ISABELLA
Isabella’s hand moved toward the phone without conscious thought, her fingers closing around it before Christopher could react, but she’d already seen what he’d seen, those words glowing on the screen like an accusation, and her heart hammered against her ribs with such force she wondered if he could hear it in the sudden silence of her kitchen.
Get rid of the Boy Scout so we can talk, or else...
The message burned itself into her mind even as she clutched the phone against her chest, trying to hide it, trying to pretend those words didn’t exist. But Christopher’s eyes had already changed, shifting from the warm interest they’d held moments before to something sharper, more focused. Something that reminded her he’d spent years in places where threats weren’t idle and danger was real.
“Isabella,” he said, his voice gentle but firm, and she recognized the tone. It was the same one he’d used with the girls earlier, patient but expecting an answer. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” she said too quickly, the lie obvious even to her own ears. “Everything’s fine. It’s just...” She trailed off because there was no good way to finish that sentence, no explanation that wouldn’t reveal too much, wouldn’t drag him into the mess that had become her life.
The phone buzzed in her hand, the vibration traveling up her arm like electricity. An unknown number flashing on the screen. Isabella stared at it, her finger hovering over the decline button, and she pressed it with more force than necessary, as if she could push away the threat itself through sheer will.
“Isabella,” Christopher said again, and this time his voice carried something else. Concern mixed with understanding, as if he already knew the answer to the question he hadn’t asked yet.
The phone rang again immediately, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen. Unknown number. Same as before. Her hand shook as she went to decline it again, but Christopher moved then, not aggressively but with the controlled precision she’d seen in him before. His hand covered hers on the phone, warm where hers had gone cold, steady where hers trembled.
“Let me,” he said softly, and it wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t quite a command either. It was something in between, an offer of help wrapped in quiet authority.
She should have protested, should have insisted she could handle this herself the way she’d handled everything else for the past twelve years. But his hand was so warm over hers, and she was so tired of being afraid, so tired of facing everything alone. She let him take the phone.
He didn’t answer it immediately. Instead, he held it between them and met her eyes, his expression serious but not unkind. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, and something in his voice made her throat tight with emotion she couldn’t afford right now.
The phone rang a third time, insistent and demanding.
Christopher touched the screen to answer, but kept it on speaker, holding it so they could both hear. He nodded at her, encouraging, and Isabella found her voice even though it came out thinner than she wanted.
“Hello?”
“Finally!” The voice that came through the speaker made her stomach clench with remembered fear and newer anger. “What took you so long, beautiful babe? Or were you too busy with hero boy?”
His voice hadn’t changed in twelve years. Still that same sneering confidence, that tone that suggested the world owed him everything and delivered too slowly. Isabella’s free hand clenched into a fist at her side, her nails digging into her palm hardenough to hurt.
Christopher leaned close, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, “Don’t let him bait you. Just listen. Get information.”
The warmth of his proximity helped steady her even as he began moving around the kitchen with quiet efficiency. He crossed to the window over the sink and pulled the blinds closed with one smooth motion, then moved to the glass doors leading to the deck. She watched him check the lock she’d already secured, testing it twice before moving to adjust the curtains.
“Are you there, Isabella? Or did you run away again like you always do?” The man’s voice dripped with false concern, making her skin crawl.
“I’m here,” she managed, watching Christopher disappear into the living room. She could hear him moving through her house, the soft whisper of curtains being drawn, the subtle click of locks being tested. He was securing her home with the same methodical precision he’d brought to everything else, and something about that made her feel safer than she had in years.
“Good. Because we need to talk, and this time you’re going to listen.” His voice hardened, losing its mocking edge. “I want to meet tomorrow at three o’clock. At the Beachside Diner on A1A. You know the one.”
Isabella did know it. Public enough that he couldn’t try anything physical, but isolated enough that no one she knew would likely see them there. It was smart, calculated, and everything she expected from him.
“Okay,” Isabella gritted her teeth.
“And Isabella? Come alone. No Boy Scouts or BFF’s or the brat. Just you and me, like old times.” His laugh was ugly, sharp-edged, and mean. “Unless you want everyone to know exactly what kind of person you really are. Unless you want sweet little Maddy to find out what Mommy did.”
Christopher had returned to the kitchen, standing close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His presence was solid, reassuring, an anchor in the storm of emotions threatening to pull her under.
“I’ll be there,” Isabella heard herself say, though the words felt distant, like someone else was speaking them.
“Good girl. And Isabella? Don’t even think about trying anything clever. I’ll be watching you. And remember, I know where you live, where you work, where Maddy goes to school. I know everything.” The threat in his voice was naked now, all pretense of civility gone. “Three o’clock. Don’t be late.”
The line went dead.
Isabella stood frozen, the phone still lying flat in her upturned palm. Her hand wouldn’t seem to work properly, wouldn’t lower the phone, wouldn’t stop shaking.
