She kept her surprise in check, but barely. “Well I’m glad, because Walker’s right. I might keep some things close to the vest, but I do trust you, and I should be back on this case. DuPree trashed my apartment, or at the very least, he was behind it. Plus, the threat on the mirror is pretty cut and dried, and the photograph…” Isabella swallowed past the tightness pinching at her words. “I want to help get this guy.”
“The threat on the mirror is real,” Sinclair said. “Putting you back on this case also puts you at risk.”
“But I’m already at risk.” Despite her urge to argue, Isabella took a deep breath. Losing her cool wouldn’t get her anywhere, no matter how tempted she might be to do it. “DuPree clearly knows we’re onto him, and he’s trying to get a rise out of me—out of all of us—with this stunt. But if he wants me as bait, then use me as bait. The more personal this gets, the more likely he is to make a mistake.”
Sinclair huffed out a humorless laugh. “Just as long as you don’t make one first. This is personal, on both sides. DuPree knows who you are. He obviously knows what happened to Marisol. He’s not going to hesitate to use your past to get inside your head.”
Isabella’s stomach pitched behind the black cotton of her T-shirt, guilt and dread and anger threatening to fill her completely, but she had to hold steady. “Let him give it his best shot. He’s not going to get to me. Look”—she took a step forward, and there was no sense holding back now. “You want me to trust you? Let me back on this case. Let me trust the intelligence unit to catch this guy if he’s after me, and trust me to help you do it. DuPree killed this woman, and he’s hurt who knows how many more. He needs to pay for that, and I know we can make that happen. Please. I promise you, Sam. I’m good for this.”
A minute ticked by, then another, her palms growing slicker with each second of deafening silence, until finally, Sinclair said, “There are no half measures on a case like this, Isabella. I need to be one hundred percent sure I can trust you.”
“You can. I swear it, Sam. No freelancing. No flying solo,” she said with zero hesitation.
Not even when Sinclair jutted his chin toward the door that Kellan had passed through after having promised to stay close.
Close.
“And can you trust him?” Sinclair asked.
Isabella’s defenses prickled beneath her skin, warning her to say no. Casual sex and a few good conversations were one thing, and easy things at that. But trusting Kellan meant letting him in. Letting him get close.
Letting herself care about him.
But again, she didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I trust him.”
“Good.” Sinclair smiled, the first one she could remember since they’d started this case weeks ago, and it sent a hard shot of relief all the way through her gut. “Assuming you’ll be staying at his place while CSU works here, I’ll put a squad car in front of Walker’s building tonight, and you’ll need to check in every eight hours. Now let’s finish up so you can get out of here and get some rest.”
“I’m really fine,” Isabella said, and to her surprise, Sinclair answered with a nod.
“I know. But you’re going to need all the energy you can get. Peterson gave intelligence full jurisdiction to investigate this case. Which means first thing tomorrow morning, we have a killer to catch.”
22
Kellan got out of his Camaro, taking the last sip of coffee from his to-go cup before blinking past the morning sunlight and scanning the street for serious threats. Although the habit was as ingrained as breathing, he took extra care with his awareness as he crossed the sidewalk in front of the two-story apartment building, pressing the buzzer for 2B and adjusting his RFD baseball hat as he waited for an answer.
“Who is it?” came the familiar female voice from the intercom speaker.
“It’s me.” Kellan waited just a beat before hitting the button again to add, “I’m here to deliver the jelly donuts.”
Okay, so maybe Gamble’s code word wasn’t the weirdest thing going. That’s what he got for letting Kylie, who had been thirteen at the time, choose the phrase for their all-clear.
A few seconds later, the building’s main door sounded off with a heavy click, allowing Kellan to cross into the lobby and head up the single flight of stairs. Relief spread beneath the game face he’d had locked into place for the last twelve hours, and he placed a crisp knock on the door in front of him. “Still me,” he said.
“Gah, it’s about time!” The rattle of the chain sounded off from the other side of the door, followed by the click of not one but two deadbolts. A second later, he was being hauled over the threshold by his deceptively slender sister.
“Jesus, Ky. What’s with the—oof!” Kellan’s breath shot from his lungs as she threw her arms around him and held on for dear life.
“Thank God you’re okay.” She pulled back to hold him at arm’s length, examining him from baseball hat to boots. “You are okay, right? No blood? No bruises?”