by Avery Brite
After the Rumfoord, Dr. Jensen declared both Lennon and I to be the picture of health. The good doctor did admonish me for not coming to the hospital sooner. He wanted to keep us both overnight for observation, but we needed to get out of town as soon as possible.
Declan had cleaned out his hidden vault and sublet his apartment so we could live overseas while things cooled down. Our vacation in Sète would last a few months, and then we would go back. Tanner and Cody volunteered to keep an eye on things back home for us. They insisted on letting us enjoy our time worry free. Tanner went to visit family in Canada and Cody stayed in the city. So far, the heist had made big news, but the police had no leads whatsoever.
Tanner had cleaned out any electronic traces we might have left and Cody wiped camera clean of any recordings. As far as the authorities were concerned, ghosts might as well have come through the walls and robbed them blind. The Romanian government was pissed, needless to say, but they suddenly quieted down as the Romania buyers received their ill-gotten gains. The best part of it, of course, we got paid.
Since I was a kid, I dreamt of a payday like this. I always had the goal of a job like the Rumfoord. Now that I had completed it, richer than I ever thought possible, I realized that in one moment my priorities changed. The moment Lennon came into the world, the money didn’t hold the thrill it once had. Now I just wanted to make sure my son would be taken care of in every way and that Declan would be too.
“How are my little coyotes?” Declan said, entering the chateau. He set down a paper shopping bag of diapers, baby food, and wine. Lennon stirred at the sound of his father’s voice, but didn’t completely wake up. Declan kissed us both on the forehead.
“We’re good, just sleepy.” Carefully I stood without disturbing Lennon. Inside, I laid him in the antique Louis XIV crib. Declan stood behind me, arms around my waist as we looked down at our amazing son.
“We’re rich, we’re vacationing in Europe, and we’re parents.” Declan said, putting his head on my shoulder. “What’s next?”
“How about we plan a wedding?” I suggested.
“I thought you’d never ask. But first,” Declan swooped me up in one motion. “I’ve got another idea.”
I laughed as he carried me to bed.
About the author
Avery Brite lives, and writes, in the northeast United States.