Page 98 of Headstrong Like Us

Thatcher actually laughs, and then he glances around the apartment. “What do you think about the place?”

“It’s not half-bad.”

He nods. “But I don’t like the optics of the hallway.” He goes into more security measures we’d have to take.

Four apartments and an hour later, we end up with the same conclusion. En route to the fifth and final one, Ripley is nonstop bawling.

“I think he needs changed.” I unbuckle and crawl into the backseat, confirming that Ripley, indeed needs a new diaper. Thatcher pulls into a gas station, and I unclip Ripley from his car seat. “Can you hand me…?”

Thatcher is already reaching for the diaper bag.

I lock eyes with him. “You and Jane talk about babies yet?”

“Yeah.” Thatcher unzips the bag. “What do you need out of here?” He looks confused as fuck.

“Man, just give me the whole thing.”

He passes it back. “We’re not trying for them until after we’re married.”

I ditch the dirty diaper in a sealable bag and wipe Ripley clean. He smacks his lips, less fussy. “Jane’s not worried her cats will get territorial?” Cats have a habit of hating babies. Or so I’ve heard and read, since Ripley will be around all seven of Jane’s cats when we all move back in together.

“Hell yeah. She’s worried.” Thatcher runs a hand through his thick hair. “Which is why we’ve put a pin in it for now.”

I look him up and down after getting the new diaper on. “Honestly, you’re good for her. For each other.”

Static fills my eardrum from the radio. The low chatter turning to something more incessant. “George to Farrow. George to Farrow. Um…I have a problem.”

The temp in charge of Maximoff is radioing me with a fucking problem. And that right thereisa problem. Thatcher sits up straighter, listening to comms.

I click my mic with one hand and zip up the diaper bag with the other. “Farrow to George, what’s going on?”

“Um…uh…so we lost them.”

My stomach nosedives. “Repeat.”

“We lost Jane and Maximoff.”

What the fuck.

“What do you mean?” I sneer over comms. “Maximoff is at the aquatic center.”

And Jane should be having lunch at her mom’s office. Afterwards, they were both going straight back to thesecuregated neighborhood.

The temp bodyguard doesn’t reply to my question. Static fills my ear. I grind my molars, and I try calling Maximoff and Jane. Neither goes through. Their phones might not have service wherever they are.

What could be worse: high volumes of people can cause no service and jam a signal. Their safety is at serious risk in large crowds without a bodyguard.

I swiftly clip Ripley into his car seat. Moving fast.

Thatcher clicks his mic. “Thatcher to George, you better roger the fuck up in five seconds.”

George’s voice fills my ear. “Maximoff and Jane wanted to go shopping. We’re at the mall.”

On his line of the radio, I pick up background noise: screaming echoes like overwhelmed preteens meeting a superstar.

I can protect Maximoff easily at the mall—but I’m also one of the best bodyguards. For these new temps, I can’t even see them handling a food court crowd.

George continues, “The people, the—the crowds got overwhelming, and they vanished. I’m here with Ashton.”Jane’s temp.