by London James
I have no doubt what I did out there is going to get back to Hernan. I just hope he doesn’t recognize me by the description. I didn’t have the beard the last time I saw him, so maybe that will help. I can’t afford for him to know I’m here. More importantly, Isla can’t afford it.
I sit there for another hour or so, checking my phone, and drinking more of that God-awful coffee when Walker calls to say Isla is done and he wants to see me. I throw the empty cup away and hustle back to the room, looking around to make sure I’m alone before knocking on the door. It opens up immediately and Walker ushers me inside, quickly closing the door behind me.
Isla is sitting in a chair, looking at me expectantly. I cross the room and stand beside her. Looking down at her, I give her a gentle smile. She surprises me by taking my hand and giving it a quick squeeze. As if she realizes how impulsive she acted, Isla quickly drops my hand and looks away, a sheepish look on her face.
“So, how did the tests go, Doctor Walker?” I ask.
“I ran every test I could think of,” he says. “I’m glad to say Isla doesn’t have any internal injuries. She’s probably going to be a bit sore for a few more days, but she’s going to be perfectly fine.”
“What about my memories?” Isla asks softly.
Walker lets out a long breath. “The imaging shows that your brain is in good shape,” he says. “No swelling, no lesions, and no bleeds. There’s no obvious damage to the brain itself.”
“So, why can’t she remember anything?” I ask.
“Hard to say. The brain can be a tricky thing,” he explains. “The car crash could have jarred your brain pretty good and scrambled some of the stuff in it. The memories may come back on their own. It’s just kind of a wait and see game at this point.”
I look down at Isla and see the discouragement and frustration in her eyes. She was hoping to have some answers today, or some way forward to recovering her memories, but we’re walking out without any way forward.
At least we know that physically, she’s fine. That’s something. The rest, we’ll just have to play by ear.
“Also, I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that your baby is perfectly fine as well,” Walker says.
Isla and I both look up, the same dumbfounded expression on our faces. She turns, and we exchange looks of bewilderment. That’s about the last thing I expected to hear. I know I shouldn’t be surprised – after all, it’s not like I actually know this woman. I didn’t know anything substantive about her life before I found her in that car on the embankment.
Even still, hearing that she’s pregnant knocks me for an unexpected loop – and judging by the look on her face, she is having the exact same reaction I am.
“Baby?” we both ask in unison.
Walker nods. “Yes, Isla, you’re pregnant,” he says softly. “You’re only about a seven weeks along at the moment, but tests all came back clear.”
I can see her trembling, a look of fear and wild uncertainty on her face. She looks from the doctor, to me, then down at the ground. In that moment, she looks as lost as she does afraid. I wish I had some words of comfort or something to make her feel better. But I have nothing. Nothing at all.
“Pregnant,” she breathes as if trying to understand the word.
A tear leaks out of the corner of her eye and rolls down her cheek. She scrubs it away quickly, seemingly annoyed with herself for showing weakness. I see her trying to absorb and process the information – information that is undeniably life-changing. I can see the weight of it pressing down on her and wish I could bear some of the burden for her. But I can’t.
Strangely though, as I watch Isla sitting there, struggling to cope with her new reality, it only deepens my resolve to protect her. It strengthens my desire to keep her – and her unborn child – safe. The need to protect them both is overwhelming.
But I vow to myself that I’m going to do it. I silently swear to her that I will do everything in my power – that I will give my life if it comes down to it – to protect her.
I will not let those animals hurt her.
Chapter Sixteen
Isla
Baker is tense, and his eyes are in constant motion. He’s scanning the road ahead, behind, and sides of us. His jaw is clenched, and his whole body is as tight as a coiled spring.
“You okay?” I ask,
He nods. “I’m fine,” he says. “The better question is, are you okay?”
I put a hand on my belly, still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I’m pregnant. It doesn’t seem real. Like everything else going on in my life right now, it seems like something that isn’t. It feels like something that’s happening to somebody else, and I’m just standing to the side, watching it all play out in front of me.
“I – I really don’t know right now,” I tell him.
“That’s probably to be expected,” he replies.
He drives on, his eyes still roaming restlessly. The tension coming off him radiates like heat from a fire. It’s filling me with a sense of dread and tension as well because I know what he’s afraid of. Which is, I guess, the same thing I guess I’m supposed to be afraid of. He wasn’t this tense before, which makes me even a little more nervous.
“Did something happen, Baker? You seem a little more stressed out than you did before.”
He lets out a long breath and glances over at me. I get the sense that he’s torn between telling me the truth and protecting me. All things considered, I’d rather have the truth. I think he can sense that in me because he gives himself a little nod.
“I ran into a couple of Zavala’s men at the hospital,” he says, his voice tight. “They’re definitely here, looking for you. It’s no longer an abstract, what if.”
I shake my head, fear stealing through me. “How do they even know I’m here though?”
“That’s a good question,” he replies. “When I talked to Walt – sorry, Marshal Parr – he said somebody in the Marshal’s Service has been compromised. They don’t know who yet. But they’ve launched an investigation.”
“Compromised?”
He nods. “Zavala is either paying somebody for information,” he growls, the anger in his voice more than clear. “Or is blackmailing them for it. One of the two, it seems likely that somebody gave up the goods. That’s why Walt asked me to look after you.”
I cock my head. “But, aren’t you part of the Marshal’s Service?”
“Retired,” he corrects. “For the last four years or so.”
I nod, a couple of the pieces starting to fall into place. I may not have my memories, but I’m not an idiot. I’m glad to see I can still use my brain to think critically and logically and that my head wasn’t quite that screwed up in the crash.
“Which is why he asked you to look out for me,” I surmise. “Nobody would think to look for me here, because nobody would think to look for you.”
“Something like that.”
The way he said that sends another chill washing over me. I don’t know what it is. I mean, the statement itself is fairly innocuous. But, there’s a tone in his voice that sets me on edge.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask
His lips compress into a tight line, and he fixes his eyes on the road ahead, no longer looking around, or at me.
“I have a complicated history with the Zavala Cartel,” he informs me. “We go back a little ways. And if the son of the kingpin figures out that I’m here, he’s smart enough to connect the dots and figure out that you’re with me.”
“Lovely,” I mumble, sinking back into the seat.
I’m curious about his complicated history with these cartel men, but I get the sense that it’s something he doesn’t want to talk about, so I bite it back.
“Walt wanted you here, in Grizzly Ridge, because he wanted me to act as a failsafe in case everything went sideways, Isla,” he says. “I guess it was a bit of smart planning ahead on his part.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
I sta
re at the road ahead of us, looking to a sky that’s rapidly filling with ominous looking dark clouds – which seems to fit my mood just fine. I let my mind spin, trying to remember even the slightest shred of my past, but keep hitting a brick wall that won’t let me. I can sense everything on the other side of that wall, all the answers to my questions, but I just can’t reach them. I can’t break through that wall, and it’s frustrating the hell out of me.
One of the biggest questions, of course, is who the father of this baby I’m carrying is. I look down at my hands and see no ring – nor the tan line of a ring – which I take to mean I’m not married. I am probably safe to assume that I’m seeing somebody though. I don’t believe I’m the type to sleep around indiscriminately, which suggests to me that things may have been serious with the person I was – am – involved with.
Maybe. Just because I don’t think I’m the kind of person who’d sleep around and the mere thought of it feels like a piece of clothing that just doesn’t fit on me, it doesn’t mean I’m right. For all I know, I could be the love ‘em and leave ‘em type. I could be the type who has a different guy every night. It doesn’t quite ring right in my head, but what the hell do I know?
“So, why don’t you work with the Marshals anymore?” I ask, mostly just to break the silence in the truck.
“It’s – complicated.”
A rueful smile touches my lips. “That seems to be a common theme for you.”
I see a small grin tug one corner of his mouth up. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
He leaves it at that and doesn’t actually answer the question. But I decide to not press him on it. I can tell there’s a story there and one that he’s not very comfortable with, so I leave him be. Instead, I study him a little bit closer. There are fine lines at the corners of his eyes, but his skin is otherwise smooth. Flawless. At least, what I can see of it is, anyway. That thick, bushy beard of his covers up most of his face. It’s almost like he’s using the beard as a disguise, or a way to hide himself – maybe even hide from himself.
He does a good job of keeping his emotions in check and controlling his responses. His face is a mask of cool neutrality, and if you just casually looked at him, you’d never know what he was thinking. But, if you look closer, if you look into those fathomless dark eyes of his, you’d see more. A lot more. He may be able to keep the emotion out of his face, but the eyes never lie. And his tell a story of pain and grief. He’s a man who’s seen – and probably done – some things in his day and is haunted by them.
Seeing that much pain in his eyes and that he’s burdened by that much hurt, or perhaps guilt, makes me long to comfort him. Which seems ridiculous, given the situation, but I want to wrap my arms around that big body of his, hold him close, and tell him everything is going to be okay.
Where those thoughts come from, I have no idea. And my cheeks flush with heat as they pass through my mind. It doesn’t make them, or the impulse to comfort the large, stoic man any less real, or any less genuine though. There is just something about Baker Redmond that resonates with me on a deep level. It’s something I can’t understand, let alone explain. In some ways, in the far reaches of my brain, it feels like he’s the man I’ve been waiting for my whole life. Like he’s the man I’m supposed to be with or something.
Which is patently absurd, given the fact that I’m carrying somebody else’s child. Obviously, unless I’m the kind of low-rent, immoral woman I’m really hoping I’m not, there’s a man out there who’s worried about me – and his child. A man who probably doesn’t know why I disappeared, where I went, or when I’m coming back.
Baker pulls his truck through a pair of large, iron gates, up a small hill and into a circular drive in front of his house. The gates are swinging closed electronically as I get out of the truck and I look around. With everything else going on, I hadn’t really taken the time to notice my surroundings before. All around us, on the other side of the walls, are soaring trees that stretch toward the sky and views of snow-capped mountain peaks in the distance.
The world around us is quiet and a sense of tranquility and peace infuse the air. There is plenty of birdsong, and the wind gently rustles the treetops, but other than that, it’s silent. Surrounded by so much of nature’s beauty – and so few people – it doesn’t take that much to feel like we’re the last two people on the face of the planet.
It’s beautiful, but it’s also very isolated. “You really live out in the middle of nowhere.”
“I prefer it that way,” he says.
I follow Baker up the steps that lead to the front door of his house. I notice the place is large, but it blends in with the natural world around us. Outside of the wall, it seems to be a part of the forest that surrounds us, rather than an intrusive piece of manmade concrete and lumber stuck in the middle of a place it doesn’t belong. Baker’s place is beautiful and modern, but it still has a rustic charm and feels entirely organic to the world that surrounds it – an extension of it, almost.
Baker punches in a code on the security pad beside the door, which unlocks it. He holds the door open as I step inside ahead of him, then follows me in, closes the door, and resets the electronic lock and alarm.
“You take your security seriously, don’t you?” I ask, a nervous giggle passing my lips.
He gives me a wry smile. “Yeah, Walt says I’m a bit paranoid,” he says. “I prefer to think of it as prepared.”
“Whatever it is, I’m grateful for it,” I reply. “And grateful to you.”
As I speak the words, I realize just how true they are. I don’t think it occurred to me until that moment, but if not for Baker Redmond, I would probably be dead right now. If he hadn’t shown up to pull me out of that car, those cartel men would have killed me.
It’s a realization that leaves me a little shaken, and my head spins, as my knees grow weak. My legs start to buckle beneath me, but before I can fall, Baker is there, holding me up. He keeps me from falling to the hardwood floor beneath my feet. His touch is gentle and delicate – which is surprising from a man as big and gruff as he is.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod weakly, my entire body buzzing with a strange sensation. I don’t know what it is, or why I feel so strange, but I suddenly feel like I can’t even keep on my feet. As if sensing that, Baker picks me up. He carries me, like I weigh nothing, not into the bedroom where I’d expect that he’d lie me down, but across the living room and into the kitchen.
“It occurs to me that it’s been a long while since you’ve had food,” he says. “Your blood sugar is probably crashing.”
He sets me down gently on one of the chairs at the table in his breakfast nook. Large windows make up the entire back wall of the area, and I look outside, staring at the long, green, lush valley that lays beyond the wall of his property. Baker sets a glass of orange juice down in front of me, and I look up to him, as a wave of gratitude crashes down over me. I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. I’m swamped by emotion that’s rendering me speechless, and I want to kick myself for it.
“Drink that,” he encourages. “And I’ll make you a little something to eat.”
“Thank you,” is all I can manage to croak out.
He gives me a soft smile. “You’re very welcome. Now, drink your juice.”
Chapter Seventeen
Baker
I chop up some steak, onion, mushroom, and tomato, and throw it into the pan. After letting it sauté for a few minutes, I pour the eggs I’d beaten in and let it start to cook. Dropping a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster, I push it down to start, then pull a couple of plates out of the cupboard.
All the while, Isla watches me from her spot at the table. She tried to stand up to help, but I made her sit back down and drink her juice. Being on her feet right now is the last thing she needs. The air in the kitchen is redolent with the aroma of what I’m cooking and my mouth waters in response. Honestly, I don’t recall how long it’s been since I’ve eaten either a
nd I realize that I’m pretty hungry.
Fetching the butter and some strawberry jam from the refrigerator, I set them on the table in front of Isla, and she gives me a small smile.
“You’re quite the domestic goddess,” she teases.
I shrug as I return to the stove and stir up the scramble I’m making. “When you live alone, you learn to cook. It’s not so easy to get food delivered out here.”
She looks out the window at the valley beyond and nods. “I suppose not.”
“It’s actually kind of nice to have somebody to cook for, for a change,” I say.
On a separate pan, I have bacon and sausage cooking. I use a fork to flip it all over, letting the other side get crispy and brown. I stir up the eggs and watch as they grow fluffy. I catch myself stealing glances at Isla as I whip up our meal. In fact, I find it hard to take my eyes off her.
With the sunlight streaming in through the windows behind her, Isla’s red hair seems to glow with an inner fire, and it somehow softens her already smooth, flawless skin even more. Not even the cuts and bruises that remain from the accident can mar her natural beauty. Her eyes sparkle like polished jade, and her full lips are turned up into a soft smile as she catches me admiring her.
“What?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing,” I say.
She smiles, and her cheeks flare with color, making her somehow even more appealing to me. I plate up our food and carry it over to the table, setting one down in front of her, and the other down at my spot. As I retrieve napkins and utensils, I hear the click-clack of nails on the floor and Stabler saunters into the kitchen, panting happily, a big doggy smile on his face. His tail wagging, he walks over to the table and sits down beside Isla, giving her a big dose of those soulful brown eyes of his.
“He’ll charm you out of your entire plate if you’re not careful,” I say, as I sit down at the table across from her.
