Axel places his hands on my bare shoulders, tilting his head to the side as he offers me a questioning look filled with a kindness I haven't seen him show before. "What's going on?"
"Look," I exhale heavily. "I know you think you know everything about my history, but there's something you don't know."
His eyes narrow and the corner of his lips quirk. "Isabelle, I know about everything. I know Phillips and what he did." How? How could he know any of this? There was no proof … until today, I guess. Has he known this all along? Has he seen the news? "You're protected under our care—my care," he says softly. "Roberts, the man we’re meeting tonight, will only know you as Harley, so there's nothing for you to worry about. To me, you're Isabelle, but to everyone else, you're Harley, and you’re not a murderer."
"I need you," he says.
I want to rebut and tell him I'm the last thing he needs. I want to tell him he doesn't know a thing about me because I have done my damnedest to make sure no one knew a thing about me—Harley—the person I have become. The government though … if there's one thing I should have known, they know everything, whether we think so or not. However, if they had anything to do with the suspect revelation today, I have a feeling they might be throwing me for a loop.
"I might need you too," I admit. I need him to do what he said and keep me under his protection so I'm not found and thrown into prison.
As my thoughts clear, the scent of Axel’s cologne fills my nose. It's entrancing, and it makes my chest ache with fear … and desire. Maybe he knows what I’m feeling. His hands slip from my shoulders, down to my elbows, as if he were silently responding to my thought. Since I've kept my secrets sealed up in the confines of my mind for so long, it's hard to comprehend that I'm suddenly not so alone, or that there is finally a person I can talk with and defend myself to. The loneliness that has consumed me this past year is mildly muted, but I know I can’t let my guard down. Running might still be my best option.
"Okay then." Axel places his hand on my back and ushers me toward the door. "Be yourself tonight."
"I don't know if I can be myself," I tell him. I don't know who I truly am now.
Before we step out into the hall, Axel places his hand on the door. "Look at me." I glance up and meet his empathetic gaze. I'm sure he sees the fear I feel inside, whether he’s sure of everything with me or not. "You have watched what we have done all week, correct?"
"Convincing criminals who were snatched from execution to take the blame for something they didn't do?" As the words fall from my mouth, I’m overwhelmed with an epiphany.
Axel’s confidence, his sureness, and his assurance all support the lengths I think he might have gone through to protect me.
I don't want to be wrong about this.
"Isabelle Hammel will be arraigned tomorrow. They have her in custody. She's already pled guilty,” Axel confirms my suspicion.
"How?" is all I can manage to ask, feeling a burn encompass the backs of my eyes.
Axel grins with a hint of pride. "I found a woman who was being executed for her five-year career as a serial arsonist. She killed everyone in her path, including her own family. I made a call, offering her a sentence in a women’s penitentiary versus the execution she was headed toward. It didn’t take a whole lot of convincing, so I'd call it a win.”
"Wait. A women’s penitentiary? What was the sentence for?" I’ve taken personal blame for conducting research and the development of Darkest Perception, but I was only following the instructions of my professor. Neither of us had any clue what would happen. There’s no way he was responsible for using the music negatively against forty innocent people. There’s no way I can believe that.
"Everything is a temporary situation. They won’t be getting what they need from this woman, but it’ll give us enough time to figure out the next move.”
"Aren’t you going to get in trouble for this?” I ask him. How could he not?
"Don’t worry about me,” he says.
20
Axel
The lies are stacking upon each other and it's like I'm sitting in between a house of cards that are about to collapse on top of me. I'm playing with fire and I've let my feelings for Isabelle get in the way of what I'm supposed to be doing.
I turned this Death Row chick in last night to take Isabelle's place, but I didn’t turn her into Agent Roberts, which was my job. I'm likely about to get my ass handed to me and stripped of my job while I play house with Harley Salem.
We're walking across town and I take Isabelle's hand within mine, watching as Everett eyeballs me with a murderous look. "For the night, you're my girlfriend. You're an artist working toward opening your own gallery in Boston. You grew up in Hartford, Connecticut. Your mom is a nurse and your dad is a software engineer. You're an only child."
"If only that were all true," she mutters. "What does this Roberts guy do again?"
She’s pushing to see if I’ll answer her. I never told her, but seeing as she’s joining us for dinner, I’ll dumb it down to sound less invasive. "He works with Death Row to supply us with bodies."
I can see the nervous look in Isabelle's eyes and I'm suddenly hyperaware of the danger I'm putting her in so I try to distract her from the tension. It doesn’t help that she’s been unknowingly distracting me from focusing on what I should be.
"You covered your freckles tonight," I whisper to her.
"I don't like them," she responds as quietly.
"That's too bad."
Everett walks ahead, leading the way to the restaurant we've eaten at several times in the last few months. It's our go-to when we have our monthly meeting with Agent Roberts.
As we come to the front doors of the restaurant, Everett stops and turns to face us. "This is a really bad idea," he says, pointing to Isabelle.
"Why?" she asks. "Why is this a bad idea? What aren't you telling me?"
My pointed look in Everett’s direction may or may not be getting through to him, but God help him if he says anything else.
"She needs to go back to the hotel," Everett says. "I'm not going to just sit back and watch this happen. I'll take her back. You go meet with Roberts and that'll be the end of it."
Isabelle is looking between the two of us, obviously desperate to know what's happening, and Everett is causing a bigger scene than necessary, but I'm not going to get in an argument with him because it won't end well.
"Fine, whatever," I tell him.
"What if I want to go in with you," Isabelle says. She's testing the waters. She wants to know why, and I can understand.
"Everett is right," I tell her, trying my damnedest to look truthful.
"Well, this was all a huge waste," she says, swinging her arms down by her sides. She looks gorgeous in her dress, all made up, and ready for a night out on the town. Yet, I was bringing her alias out to meet the man who is in search for Isabelle. Leaving her alone is basically like setting her free. Letting her go with Everett makes me want to lose my shit, and bringing her into this restaurant would be far worse than either of those other options. I thought I could keep her identity concealed, but I am playing with fire.
"How about I take you out for dinner," Everett offers. "It would be a waste after you got all dressed up just to go back to the hotel alone."
A pain gnaws in my gut, culminating an urge to punch Everett in the jaw. I haven't admitted to him that I had feelings for Isabelle, or that they've come rushing back. He's been trying his hand with her since we met, and he's not the type to give up easily. This is the perfect opportunity for him to make a move, and I don't know how Isabelle feels about either of us. For all I know, she may never want to come near me again after I basically ravaged her today.
"Axel, is that okay with you?" Isabelle asks, waving her hand in front of my face. "Are you okay?"
I don't know how much of the conversation I've missed but they're both staring at me, waiting for an answer. "Yeah, I said I don't care."
"No, you didn't," Isabelle says.