“He sounds like a good man.”
“He is. They all are, once you get past the leather and the scowls.” Ginger pats my arm. “You’ll see. This crew—they’re family. Loud, messy, overprotective family who’ll drive you crazy and love you fiercely. You just have to let them.”
I think about Stone.
“Maybe I will.”
Ginger smiles like she knows exactly who I’m thinking of. “Good. Now—have you seen Isabel? I want to try talking to her again. Maybe offer her a makeover. Girls love makeovers.”
“I don’t think Isabel’s a makeover kind of girl.”
“Everyone’s a makeover kind of girl with the right approach.”
She bustles off before I can argue, and I go back to watching the prospects.
I find Isabel in the back hallway an hour later, pacing like a caged animal.
She freezes when she sees me, her body going tense, her eyes darting to the exit at the end of the hall.
“Relax,” I say, holding up my hands. “I’m not here to stop you from whatever you’re planning on doing.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To talk.” I lean against the wall, trying to look casual despite the fire in my ribs. “And to say thank you for saving my life.”
“You already thanked me.”
“Not properly. I was drugged and concussed, and probably not making a lot of sense.”
Isabel’s guard doesn’t lower, but she stops looking at the exit. Progress.
“You don’t owe me anything. I didn’t do it for gratitude.”
“I know. You did it because someone was in danger and you could help. That’s rare, Isabel. Most people freeze. Or run. You grabbed a bedpan and went to war.”
She frowns. “I’ve had practice.”
“I figured.” I let that sit for a moment.
Her jaw tightens. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m just saying—I recognize it. The look you have. I’ve seen it before, in a lot of people who came through my courtroom. People who’ve been fighting for so long they’ve forgotten what peace feels like.”
Isabel is very still. Watching me with those dark, wary eyes.
“You were a prosecutor,” she says. “Ginger mentioned it.”
“In Atlanta. I dealt with a lot of cases involving...” I choose my words carefully. “People who hurt other people. And the people who got hurt trying to survive them.”
“Why’d you stop?”
Because I got someone killed. Because I made promises I couldn’t keep. Because I broke myself and the lives of others in the process.
“It stopped being sustainable,” I say instead. “I burned out. Came here for a quieter life.”
“That seems to be working out well for you.”
I laugh despite myself. “Yeah. Not exactly the peaceful slide into retirement I was hoping for.”
