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“It’s not like you to ramble, Rox. Spit it out.”
She swipes a hand through her dark hair. “The girls and I were just having a couple of drinks and a good time.”
My jaw clenches in irritation. “Obviously. Tell me what I want to know. What happened to Isabella?”
She swallows. “I got here a few minutes after they did. They happened to mention seeing you in the hall and wondered if you were heading to the lower level to see Tiarra again.”
My chest tightens, because I already know where this is going without hearing a word, but I have to know exactly what was said. “What else?”
“The new girl mentioned that she walked by one of the playrooms earlier and saw Tiarra in your arms. I never put two and two together until just this minute when you asked where she was. I’m really sorry, boss,” she says.
The information is slow to sink in, but then it’s like the whole world is off tilt. “Thanks, Roxy. Not your fault,” I tell her, pocketing the lipstick and striding toward the guard. I already know exactly what Isabella thinks, and that the bathroom is not where I’ll find her tonight. “Did you see Izzy Arden leave?”
“Yeah, boss. She bought a couple things right there, at the boutique across the way, and told me she was going to meet you upstairs.”
My jaw locks tight, and it takes composure not to say or do anything in the middle of a crowded casino that he or I will regret later. Fucking new people; it takes forever to train them. “I wasn’t upstairs.”
He looks at me strangely, just frustrating me more. “I saw her walk that way toward the private elevators with her shopping bag. She had one just like that one,” he says, pointing to the rectangular bag with bold navy and gold stripes on it and the name of the boutique scrawled across its side.
“She wouldn’t have been able to get into the private elevators without a key,” I tell him, vowing to have someone deal with his incompetence later. “What did she buy?” I ask.
He looks at me as though I’ve grown two heads. “I didn’t go in with her. I could see her from here, so I knew she was safe,” he stammers. “And when she left, I knew another guard would be at the elevator when she got off at the penthouse.”
My teeth clench so hard they may break. “What did she buy?” I ask him again.
He shrugs. “Maybe a dress and a blonde wig. Yeah, it was a puffy one like some of the ladies downstairs wear. I thought she planned to give you a little treat, boss. I didn’t look at all the things the cashier put in that big-ass shopping bag. I thought she was buying a few things to, you know, put on a little show…” he says, trying to lighten my mood as though I don’t want to murder him with my bare hands for letting her out of his sight.
My chest pumps hard, because the thought of Isabella out there on her own makes my blood run cold. And because of this dumbfuck, she could be anywhere, alone, unprotected, and vulnerable to another attempt of the De Rosas at taking her.
They missed their chance to grab her once, and if they find Isabella before I do, they won’t miss it again.
Chapter22
Isabella
It wasdangerous enough writing stories for the family when I thought Lorenzo felt something special for me. The attraction, sure, that was undeniable for us both, but this feeling that makes me want to be with him no matter what is clearly not what he feels for me.
If he read that article and saw the true emotions that racked me from seeing that twisted funeral, and he doesn’t care more for me than another lay, then the only recourse I have left is to run. Not exactly how I saw this evening playing out, but life changes on a dime. I don’t intend to be a loose end because I know all too well what families like theirs do with people like me.
The minute my purchases are paid for, I walk back into the main halls of the resort, waving at the guard before heading toward the private elevators. I duck into a bathroom and into an empty stall, pulling the contents of the bag out one at a time, trying to calm my racing heart.
I change into my newly purchased clothes, shimmying out of the little red dress and pulling on the jeans, bra, and shirt as quickly as I can before sliding into a pair of low profile tennies. I roll the dress up before placing it and my heels into the bottom of the shopping bag and leaving the stall.
I adjust the heavily layered wig a little more in the mirror and switch my lipstick from red to bright orange. The woman staring back at me does not look like Izzy Arden at all. I pull out the false bottom in my purse and grab the extra passport that’s always ready to go at a moment’s notice.
My father may have given me shit for a childhood, but at least he made damn sure that I always had an exit strategy planned in case shit happened. A life lesson that I’ve never forgotten.
I suck in a deep breath because even though you plan on it, you never think it’s really going to happen. That you’re going to need to just pick up and leave the life you’ve made. Shit has definitely happened. The De Rosas would love nothing better than to get their hands on me. I’m sure after Lorenzo read my personal article, I’ll have both families fighting for the right to torture me first.
The first place they’ll look is the airport, but living low profile is my middle name. Hiding behind the Izzy Arden pen has assured me privacy, but since Lorenzo knows my real name, even that is gone now too. I look at the woman in the mirror for the last time and say a silent goodbye to Izzy Arden, who will never be able to show her face again after today.
I raise my hand, signaling a cab at the end of The Larussio from the many that wait for a chance to take visitors of the resort and casino in between places on the strip. “Where to?” the cabbie asks.
“Let’s head to the airport.” There’s no way they’re going to recognize me in this outfit or be able to track me under the name on my passport, driver’s license, or credit cards. I sit back in my seat and take a moment to breathe. Starting over was never the plan, but it was always a possibility in this line of work, and it saddens me to have to leave behind everything that I’ve built for myself.
The driver makes it through the congestion with relative ease, pulling up to the entrance of the airport. “Just that for a bag?” he asks, looking into the back seat as I slide the new credit card into the payment register on the back of the passenger seat in front of me.
I give him my best smile. “That’s it. Traveling light this time.” I get out of the car and head inside the terminal, stopping by one of the wall directories as an announcement for Portland sounds overhead. I look through the flights leaving within the hour before making my way to the ticketing stand. “A one-way ticket to Chicago, please,” I tell the man behind the counter.
