Page 8 of Her Faithful Protector

I shake my head and laugh. “He likes you. It just takes timefor him to show it. He’ll warm up to you,” I reassure her. “You can speed up the process if you’re willing to wear thePaw Patrolsunglasses for him.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s his favorite show, and those sunglasses have dog ears on the sides,” I laugh. “Although they’re buried somewhere in there.” My hand gestures toward the bags scattered on the floor.

“I doubt it’d make a difference. It’s me—proof that I’m not cut out for motherhood yet.” She shrugs casually. “Anyway, come on in. This is Quinton’s room.”

I gape in awe when she leads me into the smaller of the two bedrooms, which she had converted into a nursery. “Morgie… you didn’t! See, Quinton. Aunty Morgie did all this for you.”

“Everything is there. Diapers, powder, sheets, blankets, bottles—you name it. Oh, and that’s your glider. The lady at the store assured us it’s the best.”

With its plush cushioning and tall backrest, there’s no doubt that I’ll be able to breastfeed Quinton comfortably there. “And you think you’re not cut out for motherhood?” I comment. “Really, are you sure you and Tyler…”

She smiles. “Not yet, Ave. Remember, I’m five years younger than you. I’ve still got the advantage of youth. Ty is on the same page. He’s happy to wait.”

Sometimes, I forget our age difference. Because it’s never mattered, even when she was three and I was eight when we first met. Now I’m twenty-seven. I never thought I’d be a runaway fiancée, ever, at any age, but the blessing of baby Quinton outweighs all the downsides of my choice to stick with Willem. And my bestie is the one who keeps me sane and optimistic.

“You and Ty are a match made in hea—Helena,” I quip.

“Well, speaking of my husband, I should let him know that you’re here.”

While Morgan makes the call, I take the time to settle Quinton in the crib, singing to him, and his eyes finally shut. “Sleep tight, baby.” I kiss him, then rejoin Morgan.

“Tea?” Morgan offers.

“Please.”

Morgan leads me into the kitchen. “I’ve stocked up. You’ve got everything you need here. No chamomile tea, though.” She winks and then reaches for two bags of Lipton.

I chuckle appreciatively. No, I won’t have to smell chamomile ever again.

We make ourselves comfortable on the two-seater couch in the living room.

Morgan starts, “This is a stupid question, but I need to ask, Ave. Are you sure no one is following you?”

If anyone else had posed that question to me, considering all the effort I had put into ensuring my own safety and protecting Quinton in the past few days, I would punch them in the face. But my friend has every right to ask. She has put herself on the line for my sake. And she has experienced her own share of danger, having been pursued relentlessly after surviving a murder attempt. She understands firsthand what it’s like to be on the run, constantly trying to stay one step ahead of those chasing her.

“Someone tried to chase me when I was entering Utah,” I admit. “But let me tell you, I drove like Max Verstappen at the Miami Grand Prix.” That makes Morgan cock her head. “Well, actually, I drove like my mother!”

We laugh. We both knew she was the epitome of L.A. taxi drivers in the nineties—efficient, talkative, and slightly insane.

I glance at Quinton’s room and add, “With passenger comfort in mind, of course.”

“I trust you know what you’re doing.”

“They lost me, Morgie. I was sure of that. I went the long way around, always checking if anyone was on my tail.”

She responds with a hint of pride, perhaps reminding me of the valuable tips she once gave me. “I’m proud of you.” She pauses, then asks another question. “And you didn’t tell any of your work friends?”

There’s a special bond among courtroom artists. I’ll miss them. But I couldn’t risk it, considering the close connection between the media, the justice system, and Willem. His company plays a crucial role in the California Department of Justice database network and has won a bid to expand to the federal level.

“No one, Morgie. I told absolutely no one,” I answer.

She acknowledges me with a nod, then sips her tea.

As I look out the window, all I see are vast green fields. I can’t help but wonder, “Do I even have a neighbor around here?”

“Um… about half a mile on each side.”

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