by Jasmin Quinn
“Why not?” Isabelle replied breathlessly, wishing he would haul her back into the room, kick Anto the fuck out and rip off her clothes. But that was clearly not going to happen. Michael was too distracted to notice her sudden desire.
“It’s not safe for you to be wandering around by yourself.”
Isabelle rolled her eyes to the sky and crossed her arms across her chest. “Who the fuck’s going to mess with me while I’m out? Up until this week, I’ve managed to wander the streets unscathed. Is this really about me needing your protection or about your trust issues?” She felt like shit playing him this way, throwing a guilt trip at him. But it had the intended effect.
“What do you mean, trust issues?” Michael growled.
“You hang on me like glue. You say it’s to protect me, but I think it’s because you don’t trust me.”
“That’s not it,” Michael protested, but Isabelle ignored him.
She paced a few feet away, then turned to face him, slapping the divorce papers in the palm of her hand. “You say one thing and do another. There’s a difference between protectiveness and possessiveness. If Anto said he needed to leave to get something, would we be having this discussion? Seems like we both trust you and him enough to let you wander out by yourselves, but not me. It’s a fucking double standard if what you’re doing is treating me like a helpless female.”
“I know you’re not a helpless female.” Michael’s voice faltered, and he ran a hand through his hair. Isabelle felt a tap of satisfaction. She was getting to him.
“You want me to leave with you when this is over?”
A frown tugged at the corner of Michael’s lips as if she were asking a trick question. “You know I do.”
“Then this, whatever this is, has to stop.” She waved her hands, her voice slightly raised and a little shrill. “I’m sorry I said what I said to you this morning.” Lies, lies, lies! Isabelle hated herself in that moment. But it was too late to turn back now. She strode up to him, got in his space, looked up into his face. “The only things I know about you are dark and dangerous including your psychopath friend in there.” She nodded towards the motel room. “And yet, you’re asking me to trust you.”
Michael ran his hand through his hair, then brought both his hands to her head, cradling it as he examined her face. “Isabelle, I can’t fathom being without you. I’m sorry about the assumptions I’ve made. I thought we were solid. When this is over, I want you to come with me. I want to know you, get to know you. I promise, when you want to leave, I’ll let you walk away.”
Isabelle curled her hands around his pulling them off her head. She held them hard, kissing his knuckles. “I want to leave now, Michael. For a few hours. To buy an envelope and a stamp. To mail this. To get something to eat. To mentally prepare myself for tonight. Then I’ll be back and we’ll get the fucking pictures and then we can leave.” It was true, all of it. Except for the part where she promised she would come back to him.
Michael pulled her to him, cradling her in his arms, his chin resting on the top of her head. “Okay,” he said so softly she thought it was the wind. He let her go, kissed her lips gently. “When will you be back?”
“Two hours.” Her heart was thudding so loud she thought he might hear it.
“Do you want the car?”
“No. I’ll walk. I saw a shopping centre back a couple of blocks. The air and the exercise will help my mental and physical state.”
He kissed her lips again before dropping his arms and stepping back from her. “Okay.”
Isabelle walked away. Not looking back. She didn’t dare. She couldn’t let him see the tears that were spilling from her eyes.
Chapter Twenty
Isabelle forced herself to walk slowly and deliberately. She also made herself stop crying before anyone took notice of her. Her heart was shredding as she numbly walked towards the shopping mall. She didn’t need to stop and mail anything. She was going to take the papers directly to Jack. She was too devastated to even be afraid of Jack. Nothing mattered now. She’d made the decision for the sake of her sanity, for Michael’s safety. Fucking Anto was right. Michael was going to get himself killed over her. When this all started, he was cool, deadly, and deliberate in his strategy. But now, after only a couple of days, after they became lovers, he was reckless and indecisive. She wouldn’t forgive herself if his relationship with her was his undoing. She could barely stand the thought of being without him while he was alive. She couldn’t fathom the grief that would come with his death.
When she reached the shopping centre, she stepped inside the glassed entrance and then leaned against the wall and waited for 30 minutes watching to see if she’d been followed by Michael, Anto or anyone else. When she was comfortable that she was alone, she strolled through the mall to the large supermarket, leaving by its back entrance. Then she walked swiftly several blocks until she was in a business area. She entered an insurance company and smile brightly at the first person she saw.
“How can I help you?” a twenty-something man about her age asked her, his eyes travelling over her, but credit to him, he landed back at her face. Maybe part of the training program. How to be a man and a professional at the same time. Too bitchy, Isabelle thought as she eyed his name tag – Devon Beulieu.
“Could you please call me a taxi, Devon?” her voice faltered, but she gathered herself together and added. “I’ve been trying to flag one down, but, you know...” She shrugged.
“Of course,” Devon said, eagerness threaded through his words. She caught the eye of a young, pretty woman, sitting a couple of desks away. She glared at Isabelle.
Isabelle smiled again. “My car won’t start, and I need to pick up my twins from daycare. Husband is not picking up his cell.” So easy to lie but the woman’s features softened. Isabelle was no longer a threat to her potential burgeoning relationship with her insurance man, clueless, handsome Devon.
Devon hung up the phone and stood. “On its way. A Bluebird cab. Should only be a few minutes.” He motioned to the perfunctory black leather benches by the windows next to the entrance. “You’re welcome to wait inside if you like.”
Isabelle glanced over at his future girlfriend who tossed her a stony look. Maybe husband and two-year-old twins wasn’t enough to appease her. “Thanks, but it’s a nice day. I’ll wait on the sidewalk.”
The cab arrived quickly, and the driver made his way efficiently through the Vancouver traffic dropping her to the Rosewood. She paid him in cash leaving a medium tip, not too little, not too much. Fuck you Anto. She could be stealthy too. She kept her head lowered as she walked into the lobby. No one greeted her or stopped her. Without her make-up, heels and short skirt, she was somewhat invisible. Providing she didn’t make eye contact with anyone and smile.
She went directly to the 20th floor and stepped off the elevator. The penthouse suite. And then lingered in the hall, trying to find her courage. She was about to be alone with Jack for the first time in three years. Last time that happened, he’d beaten her so badly, she had to crawl to her bed. Was his divorce settlement a way of assuaging his guilt? She shook the thought off. One had to have a conscience to feel guilt.
She hesitated in front of the door, fingering the access card, eyes tracing the pattern in the wood. But she slipped the card back into her purse, choosing to knock instead. She didn’t know who else might be in there besides Jack and she didn’t want to risk getting shot at or tackled by someone mistaking her intentions. She was about to knock again, when the door opened. A large, serious man, one of the men in the lobby the night Jack ambushed her, stared down at her. He had a gun in a shoulder holster and it was apparent that he didn’t care who saw it.
Isabelle squared her shoulders. “Jack wants to see me.”
“You have a key. Why did you knock?”
Because I’ve spent enough time around you assholes to know that you shoot first and ask questions later. But she didn’t want to sound blithe. “Jack wants to see me,” she
repeated.
He opened the door wider, dead eyes staring through her as she stepped into the suite and inched her way past him.
Jack was on the phone when she entered the living room. He startled when he saw her, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “I’ll call you back,” he said as he ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket. To Isabelle he said, “I didn’t think you’d show.”
She stood there awkwardly, trying to steady her racing heart. “I didn’t think I would either.” Her words were soft, but not too frail.
Jack glanced at his man. “Andre, can you step outside and stay at the door. No one comes in until she leaves.”
Andre nodded and retreated down the hall. Jack waited until the door clicked shut. “Sit.” He motioned vaguely with his hand to the sofa. His eyes brushed over her. “You’re quite dressed down for a visit. But you know you can’t hide behind black pants and knotted hair. I’ve seen every inch of you.”
Isabelle tried to ignore the intimation in his words. “The job’s tonight,” she said then mentally kicked herself for sharing the information. But what else could she do? He needed to know, after all Jack was now her ally, as crazy as that was.
“Want a drink?”
Isabelle shook her head as she sat on the couch, changed her mind and moved to an armchair. “I don’t drink before a job.”
Jack noted her discomfort. “I haven’t asked you here to hurt you.” He picked up a scotch bottle and a single glass and walked over to the couch, sitting on the end that was closest to Isabelle. “There’s water in the bar if you want it.”
Then an awkward silence dropped over them. Jack poured a shot of scotch, swirling the contents before taking a small drink. Even though Isabelle’s mind was screaming at her to find out what he wanted and get the hell out, she said nothing. Just sat rigidly, waiting. It was like being back in Vegas. He took as much time as he needed before he started talking. And she always waited. She wasn’t a pushover with Jack. They’d had their share of screaming matches. But she always seemed to know when to back down. Except for that last time.
“I’ve missed you, Isabelle. A little bit.” He grinned at her, an upturning of his lips that missed his eyes by a mile.
“Is that why I’m here?” She knew she was being a bitch. This attitude didn’t work on Jack. He liked his women submissive and begging, liked them on their knees, fucking them hard and hearing them whimper. She suppressed a shiver. She needed him right now, would have to tell him that she wasn’t going back to Michael. She had to be careful what she said to Jack about Michael and Anto, had to remember that Anto was Rusya’s dog not a plant for Michael’s organization. Despite Anto’s assholishness, she didn’t want to betray him.
Jack didn’t rise to her bait. Instead he said, “Can I trust you Isabelle?”
“Can I trust you, Jack?”
“Yes,” Jack said emphatically. “I need your trust right now. I need to share some things with you that can’t leave this room.”
A sudden chill swept through Isabelle and the hairs on her arms stood up. This was scary, even for Jack. He never shared a confidence with her, ever. No justification of actions. No rationale. Just handed her off her jobs, gave her a timeframe and left her alone to plan. “Okay,” she said simply.
“Where’s the boyfriend?” Not ready to spill his guts.
“He’s gone. I’ve left him.” Grief flooded Isabelle’s heart, but she tried to maintain an impassive facade. Fucking Jack didn’t need to know how deeply she was feeling the loss of Michael.
“Fickle Isabelle.” Jack shook his head. “You two looked so cozy. I’m surprised he let you go.”
“He doesn’t know I’m gone.”
“Hhmm. He’s not going to like that. When do you think he’ll drop by here looking for you?”
“He won’t think I came here. He knows I loathe you.”
Jack laughed as he swallowed down another drink of the scotch. “Ah, Isabelle. We had such a happy marriage.”
Isabelle pressed her lips together. She didn’t really want to revisit the past, but she had to say it. “Jack, I was never happy.”
The news didn’t seem to upset him. “I was faithful to you. When we were together. I never hurt you.”
Isabelle shook herself. “Except for the last time, Jack. You beat me so badly I was in bed for days.”
He leaned into her, his elbows on his knees. “Want to know why?”
“I know why you did it, you bastard.” Heat flooded her face and words spilled out of her mouth in a rush. “Because I watched you beat a man to death and when I couldn’t handle the sight, I fell apart. I embarrassed you.” She felt a sob rising in her throat as the vivid memory prodded her.
Jack sighed and plucked at the fabric on his pants as he straightened up. “The man deserved to die. He was a threat to you. I wanted you to leave Vegas. I needed you out of town and safe. I didn’t know who to trust to take you away. So I let you leave of your own accord.”
“Of my own accord?” Isabelle choked. “I could barely walk!”
Jack shrugged as he opened his hands to her. “No broken bones, no lasting scars, very few lacerations. You were bruised yes, and I knew that treating you that way was crossing a line. I knew you’d run away.”
An understanding dawned on Isabelle. That’s why he left her alone for three years. That’s why he didn’t track her down. Michael was right, Jack knew where she’d been all along. “Why? Why?” She choked back a sob at the vivid memories.
“I already told you – I wanted you out of Vegas. It was too dangerous for you there.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me to go?”
“I needed you as far away from Vegas as I could get you. I wanted you afraid of me. I wanted you to run from me. Hide yourself.”
Isabelle remembered those few days after Jack had beaten her. Her fearful planning, her driving terror. Being so careful not to get caught by Jack or one of his men. The only thing she brought with her was a couple of thousand dollars in cash and a few clothes in a big purse. Nothing else, no jewelry. No anything. She’d walked out of Jack’s house when she knew he wasn’t home, under the pretense that she needed to see a doctor. She left that house as Isabelle Creed for the very last time.
Her bodyguard drove her to the hospital and she told him to wait for her. She didn’t know how long it would take. He’d grunted about dropping Jack’s name to get them to hurry. She told him to fuck off. She found a bathroom, changed from Isabelle Creed into just Isabelle, dressing like a street person, a baggy hoodie hiding her hair, her breasts, her curves. Baggy pants, scuffed shoes, and then she slipped out a different door, got on a bus to downtown. Got on another bus to Seattle, looking over her shoulder every mile of the way. When she eventually made her way to Vancouver, she was Isabelle Sterling.
“Was I ever off your radar, Jack?”
Jack shook his head. “I had someone keeping an eye on you at all times. Someone in Seattle making sure that you got what you needed to cross into Canada. Someone whispering in your ear that Vancouver was a good place to hide.”
Isabelle felt her face grow warm. She was so naive thinking that she’d eluded Jack. And Vancouver – why did she choose Vancouver? Why didn’t she go further east, settle somewhere no one would think to look for her? Jack was right. Someone had whispered in her ear. The asshole who made her the new identification, who convinced her that she didn’t need to change her first name.
“Why Vancouver, Jack?” But she knew the answer before Jack confirmed it for her.
“Rusya was here. Rusya would look out for you – no one was going to enter his city and mess with someone under his protection.”
Isabelle rubbed at her temples. An image of Michael flashed in front of her. Did he know she was under Rusya’s protection? Is that why he’d kept her at arm’s length for so many months? She veered sharply away from the thought – she didn’t want to cry in front of Jack.
“I don’t understand. If you were selling me to t
he highest bidder – “
“I wasn’t selling you.” He bit the words off as if they were distasteful to him, which was laughable, but Isabelle let him have his moment.
“Then why, Jack?”
“Because Isabelle. The list I showed you at the Massey Club, the one I said was a list of bidders for your particular talents? That was a lie. Yes, you stole from them. Yes, they knew that what you took landed in my vaults. Vegas was at war. It’s always at war. The men on that list are dangerous, not many men would be willing to take them on. It was the information you brought to me that tipped the balance of power to me and I made no secret of the power I held over them.”
His lips turned up a little bit. A smile from Jack Creed. Isabelle thought she should feel privileged.
“We were done anyway, Isabelle. You know we were. You loathed me, and I was getting tired of a fucking wind up doll.”
Isabelle drew in a breath. He didn’t have to physically punch her – he did a bang-up job of it with his words.
As if reading her thoughts, Jack leaned towards her. “I never strayed while we were together. Not really my style. But you didn’t want me and for me, one willing body is as good as the next. Except you weren’t willing anymore. And you were becoming not worth the effort. I was thinking about moving you out of my house. Getting you a pretty condo, a divorce with a nice little settlement.”
Isabelle shook her head. Who was this man in front of her, telling her that what he did, he did for her? She wanted to lash out at him, she wanted to scream, she wanted to rake his hard face with her nails. But she still didn’t know why he beat her. Why he forced her to run from him. She clenched her fists so tight, she shook. “Why the fuck didn’t you then?” Isabelle felt the tears in her eyes, she blinked hard to keep them at bay.
“Because you weren’t safe in Vegas. Except for Rusya, all the men on that list were out for blood. Some would kill you, some would take you, thinking that would give them influence over me.”