Chapter Two
They arrived at the guarded gate to the Corrigan estate, a fortified division between Holland’s world and Isla’s.
Who didn’t know about the outrageously wealthy family that lived on Bowen Mountain, best known for Monticello, where the famous Thomas Jefferson (or infamous, depending on which side of history one belonged to) had built the home for which another mountain was renamed?
The Corrigans lived above Monticello, in an area where other gated communities and large mansions were hidden behind walls of dense forest. This was where wealthy business magnate, investor, and philanthropist Victor Corrigan, chairman and CEO of the Corrigan Group, had built his palatial estate, which rivaled most of the celebrity and wealthy homes Isla had seen in LA.
Hasaan, their Uber driver, and Holland had become fast friends and chatted nonstop the whole trip up the mountain.
All the while, Isla had tried to figure out how she’d been roped into escorting Holland back home.
Had it been the sad puppy dog eyes Holland had hit her with when Hasaan pulled up in his little silver Camry and Holland got shy again, acting as if she couldn’t ride alone with a man she didn’t know?
It could have been when Holland had promised she would pay the entire fare, which meant Isla didn’t have to take the bus, even though her ride time was now nearly tripled.
Isla had always thought she was pretty good at getting what she wanted, but Holland seemed to have her own tricks up her sleeves, and Isla liked that.
She’d learned a lot about the two in the nearly hour-long ride and didn’t mind the corny jokes passing between driver and passenger, or when Holland tried to tease her about her name.
“So Isla’s . . . different.”
Isla paused what she was doing. “And Holland isn’t?”
Holland scoffed, “You’re named after a body of land.”
“So are you,” Isla deadpanned, staring out her window into the darkening skies. “Though it’s the Netherlands now. Maybe I’ll call you that.”
Holland acknowledged her defeat with grace.
Isla had been invested in Holland’s explanation of the items she was pulling from the back seat of her coupe: a slender black canvas bag, a face shield, and a half-zipped duffel bag with a white pant leg sticking out. Hasaan helped her put them in the trunk of his car.
“Fencing gear. I’m on the team at my school,” Holland had replied as Isla offered to hold her backpack so Holland could focus on moving her stuff. Isla fingered the school lanyard sticking from the outer pocket, reading “Mary Washington” etched on it.
Isla paused getting into the car, genuinely impressed, filing that information away for further thought. “A Black girl who fences. Who would have imagined?”
“Thanks,” Holland said, with a pride that matched the sudden burst of feeling Isla had in her chest. “There aren’t too many of us, but we’re growing. Olympians, even. Lauren Scruggs won silver this year. Ruth White is a pioneer, Nikki Franke, all my idols.”
Isla had never heard of those women and felt an immediate need to look them up, feeling as if she’d been missing out on some well-deserved Black Girl Magic. She was proud to see girls like her in all sorts of unexpected spaces. “That’s cool as hell.”
Isla and Hasaan even had a moment of older-sibling worry after he casually tossed back a pack of unopened almonds when Holland’s stomach growled loudly in the confines of the car.
Holland moved to pick it up, took one look, and pushed it away quickly. Isla assumed Holland’s actions were because as nice as Hasaan was, he was still a stranger offering food, forgetting rideshare etiquette and letting his good upbringing and care of others shine through.
“No big deal,” Isla said under her breath, a little put off by Holland’s dramatics. She didn’t have to make the guy feel bad. “Just say thanks and throw it away later.”
“I didn’t think,” Hasaan said, realizing his mistake.
“That’s not it. I can’t eat almonds,” Holland said. “I’m allergic.”
“Oh!” Isla said, grabbing the bag quickly and tossing it back up front like it was a hot potato as Hasaan apologized profusely. There’d been a girl at her group home who was allergic to nuts. Her reaction had been terrifying.
Holland assured them, attempting to calm them, “Not all nuts. Just almonds, weirdly enough. The last time I had a major allergic reaction was back when I was like nine. I ate some cookies without checking. No biggie. That’s what EpiPens are for. It’s okay.”
Holland could try to appease them all she wanted, but the look Hasaan shared with Isla through his rearview mirror was clear. They could have killed a Corrigan, and they would have been next.
Two high, ornate wrought iron gates with majestic C emblems on each half marked the entry point and extended from there, a seemingly endless length of tall stone walling off the inner grounds of the house from the vast property, where much of the land remained natural and untouched.
Isla silently echoed Hasaan’s low whistle. She imagined the opulence that was on the other side and already knew her imagination was not enough.
Any excitement they had was killed by Holland, who’d gone from relaxed and joking to nervous energy.
She leaned forward in her seat, preparing to exit the moment the vehicle stopped, her anxiety ramped back up now that she was home.
Holland’s door was open before Hasaan could throw the gear in park, and a guard was already exiting the one-level building as floodlights illuminated the area.
Isla grew uneasy when she noted two distinct objects, a Taser and gun, on either side of his waist. His hand rested lightly on the object that didn’t have the bright-yellow grip. The gun.
The guard recognized Holland as she approached, his expression transforming from hostile to surprised. He called out something unintelligible, and the front gates began to open all the way, sliding away from each other on hidden tracks. He closed the distance between them.
Holland gestured to the Camry, and both Isla and Hasaan froze when the guard craned his neck to see into the darkened car. They hadn’t done anything wrong, but Isla couldn’t help feeling like these people would think they had.
The guard ran a hand over his face, his apprehension growing as Holland spoke. Isla didn’t need to hear him to know what he was thinking. Heads were about to roll. Holland had come home in a strange car.
“Maybe we should go help the kid out,” Hasaan suggested as he bit his fingernails and stared out the window. “You know. Help the kid out a little.”
“I don’t know,” Isla answered. “They don’t look like the welcoming committee.”
But a tiny part of her felt like a coward. She should step out and explain her part before they really did call the cops for kidnapping or something outlandish. Not for the tenth time, Isla was second-guessing this entire thing, and the bus ride back home sounded better with each passing moment.
“I’ll go.” Her mouth said one thing; her body said another. It roiled with apprehension.
The guard was speaking when she reached them.
“The whole estate on fire looking for you. Tracking the car, trying to call you. Searching the inner and outer grounds. Sending people out to search your last knowns,” the guard was saying as Isla got near.
“They found your car with a flat and no one around.”
“Yeah, because I was on the way here!” Holland said, agitated. “I couldn’t call. Remember my phone?” Holland held up a hand. “And before you ask, I only know my number.”
Holland pulled her phone from her back pocket. She’d left her backpack with her wallet and all her valuables in the car with two people she’d known for barely an hour. However, the dead phone . . . she’d kept close.
“Totally dead. But I got home, thanks to Isla.”
Isla waved at her name.
“Can we head in?” Holland asked, starting to head back to where Hasaan anxiously awaited them.
The guard shook his head. “They can’t come in past the gate for security reasons, but”—he motioned toward the small building he’d come from—“Willis has already called up for a car to pick you up from here, since we can’t leave post. Let’s get you inside until they come down.”
Holland had started to protest when the sound of approaching tires drew their attention.
They watched as a dark-colored late-model sedan passed Hasaan and the Camry.
It stopped near the entranceway. The driver exited, a serious-looking man giving off Secret Service vibes.
He swept the area with his gaze, making his assessment, as he buttoned his suit jacket.
Noting the guard on the scene, he strode toward the car door Isla had left open when she’d rushed to join Holland.
He peered in, sizing up Hasaan, who looked too afraid to move.
Hasaan waved stiffly, but the driver didn’t return the greeting, instead straightening himself and standing by as if awaiting orders.
Isla wasn’t sure what to make of his appearance, or the way he wouldn’t leave the Camry, as if it—they—posed a threat, but she smartly kept her thoughts to herself. It was better to wait and see.
“That’s Taylor. He’s my brother Myles’s driver-slash-everything,” Holland remarked, practically glowing, excited at the new arrival.