Tristan is there a moment later, and then I have two men staring at me like I’ve just committed a cardinal sin. Tristan is wearing only his black jeans, a dark T-shirt twisted in his fist. His skin is flushed, and his wet hair sends rivulets down his neck. A few travel down his chest, journeying across a map of scars that mar at least a dozen points on his skin. Most are white with age, ghosts of the pain inflicted upon his flesh. Some are clean and straight. Others are jagged and ugly, raised and broad from lack of proper suturing. Each one is a fresh tear in the inner fabric of my being, claiming space on the landscape of my own invisible scars.
“Tristan…” I whisper his name as heat burns behind my eyes. Who did this to him?
“What are you doing out here?” He darts his gaze over me, no doubt arriving at the same conclusions as Mateus.
I tighten my grip around the strap of my backpack and speak as calmly as my clenched jaw will allow. “You can’t keep me here against my will.”
Mateus’s raised eyebrow answers for him. Still, my focus is on Tristan. I cling to the anger that motivated me to run. But his scarred body has me in knots, the compass of my will spinning wildly.
Mateus offers the knife. Tristan swipes it from him and jerks his thumb toward the house.
“Inside. Now.”
“Karina will have lunch for us shortly.” Mateus hesitates a second. “Or perhaps you should go into town. Explore a little,” he says coolly as he turns toward Tristan. “You have things to discuss, after all.”
Hope springs in me at the prospect of escaping the property, even with Tristan, but his grimace dashes every ounce of it.
“We’re not leaving.”
Mateus squares his body with Tristan’s a fraction more. “Why? Petrópolis is big enough to get lost in. You said yourself you have time.”
I still at the firmness in Mateus’s tone. I care less about his cryptic challenge than the fact that he’s facing off with Tristan, a man he’s already admitted is truly dangerous. Can Mateus set him off as easily as I seem to be able to?
“Is this your way of asking me to leave?”
“You know it isn’t.”
A moment of silence passes between them, and I resist the urge to back away and give the two men space.
“To capture what we most desire, sometimes we must first learn to let go,” Mateus utters quietly.
Tristan is silent, his body a physical representation of his mood, rigid with frustration.
He looks at me, jerks his shirt over his head, and punches his arms through the sleeves. He motions for my bag. “Leave your things.”
I don’t move. My grip tightens on the bag. My identity. Money. I’m wary to part with either under the present circumstances.
“Isabel.” His sharp tone nips at the edge of my control.
I sling the bag at him in one sudden motion. “Tristan,” I hiss.
I pass him and return to the house, but not before catching the curl of Mateus’s lips and a flicker of mischief in his eyes.
CHAPTER SIX
TRISTAN
I scan the busy street, up and down and back again, committing it all to memory. Petrópolis is vastly smaller than the metropolis we came from, but Mateus is right. It’s big enough to disappear in, for a little while at least, and the Carnaval celebrations don’t hurt. The people gracing the streets are raising no alarms, but I can’t escape the feeling that could change at any moment.
“Are you looking for someone?” Isabel sits across from me.
We’re at a little restaurant on the edge of town that Mateus recommended, but she’s barely eaten. Instead, she’s staring at me as if she’ll find a doorway to my soul. Too bad there’s no chance of that.
“I am,” I say.
“Who?”
“Someone who might be here for the wrong reasons.”
She sighs and leans her head to the side, as if all of this has become an exhausting game. “Who would that be?”
I look around again, seeing no one of concern. Still, I take nothing for granted. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“I doubt it. You’ve been acting like someone’s been chasing us since we got here.”
“If they aren’t yet, they will be.”
She glares at me, her expression falling somewhere between panic and skepticism. “Tristan, what the hell is going on? Why would you say that?”
We live such different lives. We’ve been sitting here less than twenty minutes, and I’ve already grown tired of dancing around her innocent questions. I look her square in the eye, readying myself for the real panic to set in after I say what I need to.
“Someone wants you dead.”
She exhales, her breath audibly rushing past her trembling lips. “How… How can you know that?”
“The important thing is that I know. Because I do, I can make sure they don’t get what they want.”
She stares into her lap and grips her paper napkin tightly.
“Is it the same people who put those scars on your body?”
I shake my head slightly. I don’t know where half my scars came from, but I’m certain they’re not the same bad guys who want Isabel knocked off.
“Different people,” I say a little softer, sensing the heaviness of this subject might send her into an emotional fit—one I’m not especially eager to deal with in public. The last thing I need is for Isabel to make a scene.
“Why would someone want me dead?”
Her question has merit. I’m not paid to care why someone needs to be taken out, but I’m confident Isabel hasn’t done anything to deserve a death wish. She’s a revenge hit. Her death will send a message, maybe a warning, to someone who cares about her. If I had to guess, that person is her father.
“I’m not exactly sure why yet,” I finally say.
“Then how do you know they want me dead? You’re talking in riddles, Tristan.”
Her voice is edging on hysterical.
“The less you know, the better. I’m only telling you so you know how dangerous it is to run from me when I’m the one trying to keep you safe. And right now, I am the only one who can keep you safe. Do not doubt it,” I say with finality.
I run the words over in my head, convincing myself of them too. I need to keep her safe. Need to figure out a plan that will get us out of this mess alive.
Or you could skip the mess and end this now. Do your job. To hell with the past.
I wince and take another scan up and down the street.
“If that’s all true, I suppose that explains why you’ve been so…determined.” Her voice is steadier now. She juts her chin out almost defiantly. “So what happens now? We can’t hide out at your friend’s house forever. I have a life back in Rio. I’m sure you do too.”
I stir my coffee and lift the tiny red straw to my lips. I trap the tip between my teeth and contemplate my next words.
I have a few options, most of which I’ll never tell her. I could attempt to stay in Jay’s good graces and do the job I was hired to do. Except now I’ve taken Isabel out of the city, no doubt raising suspicions about my ability to follow through. Then there’s Mateus, who’s become inexplicably driven to unearth the memories Isabel and I share.
“You know things…”
“About your past,” she finishes the thought. “And now you expect me to be able to fill in all the blanks while we’re here.”
“I’m resourceful. I just need a place to start, and I can figure out most of the rest.”
She swallows without making eye contact. “Why did you kiss me?”
I gnash the straw a few times. “I needed you to cooperate,” I admit.
“Right. It’s not like we were in love or anything.” Her voice gets softer as she speaks, like she’s no longer talking to me.
But her words are an invitation I’ll never be able to accept. Whatever she still feels for me has to fade out. I’ll never be the boy of her dreams or the lover who stars in her fantasies. The mere thought of it scares me enough to believe that stealing her away from Rio was a horrible idea.
“I’m not in love with you, Isabel.”
She nods tightly and looks out the window. A few people walk into the shop on the corner. Her focus is fixed on the church across the street, though. Streaks of dirt stain the stucco below its windows. Three thin crosses mounted on the roof’s round arches pierce the blue afternoon sky.
“I think this is a nightmare,” she whispers.
“You have no idea,” I mutter, regretting it immediately.
She looks back to me, her expression pinched with pity. Of all the things we don’t know about each other, I don’t have to explain my nightmares now. She was a firsthand witness to the effects of last night’s horrors. God knows what I said in my sleep.
“I was with you after she died, you know.”