I go to my desk and start moving through my mental checklist. I remotely back up my files and wipe the machines. I pull papers and photos pinned to the wall and stuff them into a folder.
In the bedroom, I find the lever inside the chest of drawers that rests along an accent wall. The large mirror above it angles up, and I push it open the rest of the way, revealing a hidden compartment that stores possessions I wouldn’t want anyone knowing about. I pull an array of weapons off the pegs that display them and throw them into a bag. Beside several bricks of cash in various currencies, my passports are bound with a thick rubber band to a worn red leather notebook. I collect what I need, grab clothes, and make my way back to Isabel.
Except she’s no longer there. That, and the room feels empty without her in it somehow. The folder on my desk is open, revealing pictures of her, her boyfriend, her work schedule, and a few other documents I collected.
The door is open. Fuck.
I grab the folder and my bags and say goodbye to the apartment and everything in it. In the hallway, numbers illuminate above the elevator bank. She’s on her way down. I hurry to the stairs. I won’t beat her, but she’s got nowhere to go.
Heat and ocean air hit my lungs the second I emerge from the building. I’m parked close, and Isabel’s already at the car, struggling with the door. I come from behind.
“What the hell are you doing?” I force myself to keep an even tone.
She whips around. Her eyes are wide, and her pupils are dilated. “Let me have my things.”
I open the trunk and deposit my bag. “Get in the car.”
“I’m not going with you.”
She’s practically screaming, so I take her firmly by the arm and lead her to the passenger side. She struggles, but I won’t let her go. A few more feet and we’ll be on our way without making a scene.
“Why do you have all those things about me? How could you be here, this close to me all this time? I need answers, Tristan!”
I open the door, but she fights me.
I lean her against the car and take a handful of her hair, tilting her face up to mine. Before she can say anything more, I’m kissing her. Her hands go to my shoulders, but she’s no match for my strength. I kiss her until I feel her fight go.
A small sound escapes her, disappearing in the melding of our lips. My eyes barely close, because I don’t trust her, or anyone. As her tongue seeks mine, her flavor floods my senses. Sweet and fresh. Soft surrender. She holds nothing back, so neither do I. I kiss her deeper to take in more of her essence. As I do, my eyes close.
Then she’s on the bright-white screen of my mind. The visual is overexposed, like a memory. She’s under me. Her body moves with mine. We’re fucking. I can feel her everywhere. She’s overwhelming all my senses. The fantasy takes hold and arousal prickles my skin—everywhere we touch and everywhere we don’t.
Except it all feels too real. Feels too good to be a fantasy. In seconds, my body begins to respond to the closeness of hers. Which is just fucking great.
I can already see this will be yet another distraction I can’t afford. I was hired to kill this woman. Now I’m about to kidnap her and keep her until she can tell me things I’m not yet sure I want to know. And all I can think about is getting inside her.
There’s no time for this.
I break the kiss and try to mentally erase the disturbing erotic image. But Isabel replaces it in the flesh, breathless, her eyes hazy. She looks how I feel. Overwhelmed. Confused. Ready to fuck.
The pulse at her neck beats rapidly. She might be turned on, but she’s scared too. And even if she thinks she knows me, she’s too smart to give me her trust. I only need a little of it to get us out of here.
I brush her hair back off her face. I’m not accustomed to charming my way to a desired end, but I manage a small reassuring smile. “I need you to trust me. Okay?”
She softens, but I keep my hold on her.
“I want to,” she utters.
It has to be enough. I don’t ask, and I don’t tell her again. I simply guide her into the car, shut the door, and move back to the driver’s seat.
As I start the ignition, I’m anything but relieved.
Two hours go by, and already the drive is too long. Isabel’s presence dominates the small space of the car and every crevice of my mind. She chews her lower lip and wrings her fingers as the city turns into jungle and the road narrows. Her fear and uncertainty don’t affect me. The longing in her eyes does. Her confusion seems laced with an affection I can’t comprehend.
She has questions, and so do I. I have no idea how I’ll answer hers. I wasn’t prepared for this. I grip the wheel and cycle through my options.
Killing her would have been so much easier. I’ve built this new life on the surety of the kill. The simplicity of it. Nothing is simple now.
I keep my eyes straight ahead. “We know each other.”
A statement. A question.
I could spend days coaxing the truth out of her, pretending to know about whatever connection we share. But if I have to kill her anyway—and despite my strong urge to fuck her, I will have to kill her—the truth can do no harm. I realize this in a moment of sudden clarity.
I brave a look in her direction. She stares back in confused silence.
“Of course we do.”
I break the stare and focus on the road. “How?”
I refuse to meet her gaze again. The late-afternoon sun is setting ahead of us, turning the sky orange and mauve above the trees as we pass through town after town.
“You know…”
I shake my head slightly. “I have gaps”—I swallow hard, pushing down the unwelcome feeling that comes with the truth—“pretty big gaps in my memory. I recognize you. I just have no idea why.”
I can feel her gaze hot on me. The air between us is thick with emotions neither of us can fully understand. I turn, and the tears in her eyes confirm the pain I’ve inflicted with this admission.
“We were in love,” she utters, almost too quietly to be heard.
I curse inwardly. Another complication I don’t need.
“When?”
“It’s been six years since you left.”
“Since I left?”
“You joined the military right out of high school. I went to college, but you never came home.”
I nod slowly. She’s an old girlfriend. From high school, for fuck’s sake. Nothing. She’s nothing. Lovesick and na?ve, thanks to a narrow, privileged existence. If she were important, surely she’d have been somewhere in my memories. Somewhere in the dreams or nightmares, the smallest flashes of remembrance, the blurred darkness that is my past.
My stomach clenches. My grip tightens around the wheel. The urge to dig through those clues and learn more is dangerous. For years, I’ve existed for no other reason than to breathe, point, and shoot. Even if Jay hasn’t all but promised it, inherently, I’ve always known that reaching beyond that basic state of being is inevitably painful and likely to end in death. Not others’ for once, but mine. Yet here I am, seeking out my past. Drawn to the irresistible beacon of Isabel Foster and the things she knows about me.
“If you don’t remember me…how did you know where to find me?”
I make a turn onto a dirt road and ease off the gas. Outside of Jay and the people whose light left their eyes at my hand, very few people know exactly what I do. Mateus knows enough to be an ally. I trust him because I did him a favor once, and now he owes me about a thousand in return.
Ahead, a pristine white stucco house is set back on a large lot protected by several feet of well-kept gardens and a wrought-iron gate. I slow at the entrance and dial Mateus’s number.
He answers after the first ring. “Tristan?”
“I’m here.”
The call ends and the gates, armed by guards on either side, slowly open. I pull through and drive up the winding path to the house. Every inch closer brings an unexpected calm over my rattled nerves. A momentary reprieve is what I need, and I’ll find it here.
CHAPTER FOUR
ISABEL