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

Chapter 7

7

ISLA

L ately, it feels like I’m living in parallel realities.

In one, I do all the normal things.

I go to work, make small talk with my coworkers, and immerse myself in the minutia of managing my boss’s schedule. Afterwards, I come home and settle into my typical evening activities—yoga, walking on my treadmill, cleaning the apartment, and figuring out something quick but healthy for dinner. Once it’s nighttime, I might text Rory or watch a house flipping show on Discovery or fuss with my newest kit, a tiny rendition of a bakery complete with teeny cupcakes and miniature eclairs.

In that reality, I can almost forget how absolutely screwed up my life is.

In the other reality, the Lifetime-movie-on-speed one, I still have a hard time believing it’s real.

There will be stretches of time when I forget—when I’m wrapped up with work or focused on a complicated yoga pose or fully immersed in the newest building I’m constructing in Minecraft .

Then I’ll remember, like an icy wave crashing into me, stunning me and stealing my breath.

I was attacked not just once, but twice. One time could be terrible luck, like the police insisted it was. But for it to happen a second time? And in another parking lot, no less?

Could my luck really be that bad?

Add in the cars following me for over a week, the man trying to break into my apartment, and the creepy home invasion, there’s no way they could all be a coincidence.

If that’s where it ended, I don’t think I’d have such a hard time wrapping my head around everything. Would I still be scared? Would I still jump at tiny noises, my heart flying into my throat at the innocent sound of the icemaker kicking on or a text coming in? Would I still have nightmares of being abducted, thrown into a car by a shadowy man with a terrifyingly flat gaze?

Yes. Absolutely.

But I wouldn’t wonder if I was losing my mind.

Even though I’m ninety-nine percent certain I’m not, I can’t escape the niggling worry.

What if this is all in my head? What if I was assaulted and subconsciously blocked it out? What if I’ve concocted this story about a mysterious pregnancy because my mind doesn’t want to deal with reality?

Pregnant.

How can it be?

When the nurse first called with the results from the doctor’s office, I outright laughed at her. And when she persisted, I firmly told her she must have the wrong person’s results. There was no way I could be pregnant.

But one call from the doctor and ten at-home tests later, I had to accept it.

Me. Pregnant . I don’t know exactly how far along, but based on when I last got my period, I’d have to guess about ten weeks.

But it’s not possible. It’s not . I haven’t been on a date in months. Like I told Matt, I haven’t even been out for more than a drink, and I went home by myself every time. I can’t even blame it on some skeezy doctor or dentist—which is horrible to think about, but I had to consider it—because prior to my appointment last week, I hadn't seen a medical professional in months.

So how could it have happened?

When I let myself really think about it instead of busying my mind with pretty much anything else, it’s all I can do to keep from losing it.

Pregnant.

I’ve always wanted kids—it’s why I broke up with my last boyfriend, in fact, after he announced he never wanted children and there was no chance of him changing his mind. Not that it was any big loss, since our relationship was fizzling out, anyway. And in the year since, I’ve only been on a handful of first dates, not even coming close to having sex with any of them.

So how did this happen?

I’m on birth control, for Pete’s sake. Have been for years.

Or at least I was until I got the news from my doctor.

In all this insanity, in the moments when I’m moments from bursting into hysterical tears, when I’m battling nausea from nerves and morning sickness, there’s one thing I’m absolutely certain of.

It’s not the baby’s fault. And whatever happens, I’m determined to make sure he or she is okay.

If this happened to another woman, I wouldn’t judge her, regardless of the decision she made. I would say it was her choice, and hers alone.

But for me, just me, there’s no question.

I haven’t thought much past that, aside from ordering some supplements online and cutting out my afternoon cup of coffee. I haven’t been to my OB-GYN yet, even though Matt has offered to take me any time I need. Since he got here three days ago, he’s been sweetly persistent about it, each morning asking if I’d like him to take me to any appointments or if I need help finding a referral.

Just this morning, he even offered to work his computer magic, as I call it, to get me into the best OB in the city. “Jade said the best doctors get booked up,” he explained as the tips of his ears went red, “but I could get you in to whoever you want. It wouldn’t be a problem.”

Sweet Matt.

Not just my dark hero, but my gentle protector.

He’s not like anyone else I’ve ever met. He's kind, funny and self-deprecating. Brilliant. Incredibly handsome. Intriguing. And I love the way his ears turn pink when he’s embarrassed, though he usually has no reason to be.

Even though I haven’t known Matt long—although it feels more and more like I have—I’ve noticed the vulnerability he tries to hide. When he lets something personal slip out and his default is to try to brush it off as nothing, like when he told me about playing Minecraft or how he always checks the video game stores in every city he visits.

For some reason, he seems to think I’m going to judge him harshly for it. But I think it’s cute. And I like hearing him talk about his interests, seeing his eyes light up, his enthusiasm a contagious thing.

I like everything about Matt, really.

And I like his teammates, too. Rhiannon—or Rhi, as everyone calls her—is wonderful. She’s kind and funny and I’m honestly a little in awe of her. As one of the first female Green Berets, I can’t begin to imagine how hard it must have been for her in a male-dominated job. And now she’s working for Blade and Arrow Security, which I’ve learned is one of the top private security companies in the country.

Then there’s Erik, who came across as this goofy guy who didn’t take things too seriously at first. But the second day he was here, when he saw me practicing yoga, he shyly asked if he could join me. And after that, he offered to show me some meditation and mindfulness techniques, explaining, “When I’m having a rough time dealing with things, this helps. I know things are hard, so… if you’re interested, I could show you.”

I said yes. Of course. And he’s right. The meditation does make me feel a little better.

If not for the reason the three of them are here, I’d be happy about the company. Cramped as it is, the four of us in my little apartment, Erik and Matt sleeping on air mattresses while Rhiannon crashes on the couch, it’s actually pretty nice.

“Hey, Isla?” A light rapping on my bedroom doorjamb accompanies Matt’s question. He pokes his head past the half-open door—for security reasons, we don’t close doors unless we’re using the bathroom—and gives me a hesitant smile. “Are you busy?”

“No.” I toss my phone onto the mattress and slide off my bed. As I stand, a slight wave of dizziness hits me, and I grab onto the edge of the bed until it passes. “I was just texting Rory. And?—”

In a blink, Matt’s in front of me, his hand at my elbow. Concern creases his features. “Are you okay? Did you get dizzy again?” He starts to steer me back to the bed. “You should sit down.”

“I’m okay.” Tipping my head back, I meet his worried gaze. “Really. Standing up sometimes makes me a little lightheaded, but once I’m up, I’m fine.”

As I look up at him, I’m struck all over again by just how handsome he is. His chestnut hair is tousled as usual, which means he’s probably been impatiently running his hand through it while he frowns at his laptop. Thick lashes frame his expressive eyes, and his five o’clock shadow accents the strong lines of his jaw. The scar just below his hairline gives him a dangerous look, and not for the first time, I wonder how he got it.

Should I be thinking about his looks when he’s here with the express purpose of protecting me? Probably not.

Am I? Yes .

“I don’t know, Isla. If you’re not feeling well…”

“Matt.” I firm my voice. And I step away from him, instantly missing the feel of his warm hand on my elbow. “I’m really okay. And I’m not busy. What’s up?”

“Well.” He grimaces. “I wanted to ask you a few more questions. But maybe this isn’t a good time.”

My stomach plummets to my feet. More questions means talking about all the people who could potentially be involved in this. Which, although necessary, is not something I enjoy.

Forcing a smile onto my face, I say brightly, “It’s fine. Anything to help.”

He eyeballs me skeptically. “Okay… But if it gets to be too much…”

Lifting my chin, I reply, “It won’t. I can handle it.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m not so sure.

It wasn’t that bad in the beginning. As Erik and Rhiannon looked on, Matt gently asked me about my former and current coworkers again, delving deeper into any possible motive for wanting to hurt me. He wanted to know if there were any employees who thought I was promoted unfairly or might be bitter because they asked me out and I rejected them.

The answer to both was no. At least not that I know of.

After that, we moved on to all the men I’ve dated over the last year, which was a bit more awkward. It wasn’t particularly fun dredging up memories of disappointing first dates and discussing my lack of sexual relations with any of them. Especially not when Matt was asking.

But I understand. Matt’s not making progress on my case as quickly as he’d been hoping, so it makes sense to go over all the information again. And even if that means feeling uncomfortable answering some of his questions, I’m more than willing to do it.

It’s when we get to the subject of my parents that things shift from uncomfortable to downright unpleasant. I don’t really like thinking about the strained relationship with my family at the best of times, and talking about it now, when I’m already feeling unsettled and scared, makes it ten times worse.

“I know this isn’t what you want to talk about,” Matt says as he glances up from his laptop to look at me. His eyes are a molten dark chocolate, regret and apology in his gaze. “But we really need to talk about your family a little more. Make sure there isn’t something I’m missing.”

My stomach squinches into a little ball. The soup we had for dinner burns the back of my throat.

Years later, and I still hate talking about my parents.

From the armchair opposite the couch, Rhiannon gives me a sympathetic smile. “Just do your best. If you need a break, that’s okay.”

Erik leans forward in the matching chair beside her, his elbows resting on his knees. “This is tough for everyone. We get it.”

At the other end of the couch, Matt nods. “I’ll try to make this as quick as possible. And like Rhi said, if you need a break…”

“No. Let’s just get through this.” It’s sharper than I intended, my anxiety making itself known. Taking a breath, I blow it out slowly before adding in a softer tone, “I can do this. What else do you need to know?”

Matt’s lips press together in an unhappy line. He scowls at the laptop for a second before raising his gaze again. “Okay. So you said your parents are pretty conservative. And that they don’t approve of your lifestyle?”

A dry laugh bursts out at the massive understatement. “Disapproving is a nice way of saying it. But I’d say it’s more of an outright rejection. Since I was a teenager, I haven’t done anything my parents wanted me to. Back then, they tried to convince me to see the error of my ways. Now, they’re not interested in me at all. Not unless I move back to New Hampshire and follow the path they want me to.”

“And what’s that?”

“Getting married to a man from their church and staying home to raise his kids. Not my kids, because in my parents’ minds, the wife is little more than the husband’s property. I wouldn’t have a job, I’d just stay home to clean and watch the kids and volunteer at the church all the time. And—” I glance down at my shorts. “I would never dress like this. Ever.”

Rhiannon’s brow creases. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

“First, I’m not wearing a dress. And a long one, at that. Pants are considered inappropriate, and shorts like these, where you can actually see my knees? It’s practically blasphemous.”

Matt frowns. “So what happened when you were a teenager? With your parents?”

“I realized I wanted more out of life. A job. Clothes that made me feel confident in myself. I wanted friends that weren’t in the church. And I wanted to move away, to see what else was out there aside from my parents’ insular life.”

Pausing, I pick at a loose thread on the couch cushion as I collect my thoughts. “I tried to get involved in school activities. Clubs. Sports. They didn’t like that. My father said it was too showy. In his mind, I was supposed to be this quiet mouse who just stayed at home and did whatever he told me to. Things got worse through high school, and when I applied to college and got scholarships on my own, my parents lost it. They threatened to disown me if I went.”

“Shit.” It’s a muttered curse. Jaw hard, Matt asks, “And what happened after that?”

“Pretty much what they threatened to do. Once I graduated high school, they kicked me out. And they told me not to come back unless I got my act together. Since then, I hear from them every six months or so, just a quick phone call to remind me how badly I screwed up.”

“Isla.” Matt’s tone is soft with empathy. “I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

A quick glance around the living room shows Erik and Rhiannon wearing matching pissed off expressions.

Lifting my chin, I reply, “It’s not that bad. I mean, it hurts. They’re my parents, and I always thought… you know, parents were supposed to love their children unconditionally. But they never did. Even when I was a kid, they were cold. Oppressive. My father treated me like the help instead of his daughter. So I guess… it’s better that I don’t have to talk to them anymore.”

“Do you think—” Matt stops. A muscle in his jaw twitches. And I can already tell I’m not going to like his next question. “With them believing so strongly that you should have children and come back to their church, is it possible…”

An icy vise tightens around my chest. “Is what possible?”

In a rush, he asks, “Do you think there’s any possibility that your parents could be involved in this? That they could be trying to force your hand?”

“You think they arranged for all this?” My voice pitches up. “Tried to have me abducted? Somehow got me pregnant? All the way from their house in New Hampshire?”

Matt sighs. “I’m not saying I think that. But you did mention going to a wedding not too long ago. And your parents were there. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t at least consider it.”

The vise constricts, squeezing the air from my lungs. My hands go cold and clammy. “So you want to know if I think my parents would go as far as to have me… what? Drugged? At the wedding? Just to get me pregnant?”

“Not exactly?—”

“I asked them for help,” I retort. A lump expands in my throat. “I called my dad and asked if he could give me a loan to help pay for a private investigator. But he refused. Why?—”

Oh.

Could he? Would he?

“Isla…”

I never even considered it. But what if?

As pain spears through me, a tiny moan escapes, and I clap my hand to my mouth to try to stifle it.

Tears sting my eyes.

The walls feel like they’re closing in.

“Isla,” Rhiannon says softly, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I whisper, feeling the furthest thing from it.

Out of the corner of my eye, Erik watches me, concern etched into his features.

Matt sets his laptop on the coffee table and slides across the couch so he’s next to me. “Isla. I’m sorry.” Guilt shadows his gaze. “Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not,” I sniffle. Which would be more convincing if a tiny sob didn’t slip out as I said it. “I’m fine.”

“I shouldn't have said it like that,” he says.

“It’s okay. You had”—another little sob interrupts me—“to ask.”

“Still.” Matt’s hand twitches towards me. “You’re not feeling well. This wasn’t the best time. I should have waited.”

“We have to ask these things,” Erik adds, his gaze moving from me to Matt. “Unfortunately, there’s no getting around the hard questions.”

Matt throws a quick glare at him. “There’s a time and a place.”

“No, it’s okay.” My voice is small. Shaky. “I get it. This is a job. You can’t just wait around for me to feel up to answering questions.”

“It’s not like that,” Matt retorts quickly. “You’re more important—” He stops. His ears go pink. After a long pause, he says, “We can stop this for now. You’ve already given us more to work with. Okay?”

I know I should insist on continuing. I shouldn’t let my emotions impact the progress we’re making—or not making—on my case. Blade and Arrow is here to help me, and I shouldn’t be doing anything to delay them.

But. It’s just so much on top of everything else.

“Isla?” Matt touches my hand. It’s just a light brush of his fingers across mine, but the small contact still steadies me. As the warmth of his hand seeps into me, the pressure on my chest releases a little.

I swallow hard. “Yes?”

He stares at me for a second. “I was just thinking; it might be nice to get out of the apartment for a bit. A change of scenery and all that.”

Confused, I ask, “Go where?”

“Anywhere you want.” He pauses. Then he amends, “Well, not anywhere . But maybe just someplace local? For an hour or so? I know you’ve been going to work, but aside from that, you’ve been stuck in the apartment. So I thought it might be nice.”

“And it would be safe?”

Matt glances at Erik and Rhiannon, exchanging a silent communication through a series of chin lifts and raised eyebrows. A moment later, he says, “Yes. Two of us can go with you, and the other person can stay here to run surveillance. As long as you don’t want to go traipsing through the woods or something like that…”

A spark of optimism flickers to life. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Absolutely not.” A smile pulls at his lips. “I’d be happy to take you out.”

Out of the blue, my heart rolls over. Flutters.

Stop. Just because it sounds like something you’d say about a date doesn’t mean it’s anything like it.

Still. Leaving the apartment with Matt? Having some time to feel almost normal?

“Could we get ice cream?” I blurt out. “There’s this place a couple miles away, they have mini golf and the best homemade ice cream. I haven’t been in ages, but it’s my favorite. Do you think that would be okay?”

Wait. Is he going to come with me? Or will he stay back while Erik and Rhiannon escort me?

But before I can contemplate asking, Matt answers my unspoken question. With a smile, he says, “That sounds perfect. I love ice cream.”

It still slips out. “So you’re coming with me?”

A beat passes. Then he squeezes my hand. His gaze meets mine. “I was thinking I would. Unless you’d rather Erik and Rhi?—”

“No, I want you to come.” Heat suffuses my cheeks. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Isla.” His voice is so gentle my heart aches from it. “I absolutely don’t mind. And I’d like nothing more than to get ice cream with you.”