Page 63 of The Pleasure of Panic

“The hell I’m not! I’m gonna hunt down Jordan Wells and get to the fuckin’ bottom of this!”

“You’ve got that seminar in like…” I check the clock on the wall. “Two and half hours. And it’s all the way down in the Tech Center, which is a thirty-minute drive. So how the fuck do you plan on finding Jordan Wells before that, huh?”

It’s lame. I know it’s lame as I’m saying it, but it’s all I got. And I don’t expect it to work, or stop her for more than a brief pause to tell me to go fuck myself, sans asterisk—

But she stops. Blinks. Says, “Shit.”

Which gives me another second. “I’ll get dressed, you stay here, and then I’ll drive you down to your seminar or whatever, and then when that’s over, we’ll go hunt down Jordan together. Deal?”

She’s shaking her head the whole time I’m talking.

“Issy,” I say, grabbing her hand. Not her arm, but her hand. Which she looks at like she might be thinking about breaking my fingers, so I let it go and just make that little surrender gesture, the both-hands-in-the-air one, and say, “I swear to fucking God, I’m on your side here. I swear. I just tried calling Declan to see what’s up and he didn’t answer.”

“Of course not, because then you’d have to provide me with answers! He’s your partner! You have to be in on this!”

“In on what? I’m new in town, remember? He’s dirty, I’m here to…”

“Be dirty with him, right?”

“That’s not…” I want to say it’s not true, but it kinda is true.

“I knew it!”

“Wait,” I say, getting in front of her so she can’t leave. “Wait, wait, wait. OK, I am here because of him.” I shake my head, unable to articulate well under this kind of stress. “But I’m on your side, OK? Not his. Yours! And if you give me five minutes to get dressed, I’ll prove it.”

“How?” She’s tapping her toe, arms crossed over her chest.

“I’ll use everything in my power, every FBI resource at my disposal to hunt down Jordan Wells and make him talk.”

She stares at me, more angry than scared. But still, I can just tell—this is fear talking. She’s afraid of Caleb. And I don’t want to bring that up because… because then I’ll have to go down that road with her.

I’m not ready to do that yet.

“I’m on your side, Issy,” I say, voice low and even now. “I’ll prove it. I will. I’m still your protector. So whatever Caleb did to you, he’ll never do it again. I’ll make sure of it.”

She swallows hard. Like her brave exterior is wilting right before my eyes. So I take another step closer, approaching her like a wild animal, and slowly, so very slowly, take her in my arms.

“He won’t get you,” I murmur. “He won’t get you. I promise. I won’t let him. We’re gonna figure this shit out together and it’s gonna be OK.”

She just shakes her head no and begins to cry.

And that’s the part that scares me.

Because Issy Grey is a pillar of strength. And if she feels vulnerable enough to cry and break her tough exterior in front of a man she barely knows… well, she must have a very good reason.

I take her back to her house to change clothes. Whoever was there is gone now, but I go in first to make sure. Gun ready, trigger finger ready. Clearing each room.

She walks right past me up the stairs.

“Goddammit! What the hell, Issy?”

“No one’s here,” she says. “And if they’re still hanging around, they’re outside. Point your gun outside.”

Shit. I go back to the door, which she left open, and press myself up against the foyer wall as I look out, gun in low ready, and scan the street.

The apartment buildings on either side of her little plot of land act like a wall. Which is good, I guess. People can’t really sneak up on her. They have to approach from the front.

Unless they come in from the back, dumbass.