by Emily Bishop
This isn’t just a code. This is an executive file that’s been embedded into a government website. It’s top-secret level shit. How the hell did I manage to get a copy of it? Does it mean that the government is after me, maybe searching for this information that they didn’t find in my apartment? This could easily be what they were looking for.
My mind floods with questions, a pulsing ache forming behind my eyes, and I fold the paper back up. I’m exhausted, the weight of the world winning out against my fighting spirit. I won’t be getting any answers about this tonight, so I place the paper back in my purse and set it all back down by the couch before settling back in next to Isaac, who hasn’t moved an inch.
I stare at his face, exhaustion finally washing over me as my eyes drift closed, and I seem to sleep for a blink before I open them again, the pale light of day peeking through the window cracks. Isaac is still sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of the world around him. I may have taken advantage of him, given what we did last night.
I feel amazing – my body’s a little sore in the best kind of way – but I’ve got bigger problems, and Isaac shouldn’t be tugged into them.
I slide out of his clothing and back into my own.
Buster barely lifts his head as I sneak my way out of the apartment and creep down the stairs, hoping that my TV isn’t still haunting me. Before I reach the last step, I stop at the sight of a woman standing at my door. She is petite, wearing a pair of black work slacks and a pinstriped button-up shirt with a black vest over it. Her sandy blond hair is tucked back in a chignon bun, and when she turns to face me, her green eyes are serpentine.
She also looks pissed.
“What the fuck, Scarlett? You’re supposed to be dead.”
7
Isaac
I wake up to the smell of dog breath, hot and moist in my face as my asshole dog barks – nay, shrieks – in my ear.
“What?” I demand, pissed to be woken from my peaceful slumber.
Scarlett is gone.
My heart races with panic. Buster is going fucking berserk, running around the apartment, dashing down the hallway, and digging at the front door with his paws. He never acts like this. I’m rushing down the hall when I realize I’m buck naked, and I dash back to my room to throw on my shorts before running back to the door and opening it for Buster.
The dog races down the stairs, still barking like mad. Voices rumble from the first-floor hallway, and I rush down to see the girl who has just snuck out of my bed standing at her front door with a pint-sized blonde woman who looks like she has a huge stick up her ass. Buster is growling at her, which makes me dislike her instantly. She sneers at me as Buster continues to growl at her, pinning her against the wall.
“Can you control your animal, please? There are leash laws, you know.”
I don’t bother answering her, and instead I look at Scarlett. Her eyes are wide as she stares at me, and I remember that I’m not exactly dressed. Not that it matters; she knows what’s underneath.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, and the blush on her cheeks indicates she’s embarrassed. I can’t tell what about, though. Is she embarrassed that we slept together, or is she embarrassed that a naked man and his dog are harassing her friend? I look back at the blonde, staring into her emerald green eyes as I give the command.
“Buster, heel.”
My dog’s fur is on end, and he continues to eye the blonde like he wants to mutilate her, even as he backs up and stands by my side. Small growls emanate from him as he locks his eyes on her, and she alternates between glaring at the dog and glaring at me.
“That dog is a hazard. You should have him muzzled.”
“He’s just a great judge of character. That’s all.”
She inhales air in a small hiss, and I barely repress the grin fighting to come to the surface. There is nothing I like more than putting stuck-up bitches in their place. There’s no way this woman can be a friend of Scarlett’s. Is there?
“Chantel, relax. This is my neighbor Isaac. He’s been a huge help through all of this. And his dog is nice, once you get to know him.”
Chantel rolls her eyes, crossing her arms as she continues to glare daggers at the animal.
“I seriously doubt that. Still, I suppose we do owe you a debt of gratitude for looking out for our Scarlett here. As I was just telling her, she should have been dead after everything that happened. I’m Chantel Holmes. I’m a friend of Scarlett’s. Now, are you ready to go?”
Scarlett blinks at this question, and I’m ready to drag her back upstairs where I know she’ll be safe. Instead, I wait for her to answer, interested to see her response.
“Ready to go?” she hedges.
Chantel lets out an annoyed breath. “To brunch. We planned this brunch two weeks ago. You can’t cancel on me. I postponed a face peel for this.”
Scarlett’s eyes dart between us before she nods, clearly pretending to understand what this woman is talking about.
“Yes, of course. I just got a little distracted by that hospital trip, you know.”
Chantel lets out a tinkling laugh, and it grates on my nerves. Buster growls again, and this time, Chantel completely ignores us both.
“So, let’s get going. We’ve had this reservation for long enough, but that doesn’t mean they won’t give up our spot if we’re late.”
Scarlett nods, stepping toward the door with her “friend.”
“Hold on,” I say, and she stops, facing me with that blush again.
What the hell does she have to blush about? This is the second time some rando has been at her door, even though she’s been hospitalized. I was there. She didn’t have any visitors.
“You just said you knew that Scarlett should be dead, yet somehow I never saw you at the hospital to visit her, and then you show up on her front step ready to have brunch?”
Chantel glares at me again, and I’m glad. Let her hate me. I’m going to do what it takes to protect Scarlett, even when it means questioning people who are supposedly her friends.
It could have easily been a friend who tried to kill her.
“Do I have to justify myself to this beefcake, Scarlett? Tell him that we’re friends! You have to remember that much. Anyway, I went over to the hospital, this morning, by the by, and you weren’t there. They said you’d been discharged and you had company.” She sniffs at me.
Scarlett’s skin is pale as she looks me in the eye, taking another step closer to Chantel.
“It’s true, Isaac. I appreciate your concern. I do. But we did have plans, and I think it will be good to spend more time with people from before.”
“What do you mean people from before?” Chantel demands, her green eyes rock hard.
“Nothing. People from before the fire. We had this planned. I’ll be fine, Isaac.”
Buster growls again, and I agree with him. We’re both glowering at the two women as they step toward the front door again, Chantel opening the portal as a rush of frigid air pours inside.
“Scarlett and I are good friends, Beefcake. I don’t know how long you’ve been around but I guarantee you don’t know her like I do. I can take the protecting from here, ‘kay?”
Her tone is dripping with condescension, and I wish she were a man, so I could sock her in the jaw. Scarlett’s hand rests on my forearm, and my eyes search hers for the truth that hides somewhere in there.
She gives my arm a squeeze, and her eyes are pleading. “I’ll be fine.”
She can’t see the fear behind her own eyes but I can. Still, there’s nothing I can do as she leaves my side in the clothes she wore the day before, slightly crumpled from being on my bedroom floor. The door closes behind them, and I’m completely helpless, a feeling I abhor.
What did last night even mean? Images of Scarlett’s sumptuous body dance across my mind, and my dick hardens at the memories. I want her again. I want to fuck her every which way to Sunday. I also want to protect her. I can’t do that when she lea
ves with every stranger who says they have a connection to her.
How can she be so trusting after what happened? For someone so brave, the fear on her is unmistakable, and there’s no end in sight. I let Buster out to do his morning business, silently hoping that Chantel is still within biting distance but when I glance out, they are already gone.
And I’m alone with fucking nothing to do but sit on my ass and wait to get called back to work. Now all I can do is wait and hope that Scarlett makes it back alive.
How is this my life right now?
8
Scarlett
Chantel drives like a maniac.
I’m trying not to be obvious about clinging to the passenger side door as she weaves in and out of Boston traffic, ignoring the loud honks and middle fingers of the people she’s nearly killing. We finally, blissfully, stop outside a trendy-looking bar, and she deftly parallel parks before shutting off the engine.
“Finally! I’ve been waiting to have brunch with you forever!” she chirps.
I fake a smile, my teeth slick against my lips. I have yet to brush my teeth, and I’m wearing yesterday’s clothes… not to mention Isaac’s scent lingering on my skin. I feel gross but there’s nothing for it. I had to get out of that hallway. I don’t know how to balance my two worlds – the present and the time before. Until I can figure that out, I don’t like them to mix.
It makes my head spin.
I open my door and step out onto the red brick sidewalk, staring up at the white-washed stucco exterior of the building. I hate places like this. I much prefer cozy little pubs, the kind that make you feel the age of the city. This place’s existence looks forced and out of place, and the feeling absorbs into me as Chantel breezes by, opening the door. When I don’t follow, she turns to look at me with one lifted penciled-in eyebrow.
“Well? You’ve wanted to try this place out for a month. Are you seriously going to just stand there? We need mimosas!”
I blink, processing that statement. “I never drink during the day,” I say, and it’s true. I’ve always been the kind of woman who likes a clear head, and day drinking just makes me tired and out of sorts. Any good friend of mine would know that.
Why doesn’t Chantel?
She falters, her eyes blinking rapidly before she collects herself. “I meant for me, dummy. Now come in before we both freeze and lose our reservation.”
I follow her inside, the warmth embracing us, though the place is anything but cozy. It’s sterile and white inside, what some might call minimalist. I just think it looks barren. Even with the tables filled with chatting patrons.
Chantel approaches the hostess and gives her name. I notice her slide a bill into the woman’s hand. This gesture has the woman reaching for a pair of menus as she guides us toward a table near the kitchens, where we take a seat, and Chantel instantly asks for a pitcher of mimosa.
“You sure you want to do that? You did drive us here.”
She leans on her elbows, taking me in with her sharp green eyes, not answering my question. I’m uncomfortable, and I can’t fathom why I would feel this way in the presence of a close friend. My mind darts to Isaac, how content and relaxed I am when I’m with him. He is the only thing in this world that seems right to me, and yet somehow, I feel wrong for feeling that way. Everything is so ass backward I could just scream.
“Do you have any idea who did this to you?” she asks, dragging me out of my reverie.
I inhale, holding the breath in my lungs, sucking all the oxygen from the air through my body before releasing it. “No. But I’m sure as hell going to find out who did.”
Chantel is about to say something when the waiter plops a crystal pitcher of sparkly orange drink on our glass table, and she pours herself a flute of mimosa before offering me some, again.
“Seriously, you have to try this.”
“No means no, Chantel.”
My response is bit out between my clenched teeth. I wish that I hadn’t opted to make this choice, that I had decided to stay in bed with Isaac, perhaps having another delectable fuck session this morning instead of sitting in a place I don’t belong with a woman who says she’s my friend while knowing nothing about me.
And why don’t I remember her? If we’re lifelong friends, surely I’d have some memory of her from before the accident.
Chantel shrugs, bringing the flute to her lips and downing another sip. “Suit yourself. Someday you’re going to have to learn the joys of drinking at brunch.”
“Someday,” I say, not wanting to argue.
We sit in awkward silence as she takes drink after drink, the waiter arriving to take our order. Once we tell him what we want, he is gone in a flash, and Chantel leans in again, ready to make another attempt at friendly conversation.
“So what’s the deal with the muscleman this morning? He was acting weirdly possessive of you.”
I swallow, considering a swig of the bubbly drink in that pitcher. Instead, I take a pull from my water glass, the ice brushing against my lip as I swallow, slickening my throat. I don’t answer right away, and this clearly annoys her.
“Scarlett, are you going to be weird now that you’ve been hospitalized?”
I stare at her, considering her story. I have found it strange that I had no visitors in the hospital, save for one. How did Isaac manage to get in, when no one else could? Was it because he rescued me? Or is Chantel lying? Could be either. Or both.
“I’m fine. Isaac was there for me. He took the weirdness away,” I say, instantly regretting it.
Chantel’s eyes flare with interest, and she crosses her leg as she continues to lean in, ready to extract gossip whether I want to give it freely or not. “You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”
My blush gives me away.
Chantel knows that she’s hit the mark. She hoots and leans back in her chair, staring at me with a twinkle in her eye. “You dog! When did this start?”
I look up at her, and while I’m not quite sure if I trust her completely, it feels nice to have a friend to confide in. After all, this part has nothing to do with my own crime.
“Last night,” I say after a heavy pause.
She laughs, clapping her hands together. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, the man is hot, obviously, but he’s kind of a douchebag. You sure you want to be involved in that? Also, weren’t you with Gareth like two weeks ago?”
I hold my expression steady. I haven’t revealed to Chantel the extent of my memory loss, and I’m not sure I want to. There has to be a way to get information without giving too much away.
“Oh, I don’t know. Gareth and I were more like friends anyway, right? He just had a big crush on me.”
Chantel scoffs at that, crossing her arms. “Please. Everyone within a mile could see that Gareth loved you more than anything, even work or money.”
Guilt seeps beneath my skin at that comment. What happened between us that’s missing?
“Well, we don’t make that much money anyway, do we? So there’s that.”
Chantel lifts an eyebrow but says nothing.
The truth is that I won’t be able to figure that out without getting some answers from Gareth. I don’t know if I owe him an apology or not but he knows I’m having memory issues. The least he can do is help me piece this part of my life back together.
“I’m going to talk to Gareth,” I declare, reaching for my purse and pulling out a few bills.
“We haven’t even eaten yet. You’re not going to miss out on this meal!”
I flag our waiter and ask him to bag up my food, dropping a few bills on the table.
“This should cover it. I’m sorry, Chantel, but I need answers, and I’m afraid I simply don’t have time for brunch. Can we raincheck the rest of this catch-up session?”
Chantel releases a disappointed sigh but I can tell she’s not going to stop me. “Do what you want,” she says, tipping her glass until its contents are empty. “I’m drinking this anyway.”
“Thanks, Chantel, really. I appreciate your understanding.”
“Just go fix your little love triangle problem, then tell me all the juicy details. I expect a full report once you’re done.”
“Deal,” I tell her, grabbing my boxed food from the waiter as I make my way out.
I don’t need to hail a cab. I’ve been to Gareth’s house many times, working on cases and pulling some late nights. What else happened there, that I don’t remember?
9
Isaac
An errant snowflake lands on my nose, instantly melting against my skin.
I’ve been walking for about an hour with Buster, circling the block, cursing every damn moment of free time. At this point, I’m thinking about going to Rory and asking for softball tasks – visiting elementary schools, anything. The thought of a bunch of germy kids clambering all over my truck while I could be rescuing someone doesn’t sit right but anything has to be better than this.
My apartment building is in sight to my left. I check across the street, making sure my truck is intact. Generally, I live under the assumption that living in the city means your stuff can be violated at any given time, and it keeps me alert to any suspicious happenings. That mentality has helped me save a lot of people on the fly, even if it means I never fully relax.
Well, almost never.
A vision of Scarlett bent in front of me as I thrust into her surfaces. Will she ask to stay with me again tonight? The way she left, I doubt it, but I’m not fazed.
She’s a scared woman in the middle of a hard time. The least I can do is provide comfort in any way I can. If that comfort just happens to come in the form of hot sex, who am I to complain?
My eyes dart across the street, where I notice a car I don’t recognize parked haphazardly in front of my building. Alarm bells go off in my mind, so I slow my pace and gently pull Buster a little closer. Awesome animal that he is, he responds instantly, slowing his pace with perked up ears, ready for danger.