Chapter 8
8
MATT
“ D id Isla mention if she was calling out of work today?”
Pausing midway through my third round of pushups, I jump to my feet and look over at Erik. He’s standing by the window with a travel mug of coffee in hand, his posture at ease, but there’s still an alertness about him as he scans the parking lot outside.
“She didn’t say anything to me,” I reply. “Why?”
But as I glance at my phone, I realize the answer before he has a chance to explain.
It’s seven-thirty, which is ten minutes past the time Isla usually leaves for work, and one of the many things I’ve learned about her in the week we’ve been here is she’s never late. “Punctuality is one of the things that was drilled into me,” she told me the other day. “Always, always be on time. It’s one of the few helpful things my parents taught me.”
Having spent over twenty years in the military, that’s one value I definitely appreciate.
Although, knowing how shitty Isla’s parents were to her, I have a hard time thinking of anything they’ve done as positive. The more I’ve gotten to know Isla, the more clear it’s become that everything she’s accomplished has been completely on her own—her degree in business from the University of New Hampshire, on a full scholarship, no less, her success as an estate manager, and an independent life thousands of miles away from her family.
Isla wouldn’t just skip work. And she wouldn’t show up late. Not unless there’s a damn good reason for it.
Erik turns away from the window to face me, concern tightening his features. “She’s usually ready to leave by now. Not that I’d blame her for being late, given everything going on, but?—”
“But she’s never late,” I finish. And I curse myself for not noticing until now.
But I got up extra early this morning, finally giving up on sleep after a series of nightmares, and I thought the best way to get my mind off them was to jump straight into a workout. So I’ve been running through a modified training session in Isla’s living room, sweating through hundreds of situps and pushups and dozens of reps with the free weights Erik brought from Blade and Arrow.
“Not since we got here, at least,” Erik agrees. “I mean, it’s possible she forgot to tell us. Maybe she decided to schedule a doctor’s appointment and took the morning off.”
It’s possible. But my gut disagrees.
I glance down the hall at Isla’s bedroom door, left about a third of the way ajar. I hate having to ask her to keep it open at night, but I’m just not willing to risk her safety. From here I can tell the bed is empty, the comforter neatly smoothed across it. The blinds are partially opened, letting slivers of sun creep across the floor.
But no Isla.
Worry constricts my chest. “I didn’t hear anything. Did you?”
“No.” Erik frowns. “Well, I heard her alarm going off,” he amends. “But that was a while ago. And I figured she was just taking her time getting ready. But now…”
The worry shifts to fear.
Could something have happened to her?
I know the apartment is secure. With the number of alarms and cameras I installed inside and out, it would take a magician to get past them.
But what if she’s sick? What if something's wrong with the pregnancy? I’ve been reading up on things to look out for—high blood pressure, gestational diabetes, sudden bleeding—and the list of complications in the first trimester is honestly terrifying.
Shit. What if she’s in the bathroom, bleeding out, and I didn’t even notice?
Shit.
“I’m checking on her,” I announce unnecessarily as I head towards Isla’s bedroom.
“Okay,” Erik calls after me. “Rhi’s out checking the property, but I can call her if there’s a problem.” He pauses. “Should I call her now?”
“Just give me a second,” I reply. “Maybe it’s nothing.”
Please let it be nothing.
Once I get to the bedroom door, I rap on it several times as I call Isla’s name. When she doesn’t answer, I slowly push the door open and step into the empty room, raising my voice as I ask, “Isla? Are you okay?”
But there’s no response.
Maybe she’s in the attached bathroom. It’s just a tiny half-bath, no more than the size of a closet, while the full bath is just off the hallway. The door is shut, but I don’t hear the shower or sink running, telltale signs that Isla’s still getting ready.
What if she got lightheaded in the shower and fainted?
I know she gets dizzy in the morning, what if the heat of the shower was too much and now she’s unconscious, possibly suffering from a head injury, and I fucking missed it because I was trying to squeeze in a workout?
As fear edges into full-blown panic, I rush to the bathroom door and knock loudly on it. “Isla? Are you in there? Are you okay?”
At first, there’s nothing. But just as I start debating whether to pick the lock or just kick the door in, I hear a soft, “I’m okay. Sorry. I just?—”
Then there’s a painful retching sound, followed by a low groan.
Ah, shit.
Several seconds later, Isla says, “I’m sorry, Matt. I’m just… I’m not—” She stops. Sniffles. “I don’t feel well this morning.”
And I’m stuck on the other side of the door, feeling helpless.
Leaning against the door, my forehead resting on the smooth wood, I pitch my voice low as I ask, “Isla, honey, can I help?”
Her voice is weak and shaky as she asks, “Could you… grab my phone? I need to call work and tell them I’m going to be?—”
And then she throws up again.
Dammit.
I know she’s been battling morning sickness on and off, but this is the first time I’ve heard her suffering. And I feel absolutely horrible about it.
Once she’s quiet again, I ask, “Can I come in? Just to help?”
There’s a pause. And then, “Oh, no. I’m fine.”
But she’s clearly not okay.
Gentling my voice, I say, “Isla. Don’t think you’re going to gross me out. You won’t. Trust me. If you really don’t want me to help, that’s okay. But if you’ll let me, I’d really like to.”
Finally, just when I’m about to text Rhiannon myself and ask her to come back, Isla replies quietly, “Okay. The door’s unlocked.”
As I put my hand on the doorknob, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Not because I’m scared to see Isla sick, but because I’m scared of messing this up. Of saying something wrong. Of making her feel uncomfortable.
I just want to do this right.
Isla looks up from the floor as I walk into the bathroom, her eyes pink and cheeks tear-streaked. Her hair is half falling out of a loose ponytail, with damp strands sticking to her neck and forehead. She’s hunched into herself, her arms wrapped around her stomach, rocking slightly against the nausea.
She looks absolutely miserable.
“I’m sorry, Matt,” she starts. Tears well up in her eyes. “This is the worst it’s been. But I’ll be oka?—”
“Stop,” I tell her gently. “You don’t have to keep saying you’re okay.” I grab a hand towel from the little rack beside the sink and dampen it with cool water from the faucet. Then I kneel beside Isla and hand her the towel. As she wipes her face, I gather her hair back and refasten her ponytail, making sure all the loose strands are out of the way.
Isla glances at me, surprise in her eyes.
I hold my hand out for the towel and wipe it across the back of her neck, cooling her heated skin. “Do you want some water?” I ask. Reaching over to the toilet paper holder, I pull the roll off and set it on the floor beside her. “Or are you not ready for that yet?”
“Matt.” Her chin wobbles. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
It took about half an hour for Isla’s stomach to finally settle.
While I hated seeing her sick like that, it felt like that was exactly where I was supposed to be—keeping her company on the cold tile floor, rubbing her back and fixing her hair and wiping the sweat from the back of her neck.
It kills me to think about the times she went through that alone.
Not again. Not as long as I have anything to do with it.
Is that unrealistic? Once this case is solved—and it will be, it’s just a matter of time—there won’t be a reason for me to be in Dallas anymore. Isla will move on with her life and I’ll be relegated to a memory.
Unless.
No. I have no business considering anything beyond a client relationship with Isla.
It would be easier to believe that if I didn’t like her so much. If I didn’t feel this protective of her. If she wasn’t pretty much the ideal woman, if I’d ever taken the time to think about it.
If things were different, I’d have asked her out already.
It’s not just that she’s a client, though that’s reason enough to keep things strictly professional. But I’m confident I could still provide the same standard of protection if we were dating, and I know my teammates wouldn’t give me a hard time about it. Dante and Sarah got together while Blade and Arrow was protecting her, just as some of the guys at the original Blade and Arrow did with their partners.
But Isla’s pregnant. Not just pregnant, which I wouldn’t have a problem with on its own, but she doesn’t know how it happened. Doesn’t even know who the father is. She could have been drugged, violated…
Fuck .
Pain slices through my jaw as my molars grind together.
Anger bubbles up inside me, just as it does every time I think about someone hurting Isla. Scaring her. Traumatizing her.
I’ve felt protective of women before—particularly with my teammates’ partners—but with Isla, it’s different. More intense. All-encompassing. Like I don’t just want to take care of her, but need to.
And it’s not only keeping Isla safe, though that’s the priority, of course. But it’s also making sure she’s eating the right food and getting enough sleep and trying to help her relax in the midst of the chaos. It’s sitting with her in the bathroom while she’s sick and teaching her how to play Minecraft . It’s staying up late to watch the Discovery Channel and brewing pot after pot of ginger tea because sometimes that’s the only thing that makes Isla’s stomach feel better.
While I could tell myself I’d do this for any client, I know it’s a lie.
“Hey, Matt.” Isla walks into the kitchen, cheeks flushed and hair still damp from her shower, wearing a pair of loose shorts and a worn, oversized T-shirt that says UNH across the front of it. The morning sun coming in through the windows makes her skin glow and her eyes an even brighter violet than usual.
I forcibly relax my jaw and unclench my fingers from their death grip on the kitchen counter, then return her smile with one of my own. “Hey, you. How are you feeling?”
“Much better.” Isla leans on the small butcher block island in the center of the kitchen as she looks at me. “I was thinking I could probably go in to work after all. My stomach is almost back to normal. If I have some toast, maybe some tea, I should be okay.”
Then she glances at the tray I have set up on the counter, and her eyebrows shoot up. “Matt. What’s that?”
Gesturing at the tray, I reply, “Saltines with peanut butter. Toast with honey. And some dry toast, if you’d prefer. Bananas for protein. A smoothie with almond milk and strawberries. Ginger tea. And some crystallized ginger if you’re not up for drinking something hot.”
Her eyes go wide. “Matt. You put all that together while I was in the shower?”
My ears heat. “Is it okay? I researched the best things to eat after morning sickness and these are some of the things I found. But if you don’t like them, I can find something else.”
Isla bites her lip as she stares at the tray for a moment. As she looks back up at me, moisture shines in her gaze. “No, it’s perfect. Thank you, Matt.”
Grabbing the tray with one hand, I touch Isla’s arm with the other. “Why don’t you relax on the couch for a while? Watch some TV while you eat?”
As I gently guide her into the living room, she asks, “But what about work?”
“Do you really want to go? Because I got a note from Jade to give to your boss. Since she’s a physician assistant, I figured it would work. And it’s not like Jade’s lying about you being sick, I told her all of your symptoms and she agreed that taking a day off to rest would be a good idea.”
“Well…” Isla sinks onto the couch and lets out a little sigh. Her eyes close for a second. “I didn’t sleep very well last night. And I woke up early feeling sick.” Indecision flickers across her features. “It would be nice to stay home. But I don’t want my boss to?—”
“He won’t.” I set the tray on the coffee table and take a seat on the cushion beside her. “We’ve got it covered. And maybe you don’t have a virus or a bug, but I think it’s pretty clear your body could use the rest.”
She folds her legs together, pretzel-style, and reaches for the steaming mug of ginger tea. Lifting it to her nose, she takes a deep inhale. “Even the smell makes me feel better.” After she takes a sip, she asks, “You really don’t think it’ll be a problem if I miss work? With it being a new job, and I’ve already missed some time…”
“It won’t be a problem,” I reply firmly. Whether I have to hack into the personnel files or have a private conversation with Isla’s boss, I’ll make sure she doesn’t have to worry about it. With a smile, I add, “Just think, you can binge that new house flippers show on HGTV, maybe work on your new model, take a nap…”
A smile teases her lips. “That does sound nice.” She pauses before adding hopefully, “And maybe working on that new castle in Minecraft ? Unless you have other work to do?”
Do I have other work to do? Yes.
Could I put it off to spend a few hours with Isla instead? Definitely.
“I’d love to work on the castle,” I tell her. “How about you eat first, we’ll watch some TV, and once you’ve rested, we’ll work on the next floor of the castle?”
Her face lights up. “That sounds really nice. But you’re sure you don’t?—”
“Isla. I want to. Lounging on the couch watching aspirational home improvement shows I have no intention of emulating? Eating saltines with peanut butter?” For emphasis, I snag one of the saltines and pop it into my mouth. Once I finish chewing, I continue, “And hanging out with you? Playing Minecraft ? It sounds like just about the best day I can imagine.”
“Matt.” Emotion darkens her eyes to a deep twilight. “Do you have any idea how great you are?”
“Me?” I waggle my eyebrows at her. “I’m not that great. More like average.”
“Hardly.” Isla sets her mug down and shifts around so she’s facing me. “You’re more than great, Matt. I can’t believe—” Her cheeks flush. “Anyway. You’re incredible. Definitely not average.”
Out of the blue, my chest feels inexplicably full, like a balloon filled close to bursting.
My throat feels thick.
“I’m sorry,” Isla says quietly. She touches my arm, her slender fingers warm and soft against my skin. “Should I not have said that?”
“No, no. It’s fine.” I smile at her. “I’m glad you think so. Although I’d have to say you’re the incredible one.”
With a little snort, she replies, “Hardly.”
“You are.” As our gazes meet, my heart stutters. “Trust me.”
Pink rises in her cheeks. Then she takes a sip of tea, hiding her face behind the mug for a second. When she lowers it, her expression is as vulnerable as I’ve ever seen it. “I’ve never had anyone take care of me like that before.”
“Like what? When you were sick?”
“Yes.” A beat, and then, “My parents didn’t agree with coddling , as they called it. Except for the time I broke my arm and they had to take me to the doctor, I had to take care of myself.”
My jaw clenches. “Even as a little kid?”
She nods, sorrow pulling at her features. “Even then. I remember one time, I must have been seven or eight, and I had a stomach bug. The school sent me home, but my father was working and my mother had some church event she was coordinating. Neither of them had time to take care of me, so they just left me at home with a bottle of ginger ale and a sleeve of saltines. I sat in the bathroom by myself for hours.”
Oh.
“Isla.” Screw propriety. I catch her hand in mine, threading my fingers between hers. “I’m sorry. That really sucks.”
“It’s okay. I got used to it.”
Being used to neglectful behavior and it being okay are two different things. That’s something I know from personal experience.
And it’s why I find myself sharing something I’ve never told anyone before.
“My parents were pretty shit, too.” Isla’s hand tightens around mine as I continue, “They weren’t abusive, not physically, at least. But they weren’t interested in being parents. I’m not sure why they had me and my brother, really. They never said.”
“Oh, Matt. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” But as she looks at me, I concede, “Well. It wasn’t okay . My parents were always gone, they’d go out drinking on the weeknights and just take off on the weekends. From when I was ten and they considered me old enough to watch Levi, my younger brother, they would just leave us alone. For hours. Days, sometimes.”
“Matt.”
“That’s why I knew what to do. When you were sick. Because I used to take care of Levi. He’s four years younger than me, so he couldn’t do it on his own.”
“That’s awful.” Isla scoots closer to me so our legs are touching. Tiny lines form across her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”
“It taught me to be independent. Like you said your parents did. So it’s not entirely a bad thing. And it’s why I went into the Army, which turned out to be a great decision. Not only did I find a career that meant something—that does mean something—but I also found a team that became like family.”
“Did you enlist right out of high school?”
“I did. I could have gone to college, but after talking to the recruiting officer, joining the Army just felt right. I liked the idea of stability. Structure. And the officer, he used to be a Green Beret, too. When he told me about his team, and the missions he went on, I knew that’s what I wanted to do.”
“And now you’re here. Working for Blade and Arrow. With some of your old teammates, right?”
“Right. Erik and Dante were on my team. Niall, Xavier, and Rhi were on a different team, but they trained with us. So I’ve known them for years. And now, working together, it really is like a family. Living together, helping each other out…”
Isla grins. “And playing pranks on them?”
“That too.”
For a few seconds, she just looks at me. Then she says, “I’m sorry your parents were so awful, Matt.”
My heart twists. “I’m sorry your parents were awful, too.”
Silence falls between us, but it’s not an uncomfortable one. It’s one of silent comfort.
And then.
She leans forward and hugs me.
The scent of her floral shampoo wafts past my nose as the top of her head brushes my chin. Her soft curves press against my chest as she gives me some of her weight. And as my arms come around her, she sighs, her breath feathering across my neck.
Nothing has ever felt this perfect.
“I’m glad you have your team,” she whispers. “But if you ever need anyone else to have your back, you have me.”
Oh.
My heart.
“Isla.” It’s rough with emotion. “I’ll always be there for you, too.”