air between them as she hovered, unsure what part of the cooking to take over.

She relaxed when she saw his smile. That was one thing he’d found he could do to help ease her tension faster. Words never helped, but, of course, Ashford hadn’t smiled when he hit her.

“Stir the meat for me, mami?” Diego suggested.

She moved closer to the stove. Her arm brushed against his as he finished up the rice while she stirred the ground beef he’d already mostly cooked.

She nudged the meat with the spatula too delicately to even move it, frowning as she pushed at it harder. Hannah was a terrible cook. Diego found that cute, but then, he found everything about her adorable and sexy and—

“Thank you,” she said, so softly he second-guessed whether he heard it.

Diego swallowed. “What are you thanking me for?”

He was rewarded with a flash of dimple. “So many things.”

He wanted to grab her and kiss the hell out of her.

She tapped the spatula on the edge of the skillet, setting it aside. “What else can I do?”

Cooking in the bright kitchen with Hannah was now an experience Diego wanted to repeat, over and over again.

They ate in the dining room together that night. Diego felt like an ass, insisting on it, but he still thought it was the right thing. In the last house, they’d mainly snacked, the kids in the bedroom, which had both scandalized and thrilled Hannah, if he’d read her correctly.

Tacos were messy, though, and he used that as an excuse.

Watching them eat at a dining room table, actually eat, made his own stomach almost too twisted up to do the same.

Hannah’s eyes closed as she took her first bite of the taco salad she’d insisted on, with no rice, and her face softened. It really was her favorite food.

She tried to stop with her plate only half empty. Connor, watching her out of the corner of his eye, put his taco down, letting his hands fall away.

“There’s plenty.” Diego caught her eye. He slanted his eyes toward the boy. “Eat up, or I’ll think my cooking is crap.”

She swallowed, looking at her son, who was staring down at his plate. Then she picked up her fork again.

Neither finished their plates, but they ate more than usual. It was a start.

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