She appears hesitant when I suggest she take them, but with her eagerness to forget the nightmare slicking her skin with sweat, she quickly follows through with my request.
“Good girl,” I reply, accepting the now empty champagne flute from her grasp.
Within minutes, her shaking ceases, and she’s back asleep.
“Was what she saw really that bad?” I ask Hugo, shadowing him into the hallway.
He jerks up his chin. “Worst I’ve seen.”
“Have you seen a lot of dead bodies?” I ask, hearing what he didn’t mean to disclose.
Hugo pauses for a few seconds before dipping his chin. “I did two tours in Afghanistan before. . . “ His big blue eyes dart between mine as he whispers, “You know.”
I nod.I do know—unfortunately.
I also know what I must do now.
“What’s your plan?” Hugo asks, following me to my walk-in closet.
I dig through a pile of hideous clothing I’d never be caught dead in but am too polite to throw out since my mother gave them to me before saying, “I’m going to stop Isaac from making a costly mistake.”
“And you need cowgirl getup to do that?”
Hugo’s tone is as high as where my stomach contents sit when I drag a hideous peaked beanie and shredded jeans from the bottom of the pile.
“Did you see the pizza van parked on the street when you arrived home this morning with Isabelle?”
Hugo’s nose screws up before he nods.
“Was it still parked in the same spot when you went down to get the wings and pizza you and Isabelle had for dinner?”
The groove between Hugo’s brows deepens before he nods again. “Fuck—she has her own surveillance team watching her?”
Unsure if he’s asking a question or stating a fact, I reply, “I don’t know, but we need to remain cautious. If they’re not here for Isabelle, they’re here for. . .”
“Isaac,” we say at the same time.
With a nod, I stand to my feet and yank my jeans up my thighs. Just before I whip my satin shift over my head to replace it with a sweater, I request for Hugo to spin around. We may have grown friendly the past twelve-plus months, but we’re notthatfriendly.
“There are too many fucking mirrors in your room, so I’ll wait for you in the living area.” Hugo’s grumble is more pained than playful, making me wonder if I’m the only one being bombarded with bitter memories.
This is conceited for me to say, and I’d never tell Hugo or Isaac, but a teeny part of me is wondering if the surveillance van is here for me. One of the last things Alex said to me was that he was trying to keep me safe. The pizza van arrived at the front of my apartment that very afternoon.
Hugo’s eyes lift when I enter the living room a few minutes later. He doesn’t burst out laughing from my disguise as I was predicting. I don’t need to hear his chuckles to know of their arrival, though; the big shakes hampering his large frame as he strives to hold in his laughter tell me everything I need to know. My outfit is as disastrous as I was hoping.
The humor in his eyes fades when I say, “Call Hunter and have him remove Isaac’s fingerprints from the security server.”
“What? He’ll kill me!”
I roll my eyes. “Scared, Hugo?”
“No,” he bites back. “I’m just not an idiot.”
At least one of us isn’t.
I grow worried I said my statement out loud when the worry on Hugo’s face doubles. The reason for his anxious look comes to light when he says, “You’re throwing yourself into the fire to save Isaac.”
He’s not asking a question. He’s stating a fact.
