Chapter 21 #2
I sigh, heading into the small kitchen to make coffee.
Normally, this is a routine I can do without thinking—measure the grounds, fill the filter, add water.
But today, my brain churns so hard, I nearly pour water onto the counter instead of the machine.
Once it’s percolating, the smell of fresh brew soothes me a fraction, though not enough to quell the knot in my stomach.
That’s when the knock comes at the door—three sharp raps that jolt me out of my thoughts.
My spine stiffens, adrenaline spiking. We weren’t expecting visitors.
My first instinct is to protect, to keep Isabel safe.
My gaze darts to the side table, where I see my gun lying next to the laptop.
In three strides, I grab it, the cool metal reassuring in my hand. Then I walk carefully to the door.
I peer through the peephole, my pulse hammering. Shock slams into me when I see who’s standing on the other side: Dean Maddox himself, face set in a tight line. He lifts his knuckles to knock again, impatience clear in his tense posture.
Shit. My stomach flips. I flick the safety on my gun, though I keep it at my side as I unlock the door. Opening it only a crack, I force a weak smile. “Dean. What are you… doing here?”
He doesn’t return the smile. With a push, he shoulders the door open, stepping inside. “Is that how you greet your boss, Lincoln?” His gray eyes sweep over my bare torso and the gun in my hand, and if anything, his face darkens further.
I swallow, stepping back to let him in. The morning sun catches on his hair, and I remember how he’s always looked a bit intimidating, even before we started working together.
“Never can be too careful,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
I set the gun down on the nearest end table, the safety still engaged. “Dean, man, you could’ve called first.”
His jaw flexes. “I did. Several times. You didn’t answer.”
I glance around, mind racing. “Phone’s probably on silent,” I lie, heart pounding. “What’s going on? Something up at the office?”
Dean takes a slow, measured look around the living room, then turns back to me. “I had an interesting conversation with Devereaux yesterday.” His tone is deceptively calm, but the undertone cuts like a blade. “He told me he saw you and Isabel at Club Greed.”
A chill scuttles over my skin. “We were—well, we were checking out a lead,” I hedge, trying to piece together a plausible explanation on the fly. “Isabel was worried about some threats, and we heard rumors that Rolfe might be connected.”
Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “So you thought you’d just stroll into a swinger’s club without telling me?” His voice rises, anger crackling around the edges. “And you brought my sister into that environment—an environment that even Devereaux says is, and I quote, ‘not for the faint of heart’?”
I wince. He has every right to be upset. “Look, I know it sounds bad. But we were careful. We’ve been careful.”
“Careful?” He rakes a hand through his hair, pacing across the living room.
“Devereaux said you two have been there more than once, mingling with his crowd, pretending to be—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head like he can’t even finish the thought.
“Isabel’s never done anything like that.
Why the hell didn’t you tell me what was going on? ”
Guilt roils in my stomach. He’s not entirely wrong—I owe him some explanation.
He’s her brother, after all. And I did consider telling him just this morning.
“Dean, we didn’t want to worry you,” I manage.
“And the threat to Isabel seemed connected to people who frequent that club. We were trying to keep it under wraps until we had more to go on.”
Dean’s gaze is molten steel. “You think me not knowing is safer? I run one of the biggest security firms in the country. I have resources—contacts—who could’ve helped you sort this out properly.”
I set my jaw, forcing myself to remain calm despite his fury. “We know. But we also know how protective you are of Isabel. She insisted on investigating, and I… well, I was assigned to protect her.”
His anger radiates off him in waves, but there’s a flicker of conflict in his expression. “Don’t pin this all on her,” he warns. “You’re the professional, Lincoln. You should’ve told me from the start.”
The pang in my chest intensifies, but before I can respond, movement in the hallway draws our attention.
Isabel steps into view, wearing only an oversized T-shirt that hits mid-thigh—she must’ve thrown it on after finding me gone from the bed.
Her eyes widen at the sight of her brother looming in the living room. I see the flash of panic in her gaze.
“Dean?” she asks, voice laced with both shock and alarm. “What are you doing here?”
He turns on her, frustration pouring from every rigid line of his body. “I’m here because Devereaux told me you two have been playing undercover games at his club. I had to find out from him? Did it never occur to you to call me, Isabel?”
She flinches at his tone, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “Dean, calm down. It’s not like I was going to a lethal arms trade. We were just… investigating leads, okay?”
“In a damn swinger’s club,” Dean snaps. “You told me you wanted protection, but then you ignore me and dive into that scene with Lincoln?”
I feel Isabel stiffen beside me, and a surge of protectiveness swells in my gut. I step forward, placing myself partially between them. “Stop,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “This isn’t the time or place to do this. Let’s sit down and talk it out.”
Dean’s glare flicks to me. “Fine,” he says, though the word is practically spit through gritted teeth.
He crosses his arms, turning away from us to pace the living room, clearly trying to get his temper under control.
Isabel, looking shaken but resolved, moves closer to me, and I catch a glimpse of how tense her shoulders are.
I nod toward the couch, silently urging both of them to sit. Dean and Isabel exchange a glance before reluctantly following my lead, and I grab my T-shirt from the armrest of a nearby chair, tugging it on to at least look somewhat decent. My skin still prickles with adrenaline.
Once we’re settled—Dean on the couch, arms crossed, Isabel perched on the other end with a blanket wrapped around her, me standing—an uneasy hush settles. The coffee machine in the kitchen gurgles, an almost laughable background noise given the storm brewing here.
“Dean,” I start quietly, trying to keep my tone measured, “we’ve been trying to get close to Morris Rolfe. We think he’s linked to the threats Isabel’s been receiving. We heard rumors he frequents Club Greed or has associates there, so we went undercover to see if we could glean information.”
Dean’s jaw works. “And you didn’t trust me enough to tell me?”
I hesitate, aware that telling him “we didn’t want to worry you” isn’t going to cut it.
But it’s the truth. “We knew you’d be upset,” I admit, “and we didn’t want you to blow up the operation before we got anything solid.
Devereaux might be your contact, but if he suspects we’re not legit, we’ll never get near Rolfe. ”
Isabel shifts, pulling the blanket closer around her legs. “Dean, it’s not like we planned for it to get this deep,” she says softly. “One lead led to another. We met Vera and Trey—people who claim to be close to Morris. We haven’t gotten a face-to-face yet, but we’re trying.”
Dean’s shoulders slump a fraction, some of the anger melting into concern. “Damn it, Iz. You’re my sister. I’d do anything to keep you safe. Why can’t you let me handle this? You’re risking everything going undercover in a place like that.”
She lifts her chin. “Because I want to handle it. I’m not a child, Dean. I need to figure out who’s threatening me and why. I can’t stand by while everyone else does the work.”
He scrubs a hand over his face, exhaling harshly. “I get that, but you had no right to cut me out completely. And Lincoln—” his glare swivels back to me, “—you know better.”
The accusation stings, but I stand my ground. “She insisted,” I say, surprising myself with the bluntness. “I knew she’d go in alone if I refused. So I agreed to help. To make sure she stayed safe. I never intended to keep it secret forever, but we needed to keep it contained.”
Dean releases a heavy breath, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
For a moment, he looks less like the formidable head of Maddox Security and more like a worried older brother.
“Devereaux told me about your, uh, performance. Mentioned that you two looked pretty comfortable playing the part of a married couple.”
My stomach twists. If Devereaux told him that, we’re in deeper trouble than I realized. Isabel’s cheeks flame at the mention, and she ducks her head, avoiding Dean’s gaze.
To my relief, Dean doesn’t press that angle—maybe because the idea of his sister posing as my wife in a swinger’s club is too much to contemplate.
Instead, he fixes me with a hard look. “You’re sure you can handle this?
You said you found people close to Rolfe, but have you gotten anything of substance? ”
I shake my head. “Not yet. But we’re close. Maybe if you step in now, you can get Devereaux to play along.”
Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, struggling with the decision.
Silence hangs heavy, broken only by the drip of coffee in the kitchen.
Finally, he lifts his head. “All right,” he says, voice strained.
“I’ll call him. You know, it’s funny but his sister and best friend did something similar to this. ”
“Really?” Isabel asks.
“Yeah, Greer Huxley pretended to date his best friend for publicity.”
“How’d that work out?” I ask.
“They’re married with a kid on the way.” Dean shifts. “Listen, I don’t like this one bit, but I promise not to interfere. Be safe, and smart. No more secrets.”
Isabel visibly relaxes, relief softening her posture. “We will,” she promises.
Dean’s gaze flicks between us again, something still burning in his expression. “I don’t like this,” he warns. “If anything happens to Isabel—”
I nod firmly, stepping closer to the couch. “I understand. It won’t.” My own voice carries a weight of conviction I’ve rarely felt before. Protecting her isn’t just a job, not anymore.
Dean grunts, then pushes to his feet. He looks at Isabel, and for a beat, all his anger dissolves into plain worry.
“Call me,” he says quietly, “if you need anything at all.” He hesitates like he wants to say more—maybe about her staying here, or about the bigger secrets we’re obviously not discussing—but in the end, he just exhales and heads for the door.
I follow him to the threshold, arms at my sides. “Dean,” I murmur, keeping my voice low so Isabel doesn’t hear, “I’ll keep her safe. I promise.”
He nods once, a tight dip of his head, then slips out without another word.
When I lock the door, relief mingles with fresh anxiety.
We dodged a bullet, but we’re far from safe.
My chest feels like a battleground of guilt and relief, and I can’t stop thinking about how close we came to a complete disaster if Dean had walked in just a half hour earlier, or if he’d pressed for more details about the personal relationship I’ve formed with his sister.
As I return to the living room, Isabel stands near the couch, arms wrapped around herself, that overlong T-shirt skimming the tops of her thighs. She looks at me, eyes wide, uncertain. “So,” she says softly, “that happened.”
I rub the back of my neck, wishing I could wipe away all the tension in one go. “Yeah.”
She gives a shaky laugh, though there’s no real humor in it. “You think he bought it? That we’re just… infiltration partners?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Dean’s sharp. If Devereaux fed him details—” My mind strays to the kisses, the dancing, the way we touched each other. I swallow hard. “He might suspect more.”
Isabel nods, pressing her lips together. For a moment, she looks on the verge of saying something—maybe an apology, maybe a challenge—then she just sighs. “Thanks for backing me up,” she says quietly.
“Always.”
The coffee machine beeps, signaling it’s done. We exchange a wary look that almost makes me laugh—like, out of all the chaos, the coffee pot’s polite beep is the only normal thing in the room.
“Well,” I say, forcing a semblance of calm, “shall we get some coffee? We’ve got a lot to figure out.”
She nods, drifting toward the kitchen, the tension in her posture telling me she’s as rattled as I am.
One thing’s certain: after last night, after the closeness we shared, there’s no going back to how things were before. And if Dean’s sudden arrival taught me anything, it’s that we can’t hide this forever.