Chapter 3
3
ISLA
W hat if he doesn’t believe me?
I’ve asked myself the same question at least twenty times during the drive here.
What if I tell Matt this incredible story and I’m met with the same dismissive reaction I got from the police?
What if my plea for help is rejected as soundly as it was by my family?
If I’m rejected again, I’m not sure where to turn next.
It’s been two weeks since the first domino was tipped, and soon after, the rest of my neatly arranged life came crashing down around me.
In the beginning, I naively thought the police would help. I thought I’d go to them, explain all the crazy—no, more than that, absolutely insane—things that had been happening to me, and they’d jump into action. As I walked into the police station that first time, I was scared, but still hopeful.
I walked in there expecting kindness. Concern. A determination to find the answers and somehow set things right. I imagined gruff but gentle officers bringing me tea as they listened to my story, vowing to stop at nothing to solve my case.
Apparently, I was envisioning an episode from Law and Order and not reality.
Reality was rolled eyes and condescending tones and quick glances that reflected their derision as loudly as if they’d said the words. And reality was being scolded for wasting their time, even threatened with charges if I continued to make false accusations.
During my visit, there was only one person who showed some semblance of kindness, and it was the department social worker, who pulled me aside to gently suggest I look into counseling.
So, yeah. That was pretty terrible.
Desperate, I caved and called my father for help. And as much as it stung to ask, I never dreamt—silly me, being overly optimistic again—that he’d call me a liar. That he’d tell me in that cold way of his that I must have brought it on myself, and he wasn’t about to help me fix things.
“If you’d stayed in New Hampshire like you were supposed to,” he lectured, “and followed the godly path, instead of running away to pursue your frivolous notions, none of this would be happening. But you made your choice. Don’t expect your mother and I to bail you out when you realize it wasn’t the right one.”
His words shouldn’t hurt me anymore. I know they shouldn’t. I’ve had well over a decade to come to terms with my family’s disapproval of my lifestyle. But it still stung.
And I’m not a liar. I wish this was all a figment of my imagination. A brush with insanity would be preferable to the situation I’m in right now.
Stuck. Scared. Confused. And utterly alone.
Well. That’s not true. I have Rory. She offered to have me stay with her in Vermont, but that’s not an option. Not only is my job here—a job I desperately need, especially now—but if I’m in danger, like I believe I am, there’s no way I’m bringing it to her.
So here I am. Making the drive from Dallas to a little ranch on the outskirts of San Antonio, pinning all my hopes on a man I barely know.
Matt. My dark hero. A man who didn’t hesitate to come to my aid. And a man I’ve thought about every day since I met him.
We only spent a few hours together that day, first waiting for the police to show up, and then repeating our account of what happened over and over again. Definitely not the best circumstances for getting to know someone. But through it all, I discovered plenty of things about Matt, things that make me want to trust him.
I learned he’s newly retired from the Army, and he moved to Texas to work for a private security company. I saw his gentle nature, a contradiction to his intimidating appearance. I watched as he transformed from a warrior to a protector, thinking nothing of giving up hours of his time just to make sure I was okay.
I know he has a kind smile and eyes that shift from a deep espresso to a warm chocolate when he’s concerned. And I know the tips of his ears turn pink when he’s embarrassed, which is probably the most endearing thing I’ve seen in a very long time.
And he offered to help. As we stood there in the little conference room at my office building once the police had finally left, he handed me his business card and told me to call him if I needed anything. He looked me straight in the eye and said, “You need anything, Isla, just call.” Then he paused, his ears pinking up as he added, “Or you can just call. You don’t have to need anything.”
I was going to call him. Despite the miles between us and the unlikelihood of anything going any further, I still intended to call. Then my life abruptly turned into the plot of a really messed up Lifetime movie, and all my focus went towards trying to deal with that.
But here I am, about to see Matt again. Just not for the reasons I would have hoped.
In an ideal world, I’d see him the next time he comes to Dallas for business. We’d meet up for drinks or dinner, and I’d find out if he’s just as nice as I remember. Maybe things would go well, and we’d agree to stay in touch, figuring out some way to make a long-distance thing work.
Instead, I’m making this last-ditch trip across the state, desperately hoping that not only will Matt believe me, he’ll also agree to help.
As I drive, my gaze drifts to the map on the dashboard again. The directions tell me I’m only ten minutes away from the Blade and Arrow ranch, and a surge of anticipation wars with ambivalence.
I could find just what I need. Or I could suffer another disappointment.
When the app dings at me, signaling for me to take the next exit, my heart jumps. My stomach flips over in a drunken somersault. Sweat dampens my palms.
Just before I veer onto the exit, fear catches me, digging its claws in deep.
When was the last time I checked for anyone following me?
Did the monotony of the drive make me complacent?
My pulse accelerates. Panic squeezes my chest.
How could I have forgotten? I’ve been so careful, always traveling during the day, never walking alone, carrying my trusty pepper spray and taser everywhere I go.
Lungs seizing, my gaze jumps from the rearview mirror, to the sides, and back again. The few cars on the road take on an ominous quality.
Is the red Honda following a careful three car-lengths behind me just being respectful? Or is the driver staying back because he’s trying to avoid detection? And what about the dark van a quarter-mile back? Is the driver innocent or biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to run me off the road?
It’s only when gray dots edge into my vision that I realize I’m holding my breath.
Exhaling heavily, I suck in greedy gulps of air until my head feels steadier and my vision clears.
Get it together.
I’m almost there. Regardless of the result, I know I’ll be safe at Blade and Arrow Security. So at least I’ll get a brief reprieve from the suffocating fear.
When I turn onto County Road 230, the last named road before I reach the Blade and Arrow ranch, I almost sob with relief as the red car and black van continue on without me.
Was it paranoia brought on by stress, as the police social worker suggested? Or a legitimate worry after everything else that’s happened?
I don’t think it’s paranoia.
No. I know it’s not. I’m not crazy, and I’m not imagining things. I just need to convince Matt of that.
As I make my way down the tree-lined road, I try to focus on calming myself down. I use that box-breathing technique I’ve read about as being good for stress—four count to breathe in, four to hold, four out, four to hold again and repeat. One at a time, I release my hands from the wheel and flex them, working the sore muscles out.
A few minutes later, the app alerts me again, telling me to turn onto a long driveway. About a hundred feet down it, I come to a tall metal gate with an intercom box on the side of the road ahead of it.
When I press the little button, my heart starts going crazy again. I never used to be the nervous type, but as of late, I feel like I’m constantly on the verge of jumping out of my skin.
Then a low voice rumbles through the speaker. “Isla?”
Oh.
Matt.
“Yes,” I answer a little shakily. “It’s me. Um. Do you need my identification or anything?”
“No.” There’s a smile in his voice, and some of the tension in my body releases. “I can see you,” he explains, “on the little camera on the gate. And I definitely remember what you look like.” As the gate opens, he adds, “There’ll be another gate closer to the ranch. About a half-mile up. I’ll let you through. Then just park out front and I’ll come out to get you.”
As the gate closes behind me, the oddest sensation comes over me. Not one of fear or anxiety, but of safety. And once I park my car outside the expansive ranch and I spot Matt standing out on the front porch, the feeling of security gets even stronger.
Matt jogs over to me as I’m getting out of the car, his expression an equal blend of pleasure and concern. His eyes are that warm chocolate color, soft with worry as he inspects my face. But his lips are curved into an almost shy smile as he says, “Isla. It’s good to see you. How are you doing?”
A beat later, his ears flush. “Sorry. That makes it sound like you’re just…” He shakes his head. “Obviously you’re not okay or you wouldn’t be here. I just meant…”
Inexplicably, my heart warms. And my lips tug up in the first smile I’ve had in weeks. “I know what you meant. It’s fine. It’s good to see you, too. And I’m feeling better now that I’m here.”
His face brightens. “Well. That’s good.” He glances back at the front door to the ranch. “You must be tired after that drive. Why don’t we get inside, I’ll grab you something to drink, and you can relax a little before we get into anything else. Does that sound okay with you?”
“It sounds good,” I reply. “As long as you don’t mind?”
“Of course not.” He gestures for me to walk ahead of him, his hand brushing against the small of my back for a moment. The brief contact sets off little zips of electricity in its wake, leaving a flush of warmth behind.
As we walk towards the ranch, instead of looking at the details of the building, like I should, I keep sneaking quick glances at him instead. Though it’s dark out, the front yard is suffused with light—both from small spotlights attached to the exterior of the ranch and twin rows of solar lanterns along either side of the path.
In profile, Matt’s features are all strong lines and angles, from his angular jaw to his Romanesque nose. A brush of stubble sets off full lips with a smile still teasing at them, and his dark hair is freshly tousled, like he was just running his hand through it.
I remember him being tall, but walking beside him like this really makes me appreciate the difference in our heights. I’m five-six, and the top of my head barely reaches his chin, so I’d imagine he’s easily six-two or taller. And he’s big—not heavy, but thick with muscle—his T-shirt stretching across a broad chest and very impressive biceps.
Should I be paying attention to how he looks when I’m here for a much more pressing reason?
Probably not. But I can’t seem to help myself.
“So this is the Blade and Arrow ranch,” Matt says as we step onto the large front porch. He stops. Grins sheepishly. “Of course you know that. I’m sure you checked out the website before you came.”
Yanking my thoughts back to more pertinent matters, like holding polite conversation instead of openly ogling Matt, I reply, “I did. I hope you’re not insulted. It’s not that I didn’t believe you, but…”
“No, no. I’m not insulted at all. I’d do the same thing.” We stop in front of the closed front door while he punches a long code into a keypad beside it. Then he waits while a little camera runs a retinal scan. Once the lock clicks, he pushes the door open and says, “We have retinal scans at all the entrances. So no one is getting in unless we invite them.” He casts a quick smile at me. “Like you.”
“Okay. That sounds like a good idea.”
“Yeah.” Matt angles his chin towards a doorway just up ahead. “There’s sort of an… entertainment room just that way. Sometimes we use it for small events. Or we’ll watch movies or have game nights there if it’s too hot to go out in the barn.”
I look at him in confusion. “Movies? Game nights? The barn? I thought this is a security company?”
“Oh, it is.” We walk into a large living space with three long couches arranged around an enormous TV. “But we all live here. The team—there’s six of us—and three of my teammates’ partners. So we like having spaces to all hang out together. During our free time, you know?”
When I looked up Blade and Arrow’s website, it featured their experience as former Special Forces operators and the different services they offered, but it definitely didn’t mention that they all live here. Which makes sense, really. They wouldn’t want potential clients just showing up any old time, assuming that since the team lives here, they’re always available.
Nodding at him, I reply, “That makes sense. So it’s the six of you?”
“Yes.” Matt makes a sweeping gesture towards the couches. “Take a seat anywhere.” Then he grins. “Sorry, I’m not this scattered when I’m on the job. I promise. My mind just… it doesn’t always work in linear patterns.”
Even though he’s smiling through his explanation, there’s a hint of vulnerability in his gaze as he says it, like he’s half expecting me to dismiss what he’s saying. But I don’t, because I know just what he means. “I get it. Sometimes I go off on tangents, too. But some of them bring me my best ideas.”
“Exactly.” As I take a seat on one of the couches, he continues, “So, like I was saying, there are six of us on the Bravo team. Me, Dante—he’s kind of our de facto leader—Niall, Xavier, Erik, and Rhiannon. Everyone else is out on jobs, though Dante and Erik will be back later tonight. And I’m on HQ duty, which means I stay here and make sure everything’s running smoothly. Check security, talk to potential clients, that sort of thing.”
“Okay.” As I sink back against the couch cushions, a wave of fatigue sweeps through me. It’s not surprising given the stress I’ve been under, plus not eating well, and adding a four-hour drive onto the end of an already long day, that my poor body is just about at its limit. How I’m going to drive home after this, I’m not sure. Lots of coffee and the windows all the way open, I guess.
Matt pauses near the coffee table, his brow creasing with concern. “Are you alright, Isla? You look pale.” A moment later, he grimaces. “Shit.” His ears go red. “I mean, shoot. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Gosh. There is just something so cute about him. And despite how absolutely crummy I feel right now, my spirits lift a little. “It’s fine, Matt. I’m not insulted. It’s been a long day. A long couple of weeks, really. I know I’m not looking my best.”
A horrified expression crosses his face. “No. Isla, that’s not what I meant. At all. You look beauti—” His mouth clamps shut. Then he lets out a frustrated sigh. “You just look a little tired, is all.”
A beat later, he blushes. “Shit. I should just tape my mouth shut before I keep sticking my foot into it.”
“It’s really okay,” I assure him. A little laugh bubbles up in my chest. “I am tired. You’re not saying anything that isn’t true.”
He looks at me with an earnest expression. “Sorry, Isla. You’re here for our help and I’m making it weird?—”
“You’re not.” I actually feel more at ease than I have in weeks.
“Well.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he continues, “Can I get you something to drink? Lucy—she’s one of the women who lives here—just bought a bunch of apple cider. Or we have soda, water, coffee…”
The thought of apple cider makes my stomach lurch unpleasantly. “Maybe just water. And do you have… someplace I can freshen up?”
“Oh, of course.” Matt straightens. “There’s a bathroom just down the hall from where we came in. I can show you.”
“Oh, you don’t need to,” I start as I push myself up from the couch. “I’m sure I can?—”
But the second I’m standing, everything spins. My head feels like a helium balloon about to float off.
“Isla?” Matt moves towards me, worry carved into his features.
“I—”
But I can’t make the words come out.
Heat rushes to my face. A moment later, I’m freezing.
My muscles don’t seem to want to work.
Matt seems like he’s moving through a fog.
“Isla.” Urgency strains his voice.
I reach for the couch to steady myself, but it doesn’t work.
Darkness creeps into my vision.
As if I’m watching from afar, I see myself falling.
Wait.
I’m not.
Matt lunges for me, sweeping me into his arms.
He lifts me against his chest and my head sags on his shoulder. I know I should do something, insist I’m okay, apologize, but I don’t have the energy. It feels like all the life has been sucked out of me.
Before I realize what’s happening, I’m laid back on the couch. Matt leans over me, one hand braced on the cushion, the other lightly touching my forehead. Worry darkens his gaze. In an achingly gentle tone, he says, “Isla. I’m going to get my friend and have her come take a look at you. She’s a physician assistant, so she knows what she’s doing. Is that okay?”
But now that I’m laying down, my body is starting to feel more like my own again. The dizziness is fading. And I’m not worried about my legs collapsing from underneath me.
“No, I’m okay.” I push myself up—slowly—to a seated position. “I just got dizzy for a second.”
Matt drops to his knees beside the couch and takes my hand. His thumb rests at my wrist, and after a moment, he frowns. “Your pulse is too fast, Isla. I’m not trying to be bossy here, and I know I’m basically a stranger to you, but I’m worried.”
“It’s really okay.” Forcing a strained smile, I add, “I think it’s just because I haven’t eaten in a while. I was rushing to get out of work early, and then I just jumped on the road, so I didn’t have a chance to grab dinner.”
Guilt flickers through his eyes. His jaw goes tight. “Dammit,” he grits out. “I should have come to you. I didn’t want to leave the women here alone, but?—”
“It’s fine.” He looks so upset, I catch his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “Really. I’m the one who was so impatient to get here. It’s not your fault.”
Matt stares at me for a few seconds before he lets out a heavy sigh. “Well. I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on that. But—” He stands. “I can get you something to eat. I’m not much of a cook, but I have some leftover tomato soup and grilled cheese. Or I can make you a regular sandwich. Lucy—that’s Xavier’s wife—says they’re not good. But I can… I don’t know… zhoosh them up or something.”
I should not be thinking about how cute Matt is after I nearly fainted in his living room.
But gosh. He is cute.
It’s the most incongruous thing. From the first time seeing him in that parking lot—all dangerous and intense—to now, this sweet and slightly awkward teddy bear.
The rest of my life might be a disaster of epic proportions, but being here with Matt? This , I can’t complain about.
Holding his gaze, I smile as I say, “I’d love a zhooshed up sandwich. That sounds perfect.”
His answering grin chases away some of the worry in his gaze. “Okay, then. One Matt special, coming up. And don’t go anywhere. Just relax until I come back. Okay?”
My mind darts off in an unexpected direction, and before I can stop myself, I blurt, “You said some of your teammates live here with their partners. What about you?”
A beat later, I realize the absolute inappropriateness of what I just asked. My cheeks heat. “Um. Forget I asked that. I don’t know what I was?—”
Matt stares at me. His eyes flicker with an indecipherable emotion. Then he gives me another one of those shy smiles. “No. I have my own apartment here. And I’m not dating anyone.”
Oh.
It shouldn’t matter.
Given the circumstances, it really shouldn’t matter.
But my silly heart has a different idea. A stubborn spark of hope kindles in my chest.
“Oh,” I reply inanely. “Well. That’s good.”
That’s good? Augh. What am I saying?
As Matt ducks his head, I catch the quickest glimpse of a smile. Then he says quickly, “I’ll go make that sandwich for you. And get some water. I’ll be right back.”
And as he heads out of the room, I bury my heated face in my hands.
That’s good ? Have I lost my mind?
And is it crazy to be this happy about his answer?