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EMERY
Isabella and I last for half an hour in the penthouse before we are practically dying for some fresh air.
"Are we really allowed to be out here?" she asks as we go downstairs.
“Of course, sweetheart. Why wouldn’t we be allowed?”
The street just in front of the apartment building was a mess of people and cabs, but just a few blocks south and we’re in a tidy residential area. I’m doing my best to follow the street signs, paying attention to one-way roads and construction so the security team Adrik has assigned to us can follow along.
I turn around and see the black car turning the corner. They’re keeping a comfortable distance, but watching us nonetheless.
At one point, I thought being monitored constantly was the worst thing I could imagine. But now I know there are much worse things than being followed by armed security.
Death, for instance.
Isabella shrugs and steers her wheelchair around a crack in the sidewalk. “Adrik isn’t with us.”
“He doesn’t have to be with us all the time.” But even as I say it, I wish Adrik was here.
I like to imagine that one day we’ll experience a normal day together as a family. A lazy morning where we sleep in, maybe make some pancakes together. We’ll take a walk to a park, let Isabella and the new baby feed the ducks, go home to nap in a tangle of dogs and kids and limbs and happiness.
“I like when he’s with us,” Isabella says.
“Yeah?”
She nods and I smile. “Me, too.”
“Are we going to live here now?”
“At the penthouse, you mean?”
“The place we’re at now,” she says. Her sweet face screws up in confusion. “Is it called a penthouse?”
“Yeah, it’s a penthouse. And no, we aren’t going to live here forever. We’re just borrowing it.” I sigh. “I’m sorry we’ve moved around so much recently. It’s been a little crazy.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “I just like when I’m with you. And Adrik.”
My heart squeezes. “Really?”
She nods. And then her face creases in concentration before she blurts, “And Stefan and Travis!”
At the sound of his name, the dog looks up at Isabella, checking to make sure she’s okay and doesn’t need anything. Then he keeps trotting along next to her.
Consistency. That’s the one thing I always wanted for Isabella. For a long time, I thought that meant keeping our little apartment and being diligent about our schedule. I had rigorous, unbreakable rules around who came into our lives. Even though I was technically engaged to Malcolm Waters for six months, Isabella never saw him once.
But now, I realize the kind of consistency she really needs.
Consistent love.
Consistent care.
Consistent protection.
And as badly as I don’t want to jinx this by thinking it too hard, I’m feeling more and more like we’ve found that with Adrik. As soon as this whole mess is cleaned up, things will be perfect. I’m sure of it.
We walk down another block, passing by a flower stand bursting with lilies, peonies, and roses. “Can I have one, Mama? They’re so pretty.”
“They are, but I don’t have any money.” I pat my empty pockets. “Sorry, honey. I left my wallet back at the house.”
She spins her chair around, looking down the street. “We’ll ask the guards.”
The man working the stand looks surprised at the mention of guards, but he makes an effort to keep his eyes focused on the book he’s reading.
“I don’t want to bother them for money,” I say softly. “Maybe we’ll come back tomorrow and get some.”
But Isabella doesn’t turn around. She’s still craning her neck to look down the street, and I’m getting frustrated.
“Honey,” I say more firmly. “Not today. Come on. It’s time to—”
“Where did they go?”
“Who?” But even as I ask, I turn and look down the street.
Cars are lined up along the curbs. One dusty sedan has parking tickets stuffed under the windshield and a yellow boot clamped on the front tire. But the road is otherwise empty.
Too empty.
I step towards the curb and try to get a better look, but Isabella is right: the black car that has been following us isn’t there.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic.I try to keep myself calm, but I can feel my heart fluttering in my chest. They should be there. Adrik’s men don’t take his orders lightly. But aside from an elderly woman with a cane and a teenager walking a handful of dogs, there is no one.
We’re alone.
“I don’t know,” I say, turning around and trying to keep my voice even. I grab the handles of Isabella’s wheelchair and start pushing her away from the stand. “But let’s keep going.”
“Mama, what’s wrong?”
“It’s fine,” I lie. “Everything is fine.”
My plan is to turn the next corner and start heading back to the apartment building. The next street over is busier. It will be harder for anything to happen to us with so many witnesses around.
But before I can reach the corner, a jogger whips around the side of the building and nearly smashes into us.
The woman yelps in clear surprise and jumps back. “I’m so sorry,” she blurts, pressing a hand to her black spandex workout top. “Excuse me. I should have been paying—Wait…”
I’m too busy trying to navigate around the woman to look at her face. But when her voice trails off, I glance up.
And alarm bells go off.
“I know you,” the woman says, her scarred face turning up in a smile.
I blink at her, trying to decide whether I should throw politeness out the window and run for it or try to be rational about this.
There’s no way I would run into this random woman twice in two days. Especially right after my guards disappear. It’s a big city. A really big city. And I no longer believe in coincidences.
She lifts her hand in a wave, her smile widening. “I’m the woman who found the dog. The one from last night.”
“Right, yeah,” I say, doing my best to smile. “I remember.”
“I’m told I have a memorable face.” She circles her finger in front of her face and then laughs. “Sorry, my self-deprecating humor has mixed results. It makes some people uncomfortable.”
I force a laugh, the sound coming out like a choked kind of cough. “No, it’s funny. You’re funny. Hi. Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you.”
I want to look over my shoulder and see if the guards are there yet. They should be there. I want them to be there.
But if this woman has something to do with them disappearing, I don’t want her to know I’m onto her. Not yet. I need to play along.
“This is my daughter, Isabella. The owner of the dog.”
The woman bends down and grins at her. It doesn’t look like the smile of someone actively plotting our demise. It just looks nice, pleasant, non-threatening.
"I'm so glad you two are reunited. Are you keeping a close eye on this guy?"
The woman reaches out to pet Travis, but he sidles closer to Isabella's chair, ducking away from the woman, ears flat against his skull, tail stilled. He isn't supposed to be touched while he's working, but I've never seen him actively dodge someone before.
Isabella is staring up at the woman, her eyes roving over the scars covering her face before glancing nervously at me.
Finally, she nods. "He stays with me all the time.”
"Good." The woman smiles and stands up, shaking out her limbs and jogging in place lightly. "Do you two live around here? I run this route every day, and I've never seen you."
I don't want to tell her where we do or don't live. I don't want to tell her anything. But Isabella answers.
"We're just borrowing the penthouse," she says, repeating our conversation from moments before. “We live in a big house. A big, big house.”
The woman’s brows shoot up. “Is that right? Like… a castle?”
Isabella beams, excited the woman understands. “Yeah, a castle. My dad is the boss and—”
I interrupt with a maniacal kind of laugh. I have no idea what Isabella has overheard the last few weeks or what she might say. “Kids and their imaginations.”
“I had no idea I rescued a royal dog,” the woman says, amused. She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, and I realize all at once that she isn’t sweaty.
She said she was on a run. I ran into her while she was jogging around the corner. And yet… she’s bone-dry.
It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, right? Maybe she’s just getting started. And besides, some women just don’t sweat much. I’ve been in plenty of gym situations where I’m drenched like a swamp monster while the women around me are powder-dry and camera-ready.
But the woman isn’t even breathing heavily. She is completely fine.
Which makes me think that everything else is completely not.
I laugh again and grip the handle of Isabella’s wheelchair even more tightly. “Well, we should let you continue your run. I’m sure you have places to be.”
“Actually, you caught me right at the start.” She gestures over her shoulder. “I live just down the block. If you’d caught me a few blocks down, I’d be hyperventilating.”
Well, there’s an explanation. A perfectly normal, perfectly logical, perfectly reasonable explanation. Maybe I am panicking about nothing.
I force a laugh. “I relate. Cardio is not my friend.”
“The only reason I got out for a run this morning is because I promised to reward myself with an iced coffee at a place up the street on my way back. But I’d love to skip the run and grab a coffee with you now?” She tips her head to the side temptingly. “They have this special creamer blend they make in-house and it makes everything taste ten times better. Between you and me, I think the secret ingredient is either crack cocaine or sugar.”
“Isn’t it always?” I smile at her, but doubts are still swirling through my head. Is it paranoia, or justified fear? Adrik would know. But Adrik isn’t here.
“So how ‘bout it?” she presses.
