in, I’ll do it. Don’t care if that pisses you off.”
“Okay,” I said through gritted teeth, trying hard not to cry. Crying wouldn’t help the situation. Crying would only upset my mom more than she already was. Crying would make me lose focus. It would make noise. And frankly, it was a waste of fucking time.
“We’re coming, baby,” my mom said, her voice firm. “You stay safe until we get there.”
“Send me those coordinates,” my dad ordered. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” I whispered.
“Love you more than your dad does!” my mom called right before the call disconnected.
I rolled my eyes and sniffed as quietly as I could as I sent location pin to my brother Cameron’s phone. After he replied with a thumbs up, I set it down next to my thigh and shifted, trying to get comfortable. It wasn’t easy in the confined space.
There weren’t any cameras in this closet, I knew that much, but I still couldn’t move anything to make the space more accommodating. If the gunman came back, I couldn’t take the chance that they’d notice if something was out of place. God, how did I get myself into messes like this?
I was a barber. I owned a condo. I liked to eat white cheddar popcorn and binge watch entire seasons of television shows on my time off. I hadn’t been laid in… longer than I wanted to contemplate. I paid my taxes and drove like an old lady. So, how in the hell did I end up hiding from a fucking shooter in the closet of a house that I could never in a million years afford, or even want to live in?
Liv was the one who wanted more, who liked exciting shit and was always reaching. She’s the one who had grabbed the attention of the guy who owned this place and somehow married him. And, yeah, Cane seemed like an okay guy. He was into some shady shit, I was sure, because he never seemed to work, but always seemed to have endless supplies of cash, but he was good to Liv. He freaking worshipped her, and because of that, he’d always treated me like family. So, even if he wasn’t my favorite person and something about him always rubbed me the wrong way—who was I to judge? I lived the straight and narrow myself, but I hadn’t grown up that way. My entire family, who I loved and respected, lived a life that kept them perpetually on the FBI’s radar.
As the baby started to stir, I pulled a little green pacifier out of the bag next to me and popped it in her mouth. She was wet, I could tell by how squishy her diaper was, but changing her was going to be a problem. She hated being undressed and made that known in a variety of ways, not the least of which was screaming at the top of her lungs. I laid her on the floor between my legs and ran my finger over my bottom lip, a nervous habit that I’d never been able to break. If I left her in the wet diaper, she was going to scream anyway.
I was just going to have to move as fast as humanly possible and hope I could have her dressed again before she got loud. Pressing the button on my phone screen, I used the little bit of light to see what I was doing. Even with everything happening around us, I couldn’t help the way my lips twitched when her little hands shot up to her face to hold the pacifier in her mouth, her fists completely uncoordinated and awkward as they pushed at her chin and nose. She was going to be hungry soon.
Grabbing a diaper out of the bag, I unfolded it and pressed the tabs out so they’d be ready when I needed them. It was kind of funny. When I’d first seen the newborn diapers, I hadn’t been able to imagine them actually fitting on a baby, but she practically swam in the things. If the tabs didn’t overlap at her belly, her legs were so skinny that she’d pee right out of the leg holes.
“Let’s do this,” I whispered as I unwrapped her.
Thankfully, the little gown she was wearing meant easy access to her diaper, and I shoved it up and put the clean diaper under her quickly. Then, as fast as I could, I unwrapped the wet diaper, slid it out from under