The guard takes advantage of her distraction, lunging forward. Without hesitation, I put a bullet between the woman’s eyes. Her body crumples at my feet.
I’m across the room in three strides, pulling Rowan and our child against my chest with my free arm while keeping my gun trained on the door.
“You found us,” she whispers into my neck. “You found us.”
“Always,” I manage, my voice raw. “I will always find you.”
The baby squirms between us, still crying. Rowan shifts and adjusts the bundle so I can see.
“Meet your daughter.” She peels back the makeshift blanket to reveal a perfect, tiny face. “Sofiya Akopov.”
Her face is red and scrunched, still streaked with the remnants of birth. Dark wisps of hair cling to her scalp. She has my chin, Rowan’s nose, and when she blinks up at me with
