Chapter Eleven
The relentless drum of rain against her bedroom window pulled Isabela from sleep before her alarm could.
For a moment, she stayed still beneath the blankets, cocooned in warmth, listening to the storm lash against the glass.
The sky outside was still dark, the downpour steady and heavy, like the city itself was trying to wash something away.
She threw off the covers and swung her legs to the floor with a groan.
Pain shot through her thighs and calves, sharp enough to make her wince.
Last night’s impulsive four-mile run now felt like a terrible idea.
Her body screamed in protest, each step toward the bathroom a betrayal of her belief that she was still in decent shape.
She stopped to peer outside. The city was soaked and sluggish, the streets streaming like small rivers. Driving into work was a no-brainer in this weather, especially with her muscles still locked up and her nerves frayed.
Despite her packed schedule, she was looking forward to her meeting with Chris. She caught herself smiling as she got ready for the day. Pulling her hair into a sleek twist, she applied a little more eyeliner than usual.
When had she stopped dreading their meetings? Maybe since the first one, she realized, though she’d never admit that out loud. Finishing her routine, she left her apartment, jiggling the door handle to ensure it was locked.
In the parking garage, her heels echoed against the concrete. The chill of the underground lot seeped through her coat. It was too late in the year for this crap. By the end of May her coats should be packed away in her vacuum sealed storage bags.
She pulled her keys from her satchel and hit the “unlock” button as she neared her car. The sharp chirp echoed unnaturally in the cavernous space.
Then she saw it.
Something was tucked neatly beneath her windshield wiper.
Her pace slowed. At first, she thought it might be a ticket, annoying, but harmless.
Yet as she drew closer, unease prickled along her spine.
The paper didn’t have the stiff, official look of a citation.
It was too flimsy, fluttering slightly in the faint draft that drifted through the garage.
She reached out, her fingers hesitant, brushing the slick surface before sliding it free. It was a photograph.
The moment her eyes registered the image, her breath caught. It was her walking into her apartment building. She was alone, head down, shoulders slumped as if the day had beaten her. She could feel that moment all over again, the weight in her step, the way her keys had dug into her palm.
Someone had been close enough to take this. Close enough to follow her home.
Clutching the photo to her chest, she spun.
Pressing her back against her car, she scanned the garage, finding only rows of silent vehicles and shadowy corners.
The silence was oppressive. There was no movement, but someone had been here.
Someone had taken this photo of her. They knew where she lived and what she drove.
With shaking hands, she dove into the driver’s seat, slammed the “lock” button, and sat in the suffocating stillness of her car. Her heart thundered. The ‘Traitor’ note she’d dismissed now screamed back at her like a warning she’d ignored.
What if they’d both been left the same day? She hadn’t driven her car all week, thanks to the temperate weather which hadn’t turned until this morning. What if someone had been watching her all along? She had to get to the office. She needed Marcus.
Twenty minutes later, the elevator doors opened onto her office floor.
As she stepped into the familiar hallway it felt like a lifeline.
The normalcy helped a little, the carpeted floor, the quiet hum of electronics, the scent of fresh-brewed coffee from the breakroom.
She exhaled, steadying herself. Everything would be okay.
Marcus would know what to do. He always did.
As she strode down the hall, she passed Kelly’s desk. It was empty, his coat draped across the back of his chair, but he wasn’t in sight. After dropping her things in her office, she grabbed an espresso from the machine in the break room.
Settling behind her desk, she grabbed her office phone and dialed Marcus’s extension. It rang and rang. She hung up and shot him a text to let her know when he was available. The sooner she got the threats off her chest then better.
Thirty minutes later, her java kicked in and she stopped her email perusal to use the lady’s room.
Kelly still wasn’t at his desk. She swallowed her alarm.
That photo this morning had so thoroughly unnerved her that she was panicking over simple things.
He was probably chatting up another paralegal somewhere.
Instead of heading to her own office, she pivoted toward Marcus’s. He hadn’t returned her text. She rounded the corner at the far end of the hall and froze.
Nicole, Marcus’s paralegal, was sitting on the edge of a desk, her face buried in her hands, shoulders trembling. Kelly stood beside her, one hand on her back, whispering something that made her shudder harder.
“Hey ... what’s going on?” Isabela asked, her voice high and brittle with unease.
They both looked up, startled. Nicole’s eyes were red-rimmed, but it was Kelly’s expression that gutted her. A mixture of shock and pity lined his face.
“It’s Marcus,” he said gently. “He was in an accident.”
Her stomach bottomed out. The hallway tilted. She reached out to steady herself on the edge of a cubicle.
“What kind of accident? Is he okay?” Isabela asked.
“We don’t know yet,” Nicole choked out. “He was on his way in this morning and got hit. Jas said he’s at Harborview. He’s in surgery now.”
“Oh my God,” Isabela whispered.
Nicole broke down again, and Kelly pulled her into a hug.
Isabela’s mind raced, dread blooming through her chest like smoke. First the letter. Then the photo. Now Marcus? No way this was all a coincidence. She didn’t wait. She turned and fled, the corridor narrowing as she broke into a run.