Page 17 of High-Priority Asset

Isabel laughed. “Oh gosh, no. I come from humble beginnings. When I was little my father and uncle started investing their money in technology and buying farms. I guess they got in at the right time. My uncle compares it to buying stock in Microsoft or Apple when those companies were just getting started. I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I guess they got lucky.”

His brows knit as he seemed to study her closely in a way that made her self-conscious. “Does he live here?”

“Thank heavens, no. San Diego. He’s such an important man he’s surrounded by bodyguards. You’d think he was the president or something. If I lived down there, he’d insulate me with bodyguards, too.” Trading one personal hell for another. “I need my freedom. To breathe.” She was finally starting to get to a place where she could once again.

Maybe this lunch with Dutch was the first step in the right direction.

“What has your uncle thought of your previous paramours?”

Sighing, Isabel dropped her gaze to her lap. “I haven’t introduced any to him. He’d never approve of someone he didn’t pick and who didn’t check every box on his list, which is different than mine.”

He perked up at that with a bright smile and something in the conversation shifted from investigative to inquisitive. “What’s on your list? What kind of guys are you into?”

Someone like you. Isabel blushed. “Excuse me a minute. I have to use the restroom.”

She stood, grabbing her purse, and crossed the length of the restaurant down to the other side. All the tables were now taken and there were only a few open spots left at the bar. They’d arrived at the perfect time.

Inside the restroom, she checked her makeup, fluffed her hair, running her fingers through her brown curls, and washed her hands.

She threw away the paper towel and left the bathroom.

In the few short minutes that she’d been in there, every seat at the bar had been taken. Passing the row of customers parked on bar stools, she homed in on Dutch. Even from behind, he drew attention with his brawny build and the wink of tattoos she glimpsed through the crowd.

The food was already on the table, but it looked as if he’d waited for her. Another good sign. As she sat down, she spotted three to-go containers on the side of the table.

“It really picked up in here,” he said. “I figured if you couldn’t finish your meal, you’d want a to-go box. It might take the waitress a good ten minutes to grab one later.”

“You’re a planner. I like that.” Isabel picked up a fry, took the first delicious, hot bite and glanced up toward the bar.

Her heart nearly stopped, the blood in her veins turning to slush as she locked gazes with him.

Chapter Six

A thousand thoughts rushed through Isabel’s head like a high-speed train derailing. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

At the far end of the bar, he was seated in the very spot that she had passed on the way back from the restroom. He must’ve arrived while she was inside.

Well-groomed as always, wearing a tailored suit, he resembled a thirtysomething Hugh Jackman. Looking at him, no one would suspect what he really was. Isabel hadn’t the first time they met. He’d lured her in with his good looks, smooth charm and sophistication, his ability to talk to anyone about anything. She’d been flattered when he’d asked her out.

He sat there in the restaurant, staring at her. Unblinking. His eyes rabid, excited. His body rigid. With his elbows propped on the bar, he brushed one index finger across the other and mouthed, “Shame on you.”

Isabel choked on the French fry going down her throat. She coughed, patting her chest, struggling to breathe, to gain her bearings.

Why was he here?

But deep down she knew. He was here because of her.

“Are you all right?” Dutch asked, handing her a glass of water. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

More like a living, breathing nightmare.

Her nerves stretched tight as bowstrings as she tried to gauge how far away he sat. At least seventy-five feet in the large restaurant. The restraining order only stipulated fifty.

He was within legal bounds.

The last time he’d pulled a stunt like this, he had shown up at LACMA, Los Angeles County Museum of Art, when she’d been enjoying her time off with Brenda. For days she and Brenda had planned the excursion, texting back and forth about shopping on Rodeo Drive afterward and having a late lunch at the best Peruvian restaurant in town. Isabel had stood her ground and called the police.

And they had done absolutely nothing.