Page 100 of Ho Ho Oh No

She winks. “Good plan.”

Despite not wanting to look away from Maddie, my eyes land on Klein and Mia in the corner. While standing a few feet from his mother, they’re speaking with a tall, redheaded woman. Mama Klein is holding a young girl on her lap. What appears to be a fresh poinsettia blossom holds the girl’s wavy blond hair back.

My superior powers of deduction tell me the little girl must be Hudson and Chloe Langley’s daughter, given he’s standing beside them. That would mean his wife, Chloe— formerly Chloe Amos—is the female chatting with two-thirds of my intel team.

With Mia’s wavy, red hair, she could pass for an Amos sister. That’s a horrifying thought.

Nonetheless, I head in that direction because they’re the only ones not emanating nuclear levels of anarchy.

As I approach, I notice an alcove off to the left where a familiar couple sits quietly. I blink twice. A hospital waiting room isn’t the type of opulence I’d expect for the billionaires.Having done several jobs for them over the years, I recognize them immediately. Looks like Mr. and Mrs. Langley have found a spot away from thefestivities.

Mr. Langley gives me a congenial nod and waves as I pass by. “Nice to see you, Lancaster.”

“Happy holidays!” I respond with a tip of my chin.

His wife waves, her facebrightening when she sees the babies.

She leaps to her feet, rushing over to greet us. “Look at these little angels.Oh my heavens.”

Her husband strolls up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders and gazing over her head at our little bundles.

An odd sense of justice hits me. The first people outside of the immediate family who get to meet the babies are the ones behaving like civilized adults. Let that be a lesson to the others.

Most likely hearing the coos and excited words from Mrs. Langley, Mia turns around. Her hands slap her cheeks, and she raises her shoulders to her ears.

“Cal, look at this.” She taps him repeatedly on the shoulder until he turns around mid-sentence. “They’re so tiny.”

Klein’s entire body stiffens. His eyebrows launch halfway to the ceiling, and he inhales most of the oxygen in the room. Mia clamps a firm grip on his arm, shaking him vigorously. But Klein’s still inhaling.

It reminds me of the moment right before someone screams bloody murder.

He better fucking not.

Once Klein’s full of hot air—his resting state—he lets his frame go lax and wobbles side to side. He’s practically collapsing on himself with hearts shooting from his eyes.

When he’s done impersonating a deflating balloon, he holds his curved hands out in front of his face, aiming the tips of his fingers at Logan’s tiny face. “He’s. So. Adorable.” Then he shifts his gaze to Laci, repeating the same gesture. “She looks like Tinkerbell.”

He throws a hand to his chest, glancing northward as if praying for strength.

Jesus.

Mia’s bobbing on her toes, still shaking Klein’s arm. I’ve never been inclined to use the word gleeful, but she’s gleeful as fuck.

I predict there’ll be more Redleg babies in the future beyond the other two already cooking. Time to start plotting for leave coverage on the intel team. Tomer will need some soon, then these two.

It never fucking ends.

Mia and Klein’soverreaction soon draws a crowd, and a line forms. Redleg family and the Amos-holes.

Thankfully, the old pervert is still fastened to a chair, which makes the world a safer place.

Maddie and I follow Sammy’s instructions, keeping everyone’s hands off the merchandise. No telling where those hands have been. And I’ve seen enough in the five minutes I’ve been out here to have some well-earned suspicions.

I’m also careful to keep some distance between us so those with alcohol breath don’t give the babies a contact high.

Or to protect them from germs. Same difference.

By the time we’ve gotten through the masses, the babies are both crying. It’s the sweetest little sound.

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