24. The New Ravens
CHAPTER 24
The New Ravens
IVY
The danger we are in—all of us, including baby Alex—is real and immediate. From the little I’ve seen of the Mirror Bratva, I know they’ll spare nothing to finish the Ravenscrofts and everyone in their circle. My heart has not stopped hammering since seeing that SUV swerving behind us, trying to push the Jag off the road.
“We’re not safe here,” says Alistair, putting a comforting hand on my lower back.
I look up at him, scared, not able to think straight.
“Where will we go?” I ask.
“They know too much. Nowhere in London is safe.”
Scotland, I think. Or Switzerland.
“Lucky,” Alistair says. “Order the plane. We’ll need papers, too. Don’t want them tracking our travel. Papers for everyone here, and the rest of the family.”
“On it,” says Lucky.
“What about Ariana?” I ask.
“She’ll be safe at rehab,” says Henderson. “She’s still deceased according to official records, and we booked her into the clinic under a false name.”
Alistair turns to me with such an intense expression that the rest of the world fades away. He takes my free hand, my other arm still supporting Alex. Everything around us is a nebulous blur, but his face is crystal clear. It’s probably adrenaline, but he’s giving me tunnel vision.
“We seem to do things in a topsy-turvy way, you and I.”
I frown at him. I have no idea what he’s talking about. I keep picturing wilting lilies, congealed caviar, and empty coffins. An overdressed and confused Russian priest in a cloud of frankincense smoke.
Despite the desperate situation, the peril, Alistair smiles warmly at me. “We shacked up before we dated. We moved in together before we really even knew each other. We had a baby without trying for one. Within weeks we both went from being single to suddenly having a partner and a family.”
“Yes,” I say, still not knowing where he was going with this, but feeling the gravitas in his voice. Something was happening between us.
“I hope you won’t be alarmed then—” he begins.
I gulp. “I wasn’t. Until you said the word ‘alarmed’.”
“Ivy Mickelson, you are everything to me.”
“I feel the same way,” I whisper.
“Will you go on honeymoon with me?”
I guffaw. It comes out of nowhere, out of shock from the car chase and surprised amusement at what he’s saying.
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, please.”
“Excellent,” he replies. “Dream destination?”
“Er…” I had never been the type to dream of weddings or honeymoons.
“Anywhere at all,” he nudges. “You name the place.”
I’ve always wanted to do yoga in India. Eat traditional paella in Spain. Wine tasting in France. See the olive groves in Italy. Walk the Camino! There was just too much to choose from.
“Thailand?” I suggest. I expect a discussion—as honeymoon-destinations chats usually go—but instead, he nods and gives Lucky the go-ahead to arrange it.
“Really?” I say.
He gives me a quick squeeze. I open the jacket just enough to check on Alex, and see he’s fast asleep.
“Brumilde,” he says, “please say you’ll come with us?”
She laughs. “You’re inviting your nanny on your honeymoon?”
“Of course I am. You’re as much of a Raven as I am. And this is the way the new Ravens do things.”
“It’s because we love you,” I say.
Brumilde guffaws. “It’s because you don’t want to change diapers.”
“Well,” I say. “That, too.”
Henderson is terse on the phone, bursting our thin and very temporary bubble. We all look at him, needing to know what has happened. Henderson rarely shows his emotions. My anxiety flares. Is it Ariana? The baby?
I can’t help it. “Ariana?” I blurt out.
Henderson shakes his head.
“Reacher and Bijou?” I ask.
Again, he shakes his head. “Reacher and Bijou are fine. Ariana is safe. Don’t panic.”
“Don’t panic about what?” asks Alistair.
Henderson rubs his eyelid with his middle finger. “The manor. Your folks.”
He had our attention before, but now we’re hanging on his every word.
“No one hurt. Drone attack.”
“Drone attack?” repeats Alistair, as if he doesn’t understand the meaning. As if “manor” and “drone attack” make no sense together.
“Three explosions. The worst took out the entire west wing.”
I try to remember which part of the huge family home pointed west, but my thoughts are muddled. Anxiety does that to me. It short-circuits my brain. All I see in my mind’s eye is the intimidating Ravenscroft dining room and the Yorkshire puddings. I specifically do not think of Alistair’s old room and what we did in there.
“Your father’s unharmed but distraught,” he continues. “It took out his entire vinyl collection.”
That must have been on purpose. Isobel took out Elena’s presumably much more valuable Fabergé collection. Baby Alex moves and whimpers.
I open the jacket again. “Hello there,” I say, smiling at him.
His eyes are wide open, and he regards me uncertainly.
“We’re going on a little vacation. You’re going to love it.”
His bottom lip starts trembling. He’s definitely going to cry. My immediate instinct is to hand him over to Brumilde, but I take a breath and pop his pacifier back into his mouth.
“Milk?” I mouth to Brumilde.
She nods and grabs the baby bag from the limo, taking warm formula out from an insulated bottle holder and giving it a shake. I thank her and start feeding Alex, who looks at me with adoring eyes as soon as he realizes that I am his new source of food.
Good boy, I tell him telepathically. Things are rough, but we’ll get through it. He blinks as if he understands.