Chapter 2
2
MATT
I wonder if she’s okay.
Even though logically I know it’s not my concern, that doesn’t stop me from wondering.
Physically, I’m fairly sure she is.
At least, Isla hasn’t been admitted to any hospitals in the Dallas area, and there haven’t been any new police reports involving her name. When I hacked into the Dallas PD records, there was just the attack from two weeks ago, still open and with little progress made.
It’s discouraging, but not surprising. After all, there were no security cameras in the parking lot, and the description Isla and I gave of the assailant wasn’t nearly enough to identify him. If only I’d seen a distinguishing mark—a tattoo or a birthmark or a noticeable scar—the police might have better luck. Instead, they have a list of characteristics that could apply to any one of a thousand men in the city: approximately six foot three, two hundred pounds, light brown hair, a large nose, and muddy brown eyes.
Could I recognize the man if I saw him again? Yes. But that’s not particularly helpful considering I live just outside San Antonio, over four hours away from Dallas. And I don’t exactly get out much; aside from work I stick close to home, hanging out with my friends at the Blade and Arrow ranch or the little country bar in neighboring Seguin.
I’m pretty pissed at myself, really. With all my experience, I should have been more observant. I should have cataloged enough details for a sketch artist to create an accurate rendition.
Better yet, I shouldn’t have let him get away.
I could have caught him, had I been willing to leave Isla alone. But how could I? Not only did she look absolutely terrified, and for good reason, but I didn’t know if an accomplice was lurking nearby, ready to jump in at the first opportunity.
So I stayed with her and watched as that chickenshit asshole took off, apparently brave enough to take on a woman half his size, but far too afraid to face me.
He was right to be afraid, though. Despite us being about the same size, I’m certain his skills couldn’t compare to mine. After more than two decades in the Army, much of it spent as a Green Beret, there aren’t many people who could beat me in hand-to-hand combat. Or any sort of combat, really.
If only I’d punched him a little harder, I would have knocked him out. But with Isla so close to him, I held back my blow, worried he’d move at the last second and I’d hurt her instead. But if I had knocked him out, I could have restrained him and stayed with Isla, and the case would be solved. She wouldn’t have to worry if that man would come after her again.
Which is one of the reasons I can’t stop thinking about her.
I keep wondering if she’s scared. If she’s lying awake listening for suspicious sounds in the night. If wherever she lives has adequate security. If she’s taking the right precautions to be safe.
I’m not sure why I can’t get her out of my mind. Isla’s not the first woman I’ve helped through the course of my career—both in the Army and now with Blade and Arrow Security—and I’m sure she won’t be the last. But there’s just something about her that’s different. Something about her I can’t forget.
“Why don’t you just call her?” my teammate, Erik, asked when I brought it up in the gym the other day. “It’s not like you can’t find her number if you want.”
He was right. I could. Easily. There isn’t much I can’t find online, whether it’s hacking into police databases, building web crawlers to find information on the dark web, or cracking passwords so I can access a suspect’s computer remotely.
That’s one of the reasons I was asked to join the new branch of Blade and Arrow out in Texas, so I could bring not only my skills as a Special Forces operator, but help the team get critical information through more creative methods. I call it ethical hacking because I never go about it with the intent to harm, but rather to help keep our clients safe.
But tracking down personal information about a woman I’ve only known for a couple of hours? Calling her without her permission? It feels… wrong.
Yes, I checked out the hospital and police records. But it’s not like I looked at Isla’s medical history or ran a background check on her. I just wanted to know if she was safe.
“She didn’t give me her number,” I reminded Erik. “So it would be kind of creepy for me to just call her up out of the blue. I don’t want to freak her out even more than she probably is already.”
So I haven’t called. And she hasn’t called me.
Yes, she has my number.
After the police were done with their questions, I handed her my business card and told her to call if she needed anything. As I gave it to her, I explained how I was in Dallas for a private security job with my company, and that we specialized in investigative and protective services. How we could help if she found herself in trouble again.
I haven’t heard from her since. So that should be reason enough to assume she’s okay.
It should be reason enough to set this thing with Isla to the side.
I should be able to focus on the schematics for our upcoming security system install for a new client in Austin instead of thinking about the color of Isla’s eyes and wondering if it’s real.
They’re violet, for the record. Not dark blue or gray, but a deep amethyst, rimmed with the longest lashes I’ve ever seen.
And it wasn’t just the shade that was mesmerizing. It was the trust in her gaze as she allowed me to put my arm around her, to help her back to her office building, when she had every reason to avoid a man’s touch. And it was the way she kept looking to me for reassurance as she answered the officers’ questions, like somehow I was making the stressful experience better.
Not that it matters. Isla’s in Dallas and I’m here.
And I have more pressing things to think about than a brief encounter with a woman I’ll never see again. Like the security install I’m supposed to be finalizing before we head to Austin next week and monitoring the dozens of cameras on the Blade and Arrow property. As the lone team member on site right now, it’s my job to make sure there aren’t any security breaches and that all the women who live here with my teammates are safe.
So I need to concentrate on that. My job. My team. The women who’ve become like family. The really important things.
Shaking out my shoulders and rolling my neck, I shift my focus to the computer screens set in a semicircle around me. There are five of them, two with my actual work, and three more with dozens of live camera feeds running.
While we have an extensive alarm system around the twenty-five acre property, complete with drone detection radars, motion sensors that can distinguish between animals and human intruders, and our most recent addition, an unscalable perimeter fence, I still like to look at each camera every hour or so myself.
I’m halfway through them all when there’s a knock at my office door, and a second later, a soft, “Matt? Is this a bad time?”
Spinning around in my chair, I turn to face Lucy, who’s hovering in the doorway with a tentative smile. “No, of course not.” I return her smile with one of my own. “Just checking the property. And procrastinating. What’s up?”
She laughs. “Funny you say that. I’m procrastinating, too. I should be writing, but instead, I’ve been cleaning the apartment. And reorganizing. When Xavier gets back from Houston, he’s not going to know where anything is.”
“I’m sure he won’t mind.” And I mean it. Xavier is so in love with his new wife, she could do pretty much anything and he wouldn’t care. Paint the apartment walls pink? He’d tell her it looks cheery. Buy all new furniture? He’d agree it needed to be replaced, even though it’s basically brand new.
“Well.” Lucy’s expression softens with affection. “Probably not. He didn’t even complain when I moved the living room furniture around last week and he forgot about it, so he ended up doing a flip over the ottoman in the middle of the night when he went to the kitchen for a drink.”
Chuckling, I reply, “I wish I could have been there to see that.”
“Oh, you should have heard him cursing.” She pauses. “He was okay, thankfully. But I felt so bad. He could have been hurt.”
“Nah, not Xav. He’s trained better than that.”
Like me, Xavier used to serve as a Green Beret, and while we weren’t in the same battalion, we trained together at Fort Campbell for years. If he could survive the most treacherous locations in the Middle East, I’m not too worried about an unfortunate encounter with an unassuming ottoman.
Lucy laughs. “That’s what he said. He wasn’t mad about the ottoman being moved, but tripping over it.” She pauses. “Anyway. I know you have lots of work to do. But I was about to make lunch, and I thought you might like something, too?”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I assure her. “I can grab something later.”
Her forehead crinkles as she looks at me. “Matt. I’ve seen what you eat. Sad looking sandwiches?—”
“Hey, they’re not sad. Just… simple.”
“There’s nothing on them,” she teases. “Just bread and meat. That’s not a sandwich. You need cheese. Condiments. Lettuce. Tomatoes. All the good stuff.”
I made a mock-offended face at her. “I can’t believe you’re insulting my cooking.”
Lucy laughs, lighting up with it. “I’m not insulting your cooking. Just your barren refrigerator.” She pauses, her smile sobering. “I don’t mind making extra, Matt. Really. Unless you don’t want?—”
Crap. The last thing I want is to make Lucy feel bad. “No,” I reply quickly, “I’d love some. And you’re right. My fridge is almost empty.”
“Okay.” She brightens again. “Then I’ll make you a couple grilled cheeses and a big bowl of soup. Does half an hour sound good?”
“It sounds great, Luce.”
She beams at me. “Okay. I’ll let you get back to work. But I’ll come back with your food in a little bit.” With a cheery wave, she heads back down the hallway, calling over her shoulder, “See you soon!”
My smile lingers after Lucy leaves, an unavoidable side effect of her bubbly personality. I never would have imagined Xavier ending up with someone like her, but seeing them together, it makes perfect sense. She makes him softer. Happier. More content.
A pang of longing sneaks up unexpectedly.
Not for Lucy, no. She’s like a little sister to me. Just like Jade and Sarah—two more of my teammates’ partners—are. And I’m thrilled that Xavier, Niall, and Dante all found the perfect person for them.
So it’s not jealousy. It’s just… I think I wouldn’t mind finding my perfect person, too.
Barking out a laugh, I shake my head at myself. Fat chance of finding a woman when I rarely go out. And when I do, I’m more concerned with spending time with my friends. Not that I’m celibate; there have been a few casual hookups since I moved to Texas last year, but there hasn’t been anyone I even considered pursuing more seriously.
Assuming they’d even be interested, that is. I’m not exactly the smoothest when it comes to talking to women. I always end up saying something awkward or completely inappropriate for the conversation—like bringing up the video games I like to play in my free time, which is apparently not something a woman wants to hear from a forty-year-old man.
It’s not like that’s all I do. I have a job. I spend at least a couple hours a day working out and practicing on the firing range. And I spend time with my Blade and Arrow teammates and their partners, a group of people I consider not just friends, but family.
Maybe I should try that online dating Lucy keeps suggesting. The last time she brought it up, she said, “I just think you’re amazing, Matt. Any woman would be so lucky to be with you. But with your job, and traveling so much, I know it has to be hard to meet anyone. Maybe online dating could be another option?”
But the thought of a series of dates with virtual strangers, opening myself up for rejection… I’m not sure. And it’s not that I want to just meet any woman. It just might be nice to find what Xavier has. What Niall and Dante have.
The opposite of what I grew up with.
My jaw clenches. Pain slivers through my teeth.
That’s ancient history.
Turning back to my computer screens, I push the unwelcome memories away and start working through the camera feeds again. Backyard—clear. Garage—same. The pond is sparkling as the afternoon sun hits it, with just the slightest ripples from the breeze moving past it. The little gazebo is silent and still, save for a squirrel scurrying along the railing.
As I move on to cameras outside the renovated barn, my phone chimes with the signature Blade and Arrow tone. A moment later, a message from Dante appears.
Hey. Just checking in. Everything good?
I grin as I type a quick response.
Of course. You’d know if it wasn’t.
Considering the amount of security we have here, I’m certain Dante would know if there was a problem just as quickly as me. But unlike me, he wouldn’t be on site to handle it, since he and Erik, another teammate, are currently in Santa Fe on a pro-bono case.
Three dots blink on the screen for a moment before Dante’s reply appears.
True. Still. I just want to be sure.
Dante's fiancée, Sarah, went through some pretty traumatic stuff not too long ago, so I understand his concern. Even though she’s perfectly safe—one of the perks of working for B and A is an apartment right on the premises, and there’s no way anyone is getting to her here—it’s still hard for him to leave her. And he worries every time.
So instead of ribbing him on it, I quickly type out a reassuring response.
Sarah’s fine. I checked on her first thing this morning. Everything’s secure. Don’t worry.
The three dots blink again.
Ha. Easier said than done.
We’re wrapping things up here, should be back tomorrow night. The convention in Houston is over on Wednesday, so Niall, Xavier, and Rhiannon should be back on Thursday.
After a brief pause, another text appears.
Also, Sarah wants to cook dinner for everyone this weekend. Enchiladas. So save Saturday night if you’re interested.
At the thought, my stomach makes a hopeful rumble. Sarah makes the best Mexican food I’ve ever had, and I would never, ever turn down her cooking.
My response is immediate.
Absolutely. I’ll be there.
An unexpected benefit to living right on the Blade and Arrow property—a renovated ranch about thirty miles northwest of San Antonio—is things like this. Having big dinners and impromptu game nights and movie screenings out in the barn. And our new holiday traditions, like Secret Santa and potluck Thanksgiving.
Once I wrap up the text conversation with Dante, I glance at the time, realizing there are less than fifteen minutes until Lucy said lunch would be ready. Rather than making her bring lunch to me, trying to juggle a plate of grilled cheeses and a steaming bowl of soup as she makes her way from her apartment to the other wing of the ranch where our offices are located, I decide to head to her instead.
The break will be good, anyway. I’ve been holed up in my office for hours, so I’m due a change of scenery. I’ll have lunch with Lucy, maybe do a perimeter check of the property after, and then I can get back to work, recharged and refocused.
Just as I’m pushing up from my chair, my phone rings.
Swiping it off my desk, I glance at the screen, seeing a number I don’t recognize.
But it has a Dallas area code, which immediately sets my inner alarm bells ringing. Could it be the police, following up on Isla’s case? Is it possible they found the guy?
Please tell me he didn’t hurt another woman.
Or could it be?—
Stop speculating. Just answer it.
So I tap the screen to answer the call. “Hello?”
For a few seconds, all I can hear is soft breathing.
Irritation floods through me. Is this a telemarketer? Spam? Do people even do prank calls anymore?
“Hello?” I repeat, more gruffly this time. “Who’s calling?”
Another pause.
And then, “Matt? Matt Cross?”
My heart stutters.
“Isla?”
“Yes.” Through the line, I hear her take a shaky breath. “Um. I’m sorry for bothering you. But…” Another pause. “You said to call if I need help. And… I think I do.”
My inner alarms start blaring. All my muscles tense. “Isla. What’s wrong?”
“You said you work for a security company. That you protect people when no one else will help…” As her voice trails off, there’s a quiver at the end of it, and I realize she’s not just nervous, she’s scared.
Shit. Why is she scared? What happened?
But now’s not the time to bark questions at her. Instead, I gentle my voice as I reply, “Yes. That’s exactly what we do. Are you in trouble?”
“I…” Another shuddering inhale. “I think someone’s following me. And weird things have been happening. Ever since that man attacked me.”
My jaw clenches. Worry clutches my chest.
Dammit. Why didn’t I just call her? Check on her?
How long has this been happening?
Blowing out a steadying breath, I say, “Isla. Can you tell me about it?”
“No one believes me. I went to the police, but they—” Her voice cracks. “I don’t know what to do. My family, they won’t help. And I—” Another crack. “I’m scared, Matt.”
Ah, shit.
A weight settles in my stomach.
She’s upset. Frightened.
My instincts are screaming at me to do whatever I can to help her.
But I can’t go to her today. Not when I’m the only one here. I can’t leave Jade, Lucy, and Sarah alone.
“It’s okay,” I soothe. “We can figure this out. I can’t leave today, but I can come to Dallas tomorrow. And if you want to tell me as much as you can over the phone, so when I get there?—”
“Can I come to you?” A note of desperation strains her voice. “Today? Please? I can get out of work early and be there by seven.” She pauses. Sighs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t assume… You’re probably busy.”
“No.” It’s quick. A little louder than intended. “No, I’m not busy. I’m just worried. That’s a long trip. Do you have anyone to come with you?”
“No.” She sounds so forlorn, my heart twists. “It’s just me. But I can make the drive. If you don’t mind me coming?”
As much as I hate the reason for Isla’s visit, I can’t deny my eagerness to see her.
Before I can respond, she adds softly, “I meant to call you. Before all this… Things have been so crazy. Awful. But I wanted to call you.”
Oh.
“I absolutely don’t mind you coming here,” I assure her, “and I’m so glad you called.”