Chapter Six #2
Taddeo's voice carried through the rain more clearly than it should have.
She kept walking.
“Stop.”
Her boots slipped on wet leaves, but she caught herself and continued until he called her name again, closer this time.
“I heard you.”
“You're going the wrong direction.”
“That seems unlikely.”
“The road isn't accessible from there.”
“I'll take my chances.”
Her right foot slid hard in the mud, and she grabbed a thin tree trunk before she went down, bark scraping against her palm.
Footsteps approached from behind at an infuriatingly controlled pace, and when Isolde turned she found Taddeo several yards away beneath the trees, rain running through his dark hair and down the collar of a black coat he hadn't bothered fastening.
Two men waited farther back near the security vehicle, shapes caught intermittently in the headlights.
Taddeo looked calm enough to make her want to scream. She would have preferred visible anger because anger could be answered and exhausted. His stillness suggested he had already had that argument somewhere inside himself before reaching her.
“Get in the car,” he told her.
Isolde wiped rain from her face with the heel of one hand. “No.”
“You're soaked.”
“I'm aware.”
“It's forty-three degrees.”
“Thank you for the weather update.”
A muscle shifted once near his jaw. He looked back toward the men near the vehicle and told them to wait by the drive. Neither moved immediately, and his voice did not rise when he repeated, “Now.”
They left.
Isolde watched them disappear through the rain before looking back at him. “What, you don't want an audience?”
“I don't need one.”
“That must be nice.”
Another gust came hard through the trees, and she had to brace herself. Taddeo stepped forward instinctively, then checked the movement before touching her.
“Come back to the house.”
“You mean your prison.”
“I mean the house.”
“Same building.”
His eyes narrowed. “We're not doing this out here.”
“You came out here.”
“You left in a storm without a phone, without knowing the roads, without knowing where the property ends, and without telling anyone where you were going.”
Isolde stared at him long enough for the meaning beneath the words to settle. “You're actually angry with me.”
“Yes.”
“Because I left.”
“Because you could have gotten hurt.”
She laughed under her breath, more disbelief than humor. “You don't get to do that.”
Taddeo shifted his weight slightly, rain running from the edge of his coat. “Do what?”
“Stand there acting like I broke some agreement between us.”
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn't have to.” Isolde stepped closer because the storm was swallowing too much of the conversation. “You keep talking about rules as if they exist because we both accepted them.”
“I told you what they were.”
“I know. That's not the same thing.” She pushed wet hair away from her mouth, anger giving her more warmth than the jacket was managing.
“You brought me into your house against my will and told me what I was and wasn't allowed to do while you kept me there.
I didn't agree to any of it, Taddeo. I can't violate rules I never accepted.”
His expression changed by almost nothing, but it was enough to tell her the point had reached him. He looked past her toward the dark trees and then back, shoving both hands into his coat pockets in a movement that felt more controlled than casual.
“Fine,” he said.
The concession caught her off guard. “Fine?”
“You didn't agree.”
She stared at him, waiting.
“That doesn't mean I'm letting you leave.”
A tired laugh escaped her. “I was worried you were becoming reasonable.”
“I am being reasonable considering security lost you.”
“I wasn't lost.”
“They didn't know where you were.”
“That was the point.”
“For three minutes, no one on this property could locate you.”
The precision of the number made her attention sharpen. He hadn't said a few minutes. He had counted.
“Three minutes,” she repeated.
His jaw tightened.
“How many people were looking?”
“That isn't relevant.”
“It sounds relevant.”
“Isolde.”
“You were scared.”
His expression closed instantly.
She almost wished she hadn't said it, not because she believed she was wrong but because something in the space between them changed. The storm seemed to recede behind the new tension, even though rain continued striking the leaves overhead and a car moved somewhere beyond the rise.
“I was responsible,” he said.
“That isn't the same thing.”
“No.”
“You came yourself.”
“I was at the house.”
“You have guards.”
“Yes.”
“And you still came.”
Taddeo held her gaze for a long moment before stepping closer. “Get in the vehicle.”
Isolde felt her pulse shift but refused to move. “I'm still leaving.”
“No, you're not.”
“You can stop me again if you want.”
His expression went colder.
She turned toward the road.
Taddeo caught her wrist before she'd taken two steps.
His hand closed firmly just above the joint, warm through her soaked sleeve, and Isolde stopped rather than pulling against him. She looked down at his hand, then back at his face.
“Let go of me.”
He did.
Immediately.