Remo chuckled. “Might have something to do with your short legs.”
Celia shook her head. “I’m not short. You’re tall.”
Her son dropped Remo’s hand, stepped closer, and eyed her lower half with a serious expression on his face. “I dunno, Mom.”
“Great,” she replied, straightening up and reaching out to ruffle his hair. “You’re both working against me?”
“I don’t know about this dude,” Remo said, with a wink and nod toward Xavier, “but I’m definitely Team Celia.”
Xavier’s eyes flicked from her to Remo. “I’m Team Celia!”
Then he winked, too, and Celia pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.
“Even though I have short legs?” she teased.
“Yes,” Xavier told her with a giggle.
The joyful sound was at complete odds with everything going on, and it filled Celia’s heart. She ran her fingers over her son’s mess of hair again, then tugged him to her side and lifted her eyes to Remo’s face. She hoped he could see the gratitude in her gaze. That he could feel how much it meant to her that Xavier could still laugh, even when faced with such an adverse situation.
The big man’s mouth curved up into a half smile, and he dropped another wink. But this one wasn’t jovial or conspiratorial. It was just for her. An expression of the fact that he did understand, and that he was keeping the mood up for Xavier’s sake. Celia’s insides warmed. She was suddenly sure that there was nothing sexier than a man who would put the needs of her child over all else. If she’d had any doubt before, it was gone now. She most definitely wanted the kind, sexy hero of a man. Even standing the way they were—five feet apart, not touching, just staring—sent the temperature up a few degrees. And somewhat ironically, if the child in question hadn’t been there right then, she probably would’ve dragged Remo off somewhere to show him just how he made her feel.
Then, as if to remind her solidly that he was there, Xavier spoke up. “Where are we going now?”
Celia had to expel a breath before she could answer. “I’m not sure. Maybe the captain of Team Celia has an idea?”
Remo aimed his smile at her son. “How do you feel about buses?”
“The yellow kind or the other kind?”
“The other kind.”
“They’re okay.”
“Only ‘okay’?” Remo replied. “What about hotels? And don’t you dare ask me if I mean yellow ones.”
Xavier wrinkled his nose. “They don’t make yellow hotels.”
“You sure?” Remo teased.
“Yes,” her son said firmly, then added, “But I like the not-yellow kind. We stayed in one when the taps exploded and made the house smelly.”
“Ah, yes. Hotels are better than smelly houses.” He bent down. “How do you think you’d feel about a bus that takes us to a hotel?”
Celia saw the little bounce her son did before offering a too-cool shrug and saying, “That sounds okay.”
Once again, she wanted to laugh. She knew just how much better than “okay” everything about the suggestions were to Xavier. She’d once heard him tell a classmate that the three nights they’d spent in the hotel were the best days of his life. He’d also asked her if they might one day be rich enough to live in a hotel.
She aimed a smile at Remo. “I think a bus ride to a hotel sounds fun. But maybe that’s just me.”
The big man smiled back. “That settles it then. Team Celia is all-in. I’m just going to give a friend a call, then we’ll find a bus stop and get going.”
“Sure,” she said, but as he pulled his phone from his pocket, worry pricked at her. “Could someone track your phone?”
“I keep my GPS off,” he assured her.
“The police don’t have a way around that?”
“Possibly. But we’re talking about police who are doing decidedly un-police-like things. They can’t exactly use official channels.”
“Still...”
“Let me make this one call, then I’ll grab a disposable cell from the first corner store we find, okay? I’ll only be a sec, all right?”
“Okay.”
She waited until he’d moved a few feet away and pulled his phone from his pocket before she turned her attention to Xavier.
“You hanging in there, bud?” she asked.
He nodded, then let out one of his familiar, grown-up-sounding sighs. “I’m good, Mom.”
“But?”
“I was having fun on the trampoline. And Danny’s mom was going to give us some juice.”
Celia’s throat burned. They were on a run for their lives—and she knew beyond any doubt that it had to scare her son, too—yet the only thing he complained about was that his playtime was cut short. And his next words moved the ache from her throat to her chest.
“When we’re all done running away can we get a trampoline, too?” he asked. “I think one would fit in the park outside. Maybe.”
Celia swallowed. “You mean in that grassy space between the swings and the sandbox?”
“Yeah!” His enthusiasm was almost heartbreaking. “Then everyone could use it. Even Mrs. Lutz.”
This time, she couldn’t contain her laugh. Michelle Lutz was the eighty-year-old woman who lived in the ground-floor apartment below them.
“That’s very generous of you,” Celia told him.
He fixed her with a suspicious look. “Are you making fun of me? Because I mean when Mrs. Lutz’s hip gets better.”
She used her hand to swipe away her immediate chuckle, and replied, “Do I ever make fun of you, my little love?”
He seemed to give it serious consideration before answering. “No.”
“So there you go.”
“But you don’t want a trampoline?”
Celia opted for the truth, as she preferred to do whenever possible. “I would love a trampoline. With safety nets. And some cushions, probably. But I’m just not sure it’s possible to have one set up in a common area like that.”
“Oh.”
“But you know you’re my favorite thing ever, right? And if it was up to me, Mrs. Lutz and I would be bouncing on that trampoline tonight.”
“Yeah.”
“Ever ever.” She bent down, kissed his head, then pulled him into a bear hug and whispered, “Ever, ever, ever-ever.”
“Mom...!” he groaned, wriggling free just as Remo stepped back in their direction.
“Did I miss anything good?” the big man asked. “Or are we ready to go?”
“We’re ready,” Xavier said, so quickly that Celia had to stifle yet another laugh.
Remo lifted an eyebrow, clearly noticing her son’s haste, but he did a better job of keeping a straight face than she had done.
“Glad to hear it,” he said. “My other good buddy booked us into a hotel. Under his name, just to be safe. I checked the transit website on my phone, too, and it says if we walk up a block and take the path, we can hop on a bus that’ll take us right there. And if no one minds... I’m starving and would love to hurry and get some room service.”
“Yay!” Xavier said. “Can we have pizza?”
“Mom’s the boss,” Remo replied. “But I just so happen to love pepperoni.”
“That’s our favorite, too. Right, Mom?”
“A hundred percent,” Celia agreed.
Xavier’s excitement was obvious in the bounce in his step as they started their walk, but after a few moments, he spoke again, his little voice serious. “Remo?”
“Yeah, bud?”
“Do you have a house?”
“I do.”
“Is it big or small?”
Celia frowned, but Remo answered before she could get out a gentle admonishment about politeness.
“It’s a pretty decent size,” he told her son. “Two floors. Th
ree bedrooms. Three bathrooms. And a pretty awesome place to hang out, if I do say so myself.”
“What about the backyard?” Xavier asked, and Celia suppressed a groan as she realized where he was leading.
“The backyard?” Remo echoed. “Well, let me see. I’ve got a garden because I like to grow my own tomatoes. And I’ve been thinking about adding a gazebo because I want somewhere to sit on hot summer nights. So, yeah. It’s not too small.”
“Would it fit a trampoline?”
“Yeah, I think it would, buddy.”
“Good.”
As soon as he said it, Xavier slipped his hand into hers, then reached out and took Remo’s, too. And it was strange. Because in spite of what they’d been through in the last day, Celia had never felt more content or complete than she did in right that moment.
* * *
Except for the kid pointing out the odd phenomena he spied through the window—a house with a slide at the front in lieu of steps, a porch crowded with a dozen cats, the big bridge that took them over the Fraser River and out into the suburbs, and a dozen other things—the bus ride was quiet. Remo wasn’t sure whether he preferred it that way, or if he’d rather have had a little more adult conversation. He’d left out a small detail when telling Celia and her son about the plans he’d made. In addition to calling his friend, he’d tried to call his mom. It was a little risky, but he’d made sure to block his number before dialing. But the phone had rung only once on the other end before abruptly kicking over to voice mail.
Remo’s first thought was a bit of a panicked one—that the corrupt cops had her and had the phone, and were deliberately intercepting the call. After the briefest consideration, though, he realized that if the cops had the phone, they would’ve answered. Or made her answer. From that, he concluded his mom had ended the call herself. Probably tapped the button the moment it rang in order to stop anyone else from hearing it.
But did they hear it?
He strummed his fingers nervously on his thigh. His knee-jerk reaction was to call back right away, but he’d resisted the urge. If they hadn’t heard the phone, he didn’t want them to. And if they had already, then he didn’t want to give them the chance to pick up and make any threats or use his mom as leverage. So he held off. But he knew he wouldn’t manage to much longer. He needed to know that she was all right. The moment he had Celia and Xavier safely settled at the hotel, he’d slip away and call again. Pretend to be somebody else if he had to. Whatever it took.
That doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.
Unconscious that he was doing it until his fingernails dug too hard into his palm, Remo clenched his hand into a fist. When he realized it, he forced his hand to open again and took a few breaths. He wasn’t typically an angry man, but a situation like this one, where the people he cared about were in danger, did make him mad. If he could have, he would’ve hopped off the bus somewhere around City Hall, stalked up to Neil Price and demanded to know just who the hell he thought he was. Threatening the lives of innocent women and children. Killing hospital orderlies as a matter of collateral damage. And for what? His hand started to curl again, but Celia’s fingers closed overtop of his, then threaded between them.
“Whatever was happening before with his dad...” she said, her voice too low to carry any farther than his ears, “I wouldn’t trade it away if it meant I couldn’t have my son anymore.”
Remo’s instinct was to argue. To say that it didn’t have to be one way or the other. His words stalled, though, when he looked down at their clasped hands. He lifted his gaze and tried again, but this time Xavier caught his eye. The little guy was in the bench seat across from them, his hands pressed to the window, a delighted smile turning up his mouth as the scenery flashed by. It filled Remo’s heart in a way he’d never experienced, and he realized that Celia was right. Sometimes, something good came out of the worst situation. He wouldn’t wish one like hers on anyone, but he also wouldn’t undo it if it meant never meeting her and her son.
He dragged his thumb back and forth over her hand. “I want to fix this mess.”
She leaned against his shoulder. “Your mom did say you have a bit of a hero complex.”
He smiled and rested his chin on the top of her head. “She took the time to tell you that, hmm? Does that mean you’re worried that I’m just helping you to satisfy that hero complex?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. Because your mom also told me that you don’t share your secrets.”
“But I shared them with you.”
“Exactly.” She tipped her face up, smiling.
He laughed at her cheeky expression, then started to kiss her, before remembering that they had a five-year-old audience, and instead settled for running his knuckles over her cheek.
“Just in case you were worried,” he said softly, “this time, my hero complex is personal.”
Her smile widened and softened at the same time, and her gray eyes pulled him in and held him the way they had every time she looked at him since the second they’d met. Warmth filled his chest again. Only now it was all about her. The soft skin under his touch. The way she needed his help right then, but had made it through the last five years on her own. Her curves and her lips.
Her lips.
Remo inched forward, knowing that if he didn’t find a way to distract himself, he might not be able to pull away. Who had that kind of willpower? And what harm would one small kiss do, no matter who could see? Thankfully—or maybe not so thankfully, if he was being honest—Xavier picked that moment to let out an excited exclamation.
“There’s a castle, you guys!” he almost yelled. “Mom, Mom. Look. Remo! Look.”
Remo leaned away from Celia and brought his attention to the window, knowing already what he’d find.
“I see it, buddy,” he said.
It would’ve been impossible to miss. The four spire-like corners of the building pointed up to the sky, a Canadian flag flicked cheerfully atop the nearest one, and a big sign welcomed people to Ye Old Medieval Inn. There was no denying that it looked out of place. It was a monstrosity that stuck up over the horizon. And it would be even more conspicuous once they got closer, because it was sandwiched between a gas station and a little house that belonged to a man who refused to sell and let his land be turned into commercial property.
Celia turned a twitching mouth Remo’s way. “A castle.”
He kept a straight face as he shrugged. “An inn.”
“I suppose it was the only hotel option.”
“The only one that has suits of armor guarding the lobby, serves root beer in wooden chalices at its restaurant and has free movie channels.”
“Of course it is. Do you think they know ‘medieval’ makes the ‘old’ kind of redundant?”
He laughed, then sat back to watch Xavier’s eyes go wide as the bus slowed, then wound its way up the ramp, bringing them closer to the oversize structure.
“Is it our hotel?” the kid finally asked, as they turned up the street toward the inn.
Remo reached over Celia’s head to press the stop signal. “Maybe.”
Xavier practically flew from his seat to throw himself at Remo, his skinny little arms flinging around his neck and squeezing.
“Oh, sure,” said Celia. “You’ll let him hug you.”
“It’s a castle, Mom,” Xavier replied, disentangling himself just as the bus chugged to a stop.
“And it’s awesome,” Remo added. “You’ll see.”
Celia rolled her pretty gray eyes, but when they’d finished with their quick stop at the neighboring gas station to grab the disposable phone he’d promised—paying cash, just to be sure—and made their way to the lobby, she was clearly not immune to the deliberate splendor of the hotel, either. She paused to look around. And he didn’t blame her. Though the hotel really was old—it’d b
een around for a couple decades before Remo was even born—it was well-kept, and its medieval vibe was on point. Swords and flags hung from the walls. No less than six full suits of armor guarded the space. The young guy behind the counter who checked them in even handed over an old-fashioned, iron-heavy key.
“You’ve really never been here?” Remo asked Celia as they made their way to their assigned room.
“I didn’t even know it existed,” she told him. “Unless my memory blocked this out, too.”
“No way,” he replied. “This would be the first thing you remembered.”
She laughed, and her hand found his, her palm meeting his in that meant-to-be way that he liked so much. He couldn’t help eyeing Xavier. The kid was running ahead, stopping at each new decoration to admire it, then running ahead again.
“Do you think this is okay with him?” Remo asked, giving her fingers a squeeze.
“The hand-holding?” she replied.
“His mom hand-holding. With a stranger.”
“You brought him to a castle. I think you should be more worried about whether or not he’s going to demote me to the role of stranger.”
He gave her shoulder a nudge. “I’m serious.”
She sighed. “I know. It’s just that I’m not sure what the answer is. I don’t date, so I don’t have a quick comparison. But if I had to reason through it, I’d say that if I was going to bring a man into Xavier’s life, I’d wait until I was sure it had the potential to be serious. Then ease into an introduction. Maybe a visit to the park. A dinner. Then get a feel for his thoughts before jumping into the PDA. I think maybe that’s single mom 101. But since none of it applies, I don’t have any idea what I should do.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“One of those things applies,” he said.
She turned her head and frowned. “Which one?”
“I most definitely have the potential to be serious.”
Chapter 17
As Celia got Xavier settled on the couch with cartoons and a package of complimentary cookies, Remo set up a much-needed pot of coffee, then slipped to the bedroom—another perk of Ye Old Medieval Inn was that every unit was a suite—to try his mom again. He took the new phone from its package, booted it up quickly, then dialed. This time, the call didn’t go to voice mail. But his mom’s greeting was nowhere near its usual cheerful self.
First Responder on Call Page 17
