Guarded from Treachery (Blade and Arrow Security Bravo Team #4)

Chapter 5

5

ISLA

A ll I have to do is make it from my car to my apartment.

It’s not far, maybe fifty feet or so, close enough that I can see the little numbers above my front door and a small package on the step in front of it.

On a normal day, it might take a minute to cross the distance from the first row of parking spaces and down the little path to my apartment building. Just a quick trip, one I wouldn’t have given a thought to a month ago.

When I found this apartment, I couldn’t believe my luck. An end unit, with my own private entrance and a cute little front porch with enough room for some decorative plants and a cheery welcome sign set beside them. Set at the rear of the apartment complex, this building is the most private of them, with an expanse of lawn to the front and a thick brush of trees behind it.

I thought about safety, of course—as a woman living on my own, it would be foolish if I didn’t. But I thought the property seemed safe.

As I toured the complex, I was reassured by the well-lit parking lots and the neatly-kept paths lined with little lights set into the ground alongside them. I was impressed by the inclusion of several blue light boxes throughout the property, as the leasing agent bragged, “We have emergency buttons that connect directly to security, but no one has ever used them. We have an excellent safety record here.”

Back then, I believed her.

Now? I’m far from convinced.

Those lights didn’t stop someone from trying to break into my apartment. They didn’t deter cars from lurking in the row closest to my building at night. Those allegedly helpful emergency buttons weren’t much help when I was attacked getting out of my car and the man had a vise grip on my arm.

And the security guards? What a joke. As I belatedly discovered, there’s exactly one guard on duty at night, all the way across the complex in the main office building, and his default speed is set somewhere between snail and turtle. When I called security after the attack in the parking lot—the second one, how crazy is that?—he showed up a leisurely half hour later at my apartment and pronounced, “Well. You look okay to me.”

Lovely, right?

So given my crappy experiences thus far, I’m not terribly thrilled about leaving the relative safety of my car and exposing myself as I make the short trip to my apartment. I’ve been sitting here for over five minutes, my heart racing faster and faster, the front door seemingly getting further away by the second.

I know I need to do it. Get my keys out, my pepper spray at the ready, and just make a run for it. If I run, I should be able to make it in under thirty seconds.

But knowing and doing aren’t the same thing.

Not for the first time since I left Blade and Arrow, or even the twentieth, I wish Matt was here. If he was, I wouldn’t be scared. If Matt was here, he would walk me to my apartment, and probably check out the inside of it, too. He might even stay to install the bag of security gear he gave me, so I wouldn’t be up until daybreak trying to do it all myself.

And if Matt was here, I wouldn’t feel so alone.

Each time I called him during the drive home, his voice was a welcome comfort. He didn’t quiz me about the traffic or how long I still had to go. He didn’t sound annoyed about staying up late to answer my calls.

He was just… wonderful. Kind. Gently concerned. And he knew just the things to say to make me laugh. He told me about some of the pranks he’s pulled on his teammates, like the most recent one when he childproofed Erik’s apartment complete with doorknob covers, cabinet locks and even a special toilet lock. Or the time he recruited his teammate Dante’s fiancée, Sarah, to help hide all Dante’s clothes all over the Blade and Arrow ranch and it took almost a week to find all of it.

It was hard to be scared when I was laughing my head off, which I’m sure was Matt’s intention. And then at the end of each brief call, he’d say the same thing in his rumbly voice. “Drive safe, Isla. Call me in half an hour. Or sooner, if you need anything.”

Maybe it’s a bad idea to let myself rely on him so soon. After all, there’s no guarantee his company will help me. He could call tomorrow to let me know they’ve decided to pass, and I’ll be right back where I started.

Except worse, because now I’ve clutched onto a sliver of hope, and I’ll be even more crushed if it’s taken away.

If I’m honest with myself, it’s more Matt I’m afraid of losing. Which is crazy since he’s not mine to start with. And he won’t be, not given the screwed up situation I’m in.

What’s really crazy is that I’m even thinking about him that way. Inexplicably pregnant, dismissed by the police, and mysterious men coming after me? That should be more than enough to concern myself with. But in the back of my mind, there’s still a whispered what if . What if somehow this all works out— how , I’m not sure—and there’s some way to explore this thing between Matt and me at the end of it.

Snorting out a laugh, I shake my head at myself. How ridiculous of a thought is that?

My gaze jumps to the clock on the dashboard and I wince. It’s after one A.M., which is hours past my usual bedtime, and I have to get up for work in less than five hours. That’s not even counting however much time it takes to set up all this security equipment, and I know I’m not going to sleep without it.

Just get out of the car and do it.

But I don’t want to.

After another few minutes of debating with myself, I grit my teeth and get ready to move. Looping my purse and the bag Matt gave me over my shoulder, I clutch the keys to my apartment in one hand and the canister of pepper spray in the other. As I get ready to open the car door, my heart pounds so hard I fear a heart attack. Cold sweat drenches my body.

Just go. Run to the door. It’ll be okay.

But what if someone is hiding behind a car? Or around the corner of the building? What if the second I step foot outside, they come after me?

Just go.

Rather than ease out of the car, I leap from it, flinging the door shut with a resounding clunk.

Then I sprint towards my front door, my pulse whooshing in my ears, my breath deafening in the quiet of the night.

With every step, I’m certain I’m about to be attacked.

Every shadow is a man lying in wait.

As I fly up the path, something snaps. My lungs seize. A person coming after me? A footstep? A gun? Crap. I don’t know what a trigger cocking sounds like. Is that it? Am I about to be shot? Killed?

I don’t want to?—

Belatedly, I realize what I stepped on. A branch. God . I thought a branch was about to kill me.

By the time I reach my door, I’m a complete wreck. It takes me three tries to fit my key into the doorknob; my hands are shaking so hard.

But I get inside. With a relieved sob, I slam the door shut and lock it behind me.

Relieved tears prickle behind my eyes.

I made it. I’m home.

Setting my purse on the table beside the door, I drop the pepper spray back inside it. My keys go in the little bowl filled with spare change and other random items I’ve thrown in there—paper clips and the free flashlight I got at work and a doorknob flier from the local pizza place.

Before I left, I made sure to leave all the lights on, something I’m immensely relieved I thought of. Now I don’t have to fumble around in the dark, terrified that someone might be lurking in the shadows.

Still, I check every room and every closet, just to be sure. But thankfully, thankfully , I’m the only one here. With a shuddering sigh of relief, I make my way back into the living room and drop the bag of security supplies on the coffee table. Then I pull my phone from my pocket and get ready to call Matt to let him know I got home safely.

Just as I’m about to dial his number, I almost crack my jaw with a yawn. As my adrenaline fades, exhaustion sweeps over me. I feel wrung out, a crumpled up washcloth dropped into the sink, the last of my energy seeping out of me.

Sinking onto the couch, I lean back against the cushions and let my eyes close for a second. Within seconds, sleep creeps in, and I have to jerk myself back awake.

No. I can’t go to sleep yet.

Clearly, sitting is not a good idea. So I force my protesting body to get back up and I wander into the kitchen in search of something to give me a little energy. Some candy. Cookies. Something with sugar. As I eyeball the sparse contents of my tiny pantry, I hit Matt’s name and wait for the call to go through.

Before the first ring finishes, he picks up. “Isla? Are you home?”

His deep voice wraps around me, a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. Some of the tension drains from my body. My lips lift as I reply, “Yeah. I just got home.”

A relieved sigh gusts across the line. “Good.” He pauses. “And is everything okay? The apartment looks the same as you left it?”

“Yes.” Turning away from the cabinet, I scan the kitchen. “Everything looks fine. Just?—”

My heart stops.

Icy fear trickles down my back.

It’s not the same. Not quite.

If I weren’t paying attention, I might not have noticed.

But the little organizer on the counter that I use to sort my mail doesn’t look the same as it did this morning.

Instead of the neat stacks I always make, the envelopes are arranged haphazardly. Rather than the utility bill sitting on top where I left it, my car loan statement is in its place.

Heart fluttering in frantic wingbeats, I spin in a circle, inspecting the room again.

And there. By the sink where I keep my supplements and birth control. The multivitamin is swapped with the B12, and the probiotic is where the magnesium should be.

Tiny differences. Ones that could easily be ignored or rationalized away.

But I didn’t leave them that way. I’m sure of it.

I race back into the living room as panic expands in my chest.

Dimly, I hear Matt ask, “Isla? Are you okay?”

Like I’m the unwitting star in a horror movie, more small differences reveal themselves in slow motion.

On the coffee table, my laptop is open instead of shut. And I know I always, always close it when I’m done, a holdover from the time in college when I knocked my laptop over and the screen shattered when it hit the ground.

Scarcely breathing, I make my way into my bedroom. As I inspect my dresser top carefully, a whimper works its way up my throat. The photos of me and Rory back in college aren’t in the neat line I always leave them in. They’re crooked. And one of them—the photo from our graduation—has a smudge of dirt on the frame that I’m positive wasn’t there before.

“Isla!” More frantic now, Matt’s voice erupts through my phone. “What’s wrong?”

But I can’t speak. The terror is too great.

Oh, God. My bed. Why is the comforter crumpled on one side? Did someone sit there?

Another whimper squeezes out.

“Isla!” It’s a roar now. “I’m calling 911 right now if you don’t answer me!”

Breaking free of my paralysis, I bolt for the bathroom. Slam the door shut and lock it. Then I sink to the floor with my back against the door and lift the phone to my ear with a trembling hand. “Matt.”

My voice sounds so small. Weak. Afraid.

“Isla, what’s wrong?” Worry strains his voice. “Are you hurt? Sick? What happened?”

“Someone… someone was in my apartment.”

“What?”

“I… I couldn’t tell at first. But little things are different. My mail. My laptop. The photos on my dresser. I’m not imagining it. They’re not how I left them. I know it.” A choked sob escapes. “My alarm didn’t go off. I would have seen?—”

“Where are you now?”

“In the bathroom. With the door locked.”

Matt sucks in a breath. There’s a commanding note to his tone as he says, “Okay. Stay where you are. Call 911. Don’t leave the bathroom until you have confirmation with the dispatcher that the police are outside.”

“They won’t believe me, Matt. They—” My voice cracks. “I barely noticed. And they already think I’m crazy. They’ll just leave and I’ll be alone here and what if this person breaks in again?”

“Dammit.” He pauses. In the background, there’s a soft clicking sound. “Alright. Here’s what we’ll do. You still need to call the police. If nothing else, to have a record of this. And I’m coming to Dallas now. In the meantime, I’m going to find someone to come stay with you.”

“You are?”

“Yes.” Now it sounds like he’s moving. A door closes. Keys jingle. “Just hang on. I’m figuring this out.”

Less than thirty seconds later, he says, “Okay. I have a friend who’s in Dallas right now visiting his sister. I used to train with him at Fort Campbell. His name is Hawk, and he’s a former Green Beret, too. At this time of night, he can be at your house in under half an hour. And he’ll stay with you until I get there.”

“Are you sure?” My voice wobbles. I sniff against impending tears. “It’s the middle of the night. And it’s so far…”

“Isla.” It’s gentle but firm. “I’m sure. I already texted Hawk. He’s on the way. When he gets there, he’ll give you a phrase so you know it’s him. It’s de oppresso liber . The motto of the Green Berets. And I’ll send you a photo of him, as well. Okay?”

I wrap my arms around my legs, tucking myself into a ball. “Okay.”

“Just hang tight,” he adds gently. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Isla, why don’t you try to get some rest?”

Hawk turns away from the window to look at me, his features creased with concern as he continues, “I’ve got things under control here. I promise. No one is going to hurt you. It’s really okay if you go to sleep.”

“I know,” I start. “It’s not that. I just… I can’t.”

Running his hand through his spiky hair, Hawk crosses the room to sit on the other end of the couch. His hazel eyes are kind as he meets my gaze. “I know. You want to see Matt.”

I’m so tired I don’t have the energy to attempt to hide the truth. “Yes.” Apologetically, I add, “It’s not that I don’t think you’ll keep me safe. I just… I know Matt. And he…”

The corner of his mouth tugs up. “I get it. I’m a poor substitute for him.”

“No. That’s not?—”

“It’s fine.” He leans back and stretches his arms over his head. Intricate tattoos cover his forearms and biceps, the designs flexing as he moves. With a wry smile, he adds, “It’s alright, Isla. I’m not insulted. Matt’s a great guy.”

“It’s not like that,” I reply quickly. “He’s just helped me a lot. And I… want to be awake when he gets here.”

Also, despite how capable Hawk seems, there’s no way I could relax enough to sleep.

Since he got here, he’s been great—helping me deal with the police, who dismissed me again, big surprise, setting up all the security gear Matt gave me, and pacing around the apartment at regular intervals with an intense look in his eyes.

Honestly, if anyone is thinking about breaking into my apartment right now, all they’d have to do is catch a glimpse of Hawk—tall, tattooed, heavily muscled, tamped danger in his gaze—and I’m pretty sure they’d reconsider.

So it’s not that I’m afraid. I just want to see Matt. As irrational as it may be, he’s the only person in my life right now that makes me feel even close to okay.

Lifting my laptop off the coffee table, I grimace as my gritty eyes try to read the screen. “I should probably email my boss and tell him I’ll be late. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get into work by eight.”

Hawk frowns. Hesitates. Then, in a kind tone that’s incongruous to his intimidating appearance, he says, “I’m not sure if going into work is the best idea. Not tomorrow—” Pausing, he amends, “Today. I can’t speak for Matt or the B and A team, but personally, I would want to wait. Have a security plan in place before you head off to work.”

“I get that. But I have to work. It’s not an option to just stay home.”

“I’m sure Matt can help,” he replies.

“How?”

Hawk smiles, and his entire countenance changes. He goes from intimidating to charismatic in a blink. “Didn’t Matt tell you? He’s a computer genius. There’s not much he can’t do with a computer. So I’m sure he can figure out a way to cover you for work.”

“Um. I’m pretty sure Matt can’t do my job for me,” I reply with a little laugh. “Computer genius or not.”

“You’ll see.” A beat later, his phone buzzes. Glancing down at the screen, he says, “Ah. He’s here.”

My heart jumps. Grateful tears threaten.

Less than a minute later, a series of quick knocks echo on the hollow metal of the door. As I start to rise from the couch, Hawk touches my arm lightly. “Let me get it. I know it’s supposed to be Matt, but I’d rather not take any chances.”

In a sickening swoop, my heart plunges to my feet. Then it launches into my throat.

Horrible scenarios fill my head.

What if it’s not Matt? What if someone else is out there? What if they hurt him?

What if Matt’s terribly injured and it’s all my fault?

In the moments it takes for Hawk to open the door, I stop breathing.

And then.

Matt steps inside.

Rumpled. His hair in disarray. Jaw tight. Worry lines etched across his face.

His dark eyes seek out mine, and as soon as our gazes meet, his shoulders sag with relief. “Isla. You’re okay.”

Emotion clogs my throat and all I can do is nod.

Matt turns to Hawk and gives him this hug slash shoulder clap as he says, “Thanks for coming, man. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

Hawk lifts his chin. “Of course. Any time.” He flashes a quick smile in my direction. “I’m glad to help.”

“I know it’s late,” Matt says, “but would you mind staying until I can get some extra security installed? I want to put some exterior cameras up and I’d rather not leave Isla alone in the apartment to do it.”

“No problem,” Hawk replies. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

Matt gives Hawk a quick chin lift. “Thanks.”

As he heads across the living room towards me, I’m struck with the most irrational desire to leap up from the couch and fling myself into his arms. Which would be wildly inappropriate given that he’s only here to protect me. So I force myself to stay seated, even though my body is aching to be close to him.

“Isla.” Matt lowers himself down beside me, close enough that I catch a whiff of the citrusy shampoo I noticed earlier tonight and a hint of sweet mint on his breath. Faint bluish smudges shadow his eyes, the sight sending guilt spearing through my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “It’s so late. You shouldn’t have… I mean, I’m glad you did. But it’s such a long drive. And you don’t even know if your company is taking my case…”

“Hey.” His expression softens. His voice gentles. “Do not apologize. I offered to come. You didn’t ask. And I want to be here. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper. The tears I’ve been trying to hold back well up in my eyes. I hate feeling weak like this, swallowing back tears, but I’ve just about hit my limit.

Matt stares at me for a second, indecision warring in his gaze. Then he says, “I don’t want to make this weird. But you look like you could use a hug. Am I wrong?”

Oh. Those stupid tears.

Without thinking, I nod at him, too overwhelmed to reply.

He frowns. “Shit. I’m sorry. Forget I asked. I don’t know what?—”

Crap.

“I mean,” I manage through a thickening throat, “Yes, I could. Not that you’re wrong.”

His gaze sweeps across my face, carefully assessing. Then he very gently gathers me into his arms, hugging me to his chest. His breath feathers across my hair as he replies quietly, “Good. Because I’ll be honest, I could use one, too.”

My arms snake around his waist, his warmth seeping into my chilled body. I let my eyes close as I rest my cheek on his shoulder. “Thank you,” I murmur. “I keep saying that.”

One hand rubs a slow circle on my back. “You don’t have to thank me. I told you, I want to be here.” He pauses. “And the other part. About taking your case. I talked to Dante and Erik about it as soon as they got back. And on the way here, we had a quick conference call with the rest of the team. Everyone’s in agreement.”

A breathless hope blossoms inside me. “And?”

Matt releases me, leaning back so he can look at me as he says, “We’re going to help you, Isla. We’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re safe. And we won’t stop until we figure this out. Alright?”

Oh.

Thank God.

“Yes.” And the tears finally burst free.

Matt gets this adorably flustered look on his face as he says somewhat desperately, “Don’t cry. It’s going to be okay. Please don’t cry. It’ll be alright.”

And as he pulls me into another hug, for the first time since this all started, I let myself believe he might be right.