“Camille, I can see that you are having trouble adjusting to this situation.” Isleen’s tone carried no anger, no malice. “I understand. I know the kind of man Xander is, so I know what you’re losing. I feel bad that you are hurting.”
“You feel bad that I’m hurting?” Camille’s voice rose to a she-demon screech. She lunged for Isleen. Xander stepped between them, blocking her path.
“Cam. What the hell?” Kent shoved the dog at Hopkins, then grabbed his sister from behind, hauling her down the porch steps. She struggled and screamed terrible things at Isleen. “Stop it. Right now. If you don’t get yourself under control you’re going to get arrested.”
Those seemed to be Camille’s magic words. She went limp, all anger and hostility gone.
“Take her home.” Xander pointed to Kent’s truck. “And don’t bring her back.”
Isleen moved in next to him again. “Xander, I need to talk to Kent about my case. He needs to know about the priest. Maybe you should take Camille home. She shouldn’t be here right now. It’s not good for anyone.”
“You need to talk to Kent?” He parroted her, couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Just about my case.” Isleen seemed sincere, so why did he have a suspicion in his heart that everything good in his life was about to get flushed down the shitter? She reached up to his neck and tugged his face down to hers. She kissed him, her lips sweet and cool, and if emotion could pass through the barrier of skin, he swore he felt her complete devotion. But still something didn’t jive.
Or was that all in his head? He had zero relationship experience. All he knew was what little he’d had with Isleen. Was he smothering her? Was this her way of getting a bit of space? There shouldn’t be anything wrong with leaving her to drive Camille home. Not that he wanted to leave Isleen, but it would give him a chance to apologize to Camille. And nothing bad could happen while he was gone. Kent and Hopkins would see to that.
He shrugged into a shirt and nabbed his keys from the dish by the door.
“Don’t you let her out of your sight,” he said to Kent. The guy nodded, and for all the shit between them, Xander trusted him with this. “I’ll be gone thirty minutes. Not one second longer.”
“I’ll be here,” Isleen said.
So why did he feel like he was about to lose her?
*
Camille’s perfectly composed face slipped and fell. She didn’t cry, bawl, or scream, but pain sank into her features. It hurt to watch. Xander didn’t say anything, just opened his truck’s door, waited while she climbed in, and then jogged to the driver’s side.
Isleen stood in the yard, cradling Kent’s mini-mutt to her chest and smiling so sweetly that Xander stopped and couldn’t move. Behind her, the sun had already slipped into the horizon, shooting shades of molten fire across the sky. The image of Isleen and the sky together was epic, the kind of vision that inspired people to write songs of love and beauty and the fear of loss.
He wished he had a camera to capture the grace of the moment. He settled for staring at her while she scratched the dog’s ears, memorizing the way the light made her hair glow golden, her skin luminescent, and her lips deeply rose, begging to be kissed. She looked up, catching him watching her. The smile she gave him carried enough wattage to keep his happy sensors running on full power for the rest of his life. Damn.
She lifted her hand and waved a carefree gesture, then used the dog’s paw to wave at him too. He waved back, but deep in his gut, a worm of warning latched on and began feeding on his happiness, reminding him that good things never happened to him. She could be in danger.
Someone had been in her hospital room and left that cross on her head. A priest had killed Gale. That same someone might be after Isleen. She should be safe here with Kent and Hopkins. Two guards on her. Another guard at the main house and one at the end of the driveway. That was four trained agents watching out for her. But there were no guarantees in life.
Okay, maybe he was being a bit paranoid, not to mention jealous of anyone besides him spending time with her.
She had wanted to talk to Kent. She had wanted Xander to take Camille home. And he wanted to make her happy. He would deny her nothing.
The solution: Be fucking quick about it.
He got in the truck.
“Why did you fuck her? What can she give you that I can’t? Why didn’t you tell me you lived here? I thought you lived at the other house with your family and that was why you never invited me over.” Her quiet questions rushed him like a linebacker. At least she wasn’t trying to rip his face off. “Why? I don’t understand any of this.”