“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
“Ican’tcare.” Her voice cracks on the word, the first real emotion she’s shown. “I have to—I need to go home. I can’t?—”
She stops herself. Clamps down on whatever she’s been about to say.
A cold lump forms in my gut, the hairs raising on the back of my neck.
What are you running back to, Isabel?
Stone’s expression doesn’t change. He’s gone still in that particular way he has—the way that means he’s thinking three moves ahead, cataloging every detail, filing it away for later.
I know that look. I’ve seen it in interrogation rooms, across courtroom aisles, in the faces of men who’ve survived by assuming everyone is a threat until proven otherwise.
He doesn’t trust her. Not even a little.
I bristle, my protective instincts kicking in. I narrow my gaze on him, glaring.
She just saved my life, you asshole. Go easy.
“Where do you need to be?” he asks. His voice is calm. Almost gentle. But I hear what’s underneath—it’s a fishing expedition.
“Nowhere. It doesn’t matter.”
“It obviously matters.”
“It’s not your problem.”
“You just saved Josie’s life. That makes it my problem.”
The words sound grateful. They’re not. They’re a claim—you’re involved now, whether you like it or not.
Isabel’s jaw tightens. She looks at me, then at Stone, then at the door—measuring the distance, calculating her odds. I watch her realize what I already know: she’s not getting out of this room without going through him first.
“I can’t stay,” she says finally. “I’ll go somewhere else. Hide. Figure it out. But I can’t stay here and I can’t go with you and I can’t—” She breaks off, frustration and fear warring in her expression. “I just can’t.”
Stone nods slowly.
“Okay,” he says. “But here’s what’s going to happen right now. We’re getting both of you out of this hospital before anyone else shows up. You—” he points at Isabel “—can decide what to do next once you’re somewhere safe. But right now, in this moment, you’re coming with us. Understood?”
It’s not a question. It’s not even really an offer. It’s a command dressed up in reasonable words.
Isabel hears it too. Her eyes narrow.
“One night,” she says flatly.
“What?”
“One night. I’ll come with you, I’ll answer your questions, I’ll prove I’m not—” She gestures vaguely at the unconscious man on the floor. “Whatever you’re thinking. But tomorrow morning, I leave. No arguments, no locked doors. One night. That’s all I can give you.”
Stone studies her for a long moment. His face gives nothing away—not suspicion, not trust, not anything at all. Just that calm, assessing gaze that makes people confess to things they haven’t done.
I watch Isabel hold her ground under his scrutiny and my chest aches for her. She’s terrified—I can see it in the white-knuckle grip she has on her hospital gown, the way she’s braced like she expects to be hit. But she’s not backing down.
She’s used to negotiating with dangerous men,I realize.She’s had practice.
The thought makes me want to wrap her in a blanket and hide her somewhere safe.
