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Staring out one of the privacy-tinted narrow windows that bracketed her front door, she stared as Stephen held Brant’s struggling body easily against his own.
He’d changed over the years, and all the changes were for the worst—he was harder, stronger ... hungrier.
She could see where maybe hehadbeen affected by a stroke. The left shoulder drooped just slightly and his posture wasn’t quite as perfect as it had been when she’d first met him.
But he was still clearly strong. She’d seen the ease of movement that Travis had used, the speed. Yet Stephen had almost thrown him off.
Travis hadhadhim, though. He’d been rightthere.
Then Lloyd staggered to his feet ... and just as the agents came rushing through the front door of the man’s own damn house, weapons raised.
She grabbed the door and fumbled with the locks.
A voice boomed out of nowhere in her house and she froze.
“Isabel, stay where you are.”
She froze, stunned. She hadn’t heard her name in ... years. Hername, stripped from her as so many other things had been. “Miles?”
“Don’t go out there,” the man said. “Don’t youdaregive Travis one more person to worry about.”
“I can’t juststayhere!”
Her phone rang. Miles, voice calmer now, said, “Pick up the phone, Isabel.”
Her phone, tucked in her back pocket out of habit, vibrated again. Almost by rote, she answered, but she couldn’t speak.
In a voice far quieter, he said, “You need to trust Travis ... and me.”
“Travis will let that bastard shoothimbefore he lets him shoot akid,” Isabel said, her voice breaking.
“I know. Take a breath ... ” His voice came again, but muffled, and then, this time, as he spoke, his tone was different, no more background noise comprised of other voices. No, she heard the wind and the crashing of waves “Now, Isabel, listen to me. Do you thinkIwill let that man be shot? Now? After everything I’ve done to try and fix my past mistakes?”
She sucked in a breath. “Miles ... ”
“Stay inside, Isabel.”
The line went dead.
Feeling almost numb, she moved to the picture window in the living room just a few yards from where she stood.
There were several agents almost that distance from Lloyd, Stephen and Brant, just a bit further from Travis. It might as well be miles. Shaking, eyes burning, she stood there paralyzed.
“You’re not gettingaway, Stephen,” Travis said, his heart racing.
It had all gone to fucking hell so fast.
Lloyd was swaying on his feet. If he’d just drop the gun or pass out—
But he somehow stayed upright, gun jerking from Beresford to Travis.
“Shut the fuck up, you bitch-ass punk,” Beresford said before breaking in a half-mad giggle. He tightened his arm around Brant’s neck and swiveled, turning so he could watch both Lloyd and Travis, his back to the street, facing the house. “I’ll get what I want and what Iwantis for ... ” He was panting now. “Is for that ... BITCH ASS TO SUFFER!”
“What you’re going to get is a pine box,” Travis replied. No point in hiding his cards now. “Those boys and girls with the guns over there? Federal officers. You’re a federal prisoner—”
“I gotparole,” he sneered.
“It’s been revoked,” Travis adlibbed. He didn’t fucking care what he had to say to distract the prick. “You lied your whole damn way through it and are connected to the disappearances of at least two federal penitentiary workers, the death of one, and assault of another. You’re going back in a cage now ... for a long, long time.”
