Chapter 3
THREE
ISAAK
My arms are suddenly full of soft, warm woman. My senses are still alert to danger, though, so I immediately spin and set her back on her feet behind me.
Then I turn back toward the threat and spread my legs and arms wide to shield Kira.
“Stay here,” I whisper, barely audible as I put a hand back, my entire body tense and on alert. I lean over and yank my hunting knife out of the sheath in my boot. Ever since I saw how helpful Quinn’s knife came in earlier this year, I haven’t gone anywhere without it.
I hear Kira gasp and pull back from me, but that’s for the best.
We haven’t turned on any lights yet, so I get low and start to creep through the darkened house.
“What about horror movie rules?” she hisses from behind me. “No one left alone.”
“Just stay put.”
But when I start forward again, I hear footsteps behind me.
“I said to stay put.”
“I don’t want to be alone!” She sounds genuinely freaked out.
“Fine,” I breathe out. “But stay behind me. And do exactly as I say.”
“Yes. Exactly what you say.”
As if I’d believe that for a second. But I keep an arm out to make sure she doesn’t do something stupid, like dart out in front of me. You never know how civvies will react to stress. She seemed genuinely afraid, though.
“It sounded like it came from my bedroom,” she says under her breath. “Down the hall.”
I nod, but I’m not taking any chances.
I stop at the first doorway, grab the handle, and quickly open it, my cell phone on flashlight mode. Empty.
I keep my flashlight low as we continue down the hall. There’s only one more door, and it’s halfway open.
Right before we get to it, it slams shut.
Kira screams. I rush forward and shove it open, ready to engage whoever’s on the other side.
Only to find the room itself empty.
But there’s two other closed doors to check.
“Stay back,” I whisper over my shoulder to Kira as I sprint across the huge bedroom to yank open a door that turns out to be a walk-in closet. One shine of a flashlight shows it empty. I check the ensuite bathroom next.
Also clear.
It’s only when I get back into the bedroom that I feel the breeze from the open window.
Shit. The bastard already escaped. He most like likely wasn’t even in here when the door slammed shut. The air pressure from the open window probably did it.
I double-check the back of the closet to be sure, but yeah, it’s all empty.
I see the light flick on behind me and whip around when Kira screams again.
“What?” I run out of the closet to find her with her hand over her mouth, trembling. She points at the bed.
Well fuck.
The bastard’s officially upgraded from photographs. There’s blood all over the bed and some sort of ripped-apart furry mass. A gopher or one of those giant damn river rats they have around here, maybe. It doesn’t look like a pet, at least.
Kira immediately flies at me, and I barely get my arms open before her head’s buried against my chest. I swallow hard, uncertain of what to do with the flowery scent of her fluffy hair wafting in my nostrils.
“Pack a bag,” I finally manage. “I’m officially evicting you.”
This location is obviously not secure.
She yanks away from me like my words have jolted her back to reality, reminding her who she was just clinging to.
I expect a fight about not staying here, but she just nods and turns away from me. “Okay.”
She swipes at her eyes and shrinks into herself. I feel like I’ve said the wrong thing, and I have the ridiculous impulse to pull her back into my arms to reassure her that it really is okay. That I’m here, and I won’t let anything bad happen to her.
She darts into the closet before I can do any such stupid thing. She takes less time to pack than I would’ve expected but still comes out with a giant suitcase and a duffel. Then she hurries into the bathroom and comes out with another huge bag.
She shoves the duffel into my arms and then scurries out of the room into the hallway.
“Horror movie rules,” I call as I haul her large duffel over my shoulder and drag the suitcase out of the room.
“I’m just in the hallway,” she says. “I can’t stay in there with that… thing.”
I glance at the bloody mess on the bed. Fair.
As soon as I get in the hall, the light cast from the bedroom highlights her trembling form. She looks so small, clutching her bathroom bag and purse to her chest, and way younger than back in the club.
“Let’s go,” I say, and it comes out gruffer than I mean for it to.
She nods and hurries to the front door. I stay on her heels even though it’s a little difficult hauling her giant suitcase.
She’s still clutching her bags like she needs something to hold on to by the time we get out to the truck, her eyes darting this way and that.
“What do we do now?” Her voice is small. She doesn’t sound anything like the woman who was snapping at me in the truck ride over here.
I drop the suitcase and usher her into the truck, tossing her bags in the back after I’ve gotten her secure. I keep on alert. For all we know, the stalker could still be around, watching us right fucking now.
I jump in the car and pull out of the driveway as soon as I can jam the keys in the ignition.
“You said you changed the locks?” I ask as soon as we’re on the highway.
“The day after I found the pictures on the bed, right after the cleaning crew came.”
“What about the windows?”
“A security expert came in and installed top-of-the-line locks. Key operated, anti-pick, anti-pry, anti-drill.” Her voice is higher-pitched than earlier as she reels off the safety measures. “Everything short of bars on the windows.”
“All right.” I frown. There weren’t any signs of tampering on the front door lock when we entered. Did they somehow make a copy of her new key?
“Where are we going?” Kira’s voice is still small, and I don’t like it.
“A hotel.”
“Somewhere nice?”
“Depends on who’s footing the bill.”
“I’ll pay. It’s not a problem.”
“Then we can go as luxurious as you want. Where would you normally stay or put people up when they visit you?”
“The Ritz.”
“Then not there. Where would you not go but is still up to your standards?”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Would it bring back your spark if I did?”
“The Adolphus?”
I’m watching the highway, but I can hear her frantic breathing. Quick breaths in and out.
“Calm down, Red. You did fine. You’re safe now.”
“Don’t call me Red,” she snaps.
“There she is,” I smirk, hoping she looks my way so she’ll get further pissed off. It does the trick. Her breathing slows as she hisses out a long, frustrated breath at me.
“I can’t believe you’re being an asshole right now.”
“Punch the hotel name into my phone, yeah?”
She takes my phone and puts it in the GPS. We drive in silence for several minutes, but it’s too quiet, and I can hear her breathing speed up again, so I turn on the radio to one of my loud, local country stations.
Her hand immediately flies forward and switches it off.
Almost as soon as she pulls back, I flip it on again.
She makes a furious little noise and reaches out again, but I block her hand. She immediately yanks back as soon as our hands make contact.
“That music is vile.”
“My truck, my rules.”
“This music is awful,” she snaps. “Do you even listen to the lyrics? It intentionally keeps people stuck in their own mindset. It reinforces the culture they grew up with and keeps them complacent against change.”
“Them’s fighting words, woman.”
“Don’t call me woman !”
“Then don’t denigrate my music.”
“Your music.” She huffs out a high-pitched scoff. “Of course, this is your music. You probably haven’t changed your mind about anything, ever.”
“I change my mind all the time.”
She scoffs and reaches forward again, but instead of switching off the music, she just turns it down. “Oh yeah? When was the last time you changed your mind?”
“Senior year of high school. I decided I liked broccoli after all.”
“Ha. Exactly.”
“Changing your mind all the time seems wishy-washy to me. I’m a man of convictions.”
“Convictions like loving your truck and your whiskey? Ever notice how women in country songs are always singing about either getting revenge on their cheating boyfriends and husbands or escaping their shitty lives? Are those your convictions?”
“I never cheated once. You?”
When she doesn’t answer right away, I glance her way, surprised. Her mouth’s a little dropped open, but she immediately looks furious when she sees me looking at her. “Drew and I have an understanding.”
Who the fuck is Drew?
“Well damn, Red. See? Maybe some cultural traditions ought not to change. I wouldn’t have an understanding with any woman of mine.”
“I shouldn’t have expected someone like you to understand.” She’s rubbing her temples with both hands.
“Have you been seeing anyone new who might be mad about this so-called understanding ?”
“Are you serious ?” she says, voice about an octave higher than it was a second before, hands dropping. “Are you saying it’s my fault I’m being stalked?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth. I’m just trying to get an accurate picture. Jealousy’s a powerful motivator.”
“I know this might be hard for a caveman like you to understand, but some of us are a little more evolved than basic grown-up relationships.”
“Grown up,” I scoff. “How old even are you? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?”
There’s silence in the seat beside me. I frown and look over at her. “Twenty-four?”
She sits up in her seat and puts her shoulders back. “I’m twenty-two.”
Fuck me, she’s twenty- two ?
“And I know it might shock you, but women don’t have to be the ‘little woman,’ relegated to the kitchen anymore.”
“Don’t believe that’s what I said,” I mutter, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that the woman—whose tits I’ve occasionally been glancing at—wasn’t even born in the same millennia as me. Jesus .
“Please. Are you saying you wouldn’t think you owned your woman and had a say about everything she did with her body? Moira’s got the right idea. She does what she wants when she wants.”
“Moira’s a sex addict who’s fucked in the head.”
“How can you say that? I thought you were one of her partners. Or did you start to get possessive of her after you stuck your dick in her a few times?”
“More than a few times,” I mutter. “And no, I was never possessive of Moira. And I never considered her my woman. She’s just a willing and enthusiastic fuck, and a man’s got needs.”
“And women don’t?”
She obviously does. Twenty-two. Fuck.
“How old are you, anyway?”
Too old for you. Not that it matters. I’m her personal protection officer. Nothing’s gonna happen here. No way. No how.
“Thirty-six,” I answer as I pull into the Adolphus. “So, who’s this Drew guy?”
I jam the gearshift into park.
She glares at me and shoves her door open.
“My fiancé,” she says before climbing down and slamming the door behind her.