Tanya waves her hand in a “who cares” gesture. “Don’t worry about it, then. They’re probably hours behind by now, which means you’ve got a good thirty, forty minutes of leeway.”

“Still. Would you mind taking Baxter for a bit? You know how Beatrix can be such a handful, and she’s terrified of the dentist. I promise I’ll swing by to get him as soon as we’re back. Shouldn’t take longer than an hour or so.”

Tanya checks her watch and pulls a face. “Oh, sweetie, I would, but I’ve already got two extra kids in the house and you know what those Montgomery twins are like. They—”

“Please.” My voice cracks on the word, and I force myself to slow down, to calm down. “Please, Tanya. You’d really be helping me out.”

“Oh... I don’t know. It’s really not the greatest time, and I haven’t even started on dinner.”

“I’ll return the favor anytime. Any weekend night you want. You can go out with the girls.”

Still, she looks undecided, so I latch on to her arm, all five fingers locking on to her wrist. My upper body pitches forward, leaning into Tanya’s personal space for a change, getting right up in her face.

Help.

I mouth the word, and just in case, I dart my eyes in the direction of the man and his gun concealed behind the wall, clamping down hard on her wrist. Her face twists in pain, in confusion.

“Sweetie, are you okay?”

When I don’t respond, Tanya frowns, her gaze sinking to my lips. I carve them around the word again: Help.

Three breathless seconds pass while she holds my gaze, three seconds while my heart booms so hard in my temples I wonder if I’m having a stroke. Tanya pats my hand, peels my fingers one by one away from her arm and stares with wide eyes into mine. “Hey, Bax?” She yells it without turning her head.

My knees go slushy, my eyes wet with relief. She’s going to take Baxter out of harm’s way, which means if I survive this shit show, I will have a lifetime supply of flowers and Sancerre delivered to her doorstep. I will kiss her on those coral lips and bow down to worship her pedicured feet. I will take out a full-page ad in the AJC telling everyone in Atlanta and beyond how she saved Baxter’s life by whisking him out of the danger zone and carting him across the street to safety.

He pokes his head around the corner, the microphone in a fist. “Yeah?”

Tanya turns to him with a held-out hand. “I was thinking about pizza for dinner. How does that sound?”

Bax looks at me for confirmation, and I nod. Pizza is his favorite, and normally it wouldn’t take him long to decide. Now, though, he stands there, uncertain.