Chapter 5 #2
Shoring up her runaway emotions, she pushed away from the door.
Turning, she engaged both the deadbolt and the chain lock.
Grace would sleep for another thirty minutes or so.
If Peyton wanted a shower, she needed to take advantage of the moments she had.
Placing the car seat near the bathroom, and leaving the door open, she quickly cleaned up.
Grace had just started to stir as Peyton began to dress, and by the time she’d slipped on her sweatshirt, the baby was in a full-on tantrum.
“I’m coming…I’m coming.” Peyton undid the straps on the car seat and lifted the baby into her arms. Grace immediately quieted down, her eyes locking on Peyton’s face.
A crease formed between her small brows, as if she was confused.
The look brought a smile to Peyton’s face.
“I’m your Auntie Peyton. Well…technically you and I are cousins once removed or something like that… but you can call me Auntie.”
Grace’s hand latched onto Peyton’s finger, and her heart melted into a puddle right there. She kissed the little girl on her forehead. “I bet you’re getting hungry. Let’s fix a bottle.”
While Peyton was figuring out the formula, she heard the faint hum of the elevator.
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway, and then the door to a nearby room opened.
Thankfully, her neighbor remained quiet.
Grace, on the other hand, proved she had a healthy set of lungs.
She cried and fussed no matter what Peyton tried.
She fed her, burped her, rocked her, and desperately searched online for solutions to soothe her.
By three a.m., the hotel room looked as if a hurricane had blown through.
Half-drunk bottles, burp cloths, soiled clothes, and an assortment of toys littered the space.
Blurry-eyed and exhausted, Peyton stood in the middle of the living room, gently rocking her body side-to-side.
The migraine that’d threatened to rear its head at the hospital had arrived.
Still, she rocked on. Slowly, Grace’s eyes fluttered and her breathing evened out.
Peyton waited a few more minutes, and then slowly walked to the crib.
Ever so gently, she laid the baby on the mattress and held her breath as Grace’s eyelashes fluttered. Then the baby sighed.
On silent steps, Peyton backed away, only daring to breathe once she was across the room. She collapsed onto the bed, too tired to even pull back the covers.
A loud pounding on her door brought her to an upright position.
Peyton groaned in pain as the sudden movement seemed to rock her brain inside her skull.
The knocking on the door persisted. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand.
3:20 in the morning. Suddenly worry sent a wave of adrenaline shooting through her.
She grabbed her Glock from the nightstand drawer.
“Maintenance! Please open up!” The pounding on her door came again, the voice nearly panicked.
Stumbling into the living room, she shut the bedroom door in a desperate attempt to prevent the foolish individual at her door from waking up the baby.
“Stop knocking.” Peyton peeked through the keyhole and found a man of average height and weight wearing a hotel uniform on the other side of the door. He carried a toolbox in one hand.
Keeping her gun out of sight, she flipped open the deadbolt, but kept the chain lock in place. She opened the door a crack. “I didn’t call for maintenance.”
The man’s face was partly hidden underneath the brim of his ball cap. His uniform was wrinkled, and a tattoo peeked out from the collar. “No, ma’am, the people below you did. Water's leaking through their ceiling from your pipes. I gotta access your bathroom to stop it.”
Peyton stared at him. Her head was pounding and her brain felt sluggish. Something about this seemed off. She didn’t know much about plumbing, but how could he fix a leak downstairs by accessing her bathroom?
A cry came from the bedroom as little Grace woke up. Peyton glanced behind her.
Suddenly, she was shoved back as the man slammed into the door.
The feeble chain snapped in half. Peyton raised her weapon, but the attacker was ready for it, swinging his toolbox into her arm.
Agony exploded through her shoulder, and the gun dropped from her numb fingers as she cried out in pain. She stumbled back.
He lunged for the bedroom door.
“No!” Peyton threw herself at him, grabbing his jacket.
He spun, intending to backhand her across the face, but she ducked.
Momentum sent him crashing into the kitchen table.
Cans of formula scattered. Peyton grabbed one, and with the skill she’d used on the high school softball team, flung it at his head before following up with a kick to his kidneys. He grunted in pain.
She spotted her gun on the floor and dove for it. He grabbed her foot, yanking her back before smashing a steel-toed boot into her stomach. Peyton doubled over. Through tear-filled eyes, she watched helplessly as the assailant lunged once again for the bedroom.
For Grace.