“I barely know you.”
“True.”
“And you’re apparently being followed by people with camera phones.”
“Also true.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
He leaned slightly closer.
“But someone is trying to locate you, and you’re carrying a sleeping child, two bags, and a stroller. At minimum, let me get you safely out of the airport.”
I hesitated.
My old instincts told me to decline.
For years, I had become very good at declining things.
Help.
Concern.
Questions.
Invitations.
Anything that might eventually require an explanation of my marriage.
But there was a difference between independence and isolation.
I was beginning to understand that.
“All right,” I said. “Just out of the airport.”
“Just out of the airport.”
The private exit turned out to be far less glamorous than I expected.
There was no red carpet.
No line of black SUVs surrounded by men wearing sunglasses.
Just a quiet service corridor, a concrete stairwell, and a security employee who looked as if he had skipped lunch.
Two men waited at the bottom.
One was tall and broad-shouldered, probably in his forties, wearing a gray suit without a tie.
The other was younger and carried a tablet.
“Mr. Prescott,” the older man said.
“Daniel.”
His gaze moved toward me and Lily.
Not suspiciously.
Professionally.
“This is Elena Walker,” Adrian said. “And her daughter, Lily.”
Daniel gave me a small nod.
“Ma’am.”
The younger man stepped forward and handed Adrian a phone.
“We confirmed the number.”
“Anything else?”
