“Of course. Anything else?”
I glance around the room for other participants. I sense someone’s eyes on me and turn my head. Kolt is standing in the doorway. He looks fresh wearing his expensive blue jeans, a pale-blue collared shirt, and a cocky grin, as if I didn’t blatantly shoot him down just hours ago.
“Bom dia, amigos.” He flits his gaze around the classroom and then nods to me, his smirk deepening. “Senhorita Foster.”
I want to be mad, but he makes it difficult. I can only muster mild annoyance. “English only in my classroom, Mr. Mirchoff.”
“Lunch?”
I want to admonish him for clearly flirting with me in front of my students. They smile and share knowing looks. I think they enjoy this pretend romance that most of the school and its staff believe we have. I think they also enjoy when I play hard to get.
“We have ten more minutes of class. I suggest you get back to work. Tchau.”
I flip my hand in his direction and move to the whiteboard to highlight some new vocabulary.
“Now, who brought their recipe homework today?”
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting across from Kolt at the outdoor café. I’m devouring my sandwich while he picks at a pastry beside an emptied cup of coffee.
“How are you feeling?”
I look up, wide-eyed. “I’m fine, why?”
He follows the curve of the cup with his finger. “Well, after all those caipirinhas last night, I thought it might be a rough morning for you.”
I pretend like I don’t hear him. We both know the truth anyway.
“Can I take you out tonight? Dinner maybe?”
I shake my head. “The city is too crazy right now. Maybe next week sometime after things calm down.”
That would also buy me time to figure out what to do with him. Because a real relationship isn’t in the cards for me right now.
He works his jaw and stares at me intently. I’m worried he can read my thoughts. I’ve never been great at schooling my features.
“Isabel, what’s going on with us? We work together. We’re friends, and we messed around a few times. Now I don’t know what we are.”
I swallow hard and avoid his gaze. “I don’t like labels.”
“Fuck buddies?”
I glare at him. “Stop.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but I can’t stop thinking about what I want this to be.” He gestures between us, his expression softening.
“Kolt…” I sigh because it’s safer than forming words. I like our easy friendship. I enjoy the low hum of our attraction. But I can’t get entangled with him.
“Is there someone else back home?” Concern shadows his eyes.
I shake my head. “He’s gone.”
His lips tighten. “Who is he?”
“Nobody. An old flame. It was a long time ago, but he’s not the problem. I’m the problem.”
“You’re perfect.” Affection and determination wrap around his words, tugging at my heart.
At this moment I hate Kolt for being sweet and charming. I hate myself for not being able to embrace it, because if I could, that means I could be normal. I could fall in love, make love, and carve out a normal future with a man like him. But I’m not healed all the way, and I’m not certain I ever will be.
“I’m so far from perfect, you have no idea.”
I distract myself by watching the people on the street. Every walk of life. Every wild and passionate inclination fueled by this week’s celebrations. I belong to this city more than I’ll ever belong to Kolt. Even though it challenges me and scares the shit out of me sometimes.
On the other side of the street, a man dressed in black is leaning against the building. In black jeans, black T-shirt, and a faded green jacket, he seems to be the only one not in motion. I can’t look away. Something about his face commands my attention. The longer I look, the faster my heart beats. So fast and so loud that I can’t hear Kolt speaking above it.
I’m riveted. I’m in disbelief.
“Isabel?”
I tear my gaze away to meet Kolt’s. “What?” I snap at him, because I can’t help how annoyed I suddenly feel by this conversation and his untimely distractions.
He leans in and reaches for my hand. “All I’m asking for is a chance to talk this through over dinner.”
“Fine, dinner.” I pull my hand away and look back to the man in the street. Fear seizes my heart. He’s gone.
No, no, no.
How could I have lost him? Seconds have gone by. Only seconds. I grab my purse and throw some bills on the table.
Kolt frowns. “Where are you going?”
“I’m sorry. I just have to go.” I push up from the table and walk away. I scan up and down the street. My breath hitches when I catch a glimpse of the man’s green jacket disappearing behind a group of partiers several feet away.
I don’t think. I move as quickly as the crush of the street traffic allows.
“Tristan!” I yell, garnering a few looks from passersby.
He doesn’t look back. My heart falls.
It has to be him. It has to be. Otherwise I’m crazy.
My thoughts whirl and stutter. Maybe I have lost my mind. Maybe that’s how badly he’s broken me. That’s how desperately I want him back. I’ve dreamed him up so many nights, he’s going to haunt my goddamn days now too.
The seconds seems to grow longer as that last thought passes through my mind. He’s disappeared again. No matter how hard I look or fast I move, he’s nowhere to be found.
My gut is telling me he’s close. My whole body is telling me I need to find him again. Except I feel like I’m running out of time.
I pass salons and stores and run-down nothingness. I scan faces and peer down alleys. I don’t know how far I’ve gone or how much time has passed, but as hope dwindles, a familiar pain stabs at my heart.
Loss. Regret. Utter loneliness.
I should turn back. I should go back to my life and forget the dream…banish the memory…heal my heart.
TRISTAN
I’m rioting inside. She knows me. She screamed my name down the street, for fuck’s sake.
Determined to prove my gut was all wrong about Isabel Foster, I decided to see her up close. Resolve once and for all that there was nothing special about her so I could kill her and move on with my plan to get out of Rio and on to my next assignment. I had no idea I’d be tempting fate.
I’ve been traveling the globe for three years. Working, blending in, and then getting out of sight. No one’s ever given me a second glance. No one’s ever known my name. I’m a ghost, and with one look, this woman has pulled me from a life of anonymity. I don’t know how to wrap my head around this new reality. It’s both terrifying and too tempting to deny.
If she knows me…
God, the possibilities are endless. My life is a book ripped in half. The first few hundred pages forever lost. But what if they aren’t?
I can see her clearly from inside the restaurant I ducked into moments ago. She’s stopped in the middle of the busy street, only a few feet away, wringing her hands and looking everywhere. Looking for me.
She turns her back to me. Her shoulders hunch. I can almost feel her ready to give up. I should let her. I should finish this, but there’s no way I can now. In the space of a few seconds, she’s graduated from a mark to the most fascinating person I’ve ever known.
I step out of the shadows of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk. She spins as if she senses me there. Our gazes lock. She says my name again, and another explosion of panic detonates. I can hardly fucking breathe.
I pivot quickly, continue up the street, and turn into a narrow alley. Darkness closes in on me the farther I walk. The alley is empty, quieter than the busy street. I can hear her footsteps behind me. Then her voice.
“Tristan!”
I turn back, and she halts a couple feet away. I’ve been watching her from afar for days. Being th
is close to someone I’m supposed to take out typically means they’re about to say their last words. This is different. So very different.
“Oh my God. I never thought I’d see you again.” Her eyes are glassy, and her voice trembles. “It’s me… Isabel.”
She reaches for me, and I’m ready to jump out of my skin. I cover her mouth with my hand and press her to the alley wall. She puffs rapidly into my hand, confusion washing her beautiful features. Her stormy hazel eyes are red-rimmed, but she doesn’t struggle against me.
“Who knows about me?”
I drop my hand so she can speak. Her rose-colored lips part, but she remains silent. Is she in shock? Why do I want to kiss her? Why does seeing her cry twist something inside me?
Not knowing fills me with renewed frustration. The muscles in my jaw tense, and I grit out the next words. “Tell me. Who knows I’m here?”
She shakes her head quickly. “No one.”
I exhale in relief. “No one can know.”
As I say it, I realize I can’t trust her to stay quiet now that she’s seen me.
“Are you in trouble, Tristan? Is everything okay?”
A shockwave jolts through me every time she says my name. It’s making me edgy. This woman’s presence had me unsettled from day one. If I don’t find out why, she’ll haunt me forever. I need to find out what she knows about me. I need more time. Except every day she’s breathing is a day we’re both at risk.
I’ve given her more time than she deserves. She’s supposed to be dead. I’m not about to let her get me killed too.
Back on the street, pedestrians stream by unaware and unconcerned with us. I have to make a decision. Kill her now or satisfy curiosity about my past that’s never burned this fiercely.
CHAPTER THREE
ISABEL
Tristan’s voice is like cold velvet—rich with texture, void of feeling. I’m a trembling mess, but his eyes are calm.
He’s bigger than I remember. His clothes hint at the solid muscular frame beneath. He’s changed, but I’d know him anywhere. Those piercing eyes, opalescent blue orbs that I could stare into for the rest of my life. His hair is the same dark brown, short and unstyled. Stubble lines his jaw, making the ridges of his full lips stand out. Worry lines crease his forehead and the edges of his eyes.
We’ve grown. We’re not the same.
A thousand thoughts blur together as I convince myself he’s not a dream. No longer just a memory.
He’s Tristan Stone. The love of my life.
He takes a step back, and the separation borders on painful.
Instinct drives me next. My fingers become ten tiny magnets. I reach for him, drawn to his flesh, determined to prove he’s not an apparition. Before I can make contact, he takes my wrists in a firm grasp, holding them immobile in the horrible empty space between us. Those few inches are made up of years of missing him. Of not knowing if he was alive or dead.
“You’re looking at me like you hardly know me.” I choke on the last word because every emotion is tearing its way up my throat.
His expression never changes. He’s unreadable. “I know who you are, Isabel.”
I let go of the fight in my muscles, feeling foolish and broken all over again. He doesn’t love me anymore. I’m so far in the past, how could he have possibly hung on to those feelings like I have?
“We should go,” he says, releasing his hold on me.
I drop my hands to my sides, confused and reeling from everything that’s happening between us. True enough, this alley isn’t the safest place for a reunion.
“Where do you want to go?”
“Your place. I’m parked nearby. I’ll drive us.”
I swallow my doubts and follow him down the alley to the congested street. He tugs me behind him until we get to his car. He opens the passenger door and shuts it after me without ceremony.
Seconds later, Tristan is whipping through the streets. I can’t imagine the reason for his urgency.
“How long have you been in Rio?”
“A while.” He glances into the rearview mirror, seeming distracted.
I nod and try to ignore the sting of his tone. I remember a gentler Tristan. Always tuned in to my feelings and needs. The man I met in the street is frighteningly intense and completely unreadable.
He stops at the end of my street, puts the car in park, and turns to me.
“How do you know where I live?” My heart starts racing again at this new revelation.
“There’s no time to talk. Not here. I need you to pack a bag for a few days away,” he says.
“A few days? I can’t just leave with you. I have a job.” I can no longer hide the panic in my voice.
He stares at me silently for a moment and then speaks slowly and calmly. “I know it doesn’t make sense. I have a friend outside the city. We’ll stay with him, and I can explain everything there.”
I blink slowly, trying to process his proposal. “Then we’ll come back?”
He nods wordlessly. I don’t completely believe him, but I’m not willing to let him disappear again so soon.
“I need to call work.”
He opens his palm. “Give me your phone.”
I reach into my purse and hand it to him, expecting him to make a call with it. Instead he puts it into his coat pocket.
“You have five minutes. You can make your calls on the road.”
My throat tightens, and my eyes burn with fresh tears. “Tristan…you’re scaring me.”
“Five minutes.” His voice is clipped. “Go now.”
I reach for the car door, feeling numb but propelled forward by Tristan’s inexplicable urgency. He pulls out his phone, and I step out just as he begins to speak into it.
“Mateus. I need a favor.”
I hurry to my apartment. My hands are shaking as I turn the key in the lock. I rush up the stairs and pull a backpack out of my closet. I glance at the clock, and the urge to cry is almost too strong to resist.
What the fuck am I doing? Tristan just crash-landed back into my world. After the most agonizing goodbye of my life when he joined the army all those years ago. After one last heartbreaking letter saying we were over. After years of nothing but silence and heartache.
He’s a stranger, yet he never could be. Not after everything we went through together. And now we’re thousands of miles from a home we once knew, and I’m agreeing to leave with him. It’s only a few days, but this is insane.
I keep moving through my doubt as I stuff clothes into the bag. A few toiletries. I kneel to the floor and open the lockbox under my bed. I empty it of my passport and some cash and put both into the backpack.
I scan the bedroom and living room briefly. Why does dropping everything and running off seem justifiable when the love of my life is idling at the end of the street, waiting to drive us into a future unknown?
TRISTAN
All my loose plans for leaving Rio just firmed up. I can’t let Isabel out of my sight, so the only option is to bring her into my world. Doesn’t matter what she ends up seeing anyway. Her days are numbered. Hell, at this rate, mine are too.
We drive away from her neighborhood toward the condo-lined strip of Ipanema Beach. We pull into the parking lot of my building and take the elevator to the penthouse condo in silence.
She takes one step inside and freezes. “You live here?”
“I mostly work.” Not a lot of living happens inside these walls. I shut the door behind us and shift both deadbolts to the side. As if in a daze, she wanders toward the sliding doors that lead to the oceanfront balcony. I register faint regret that it’s probably the last time I’ll have this view. The waves crash silently on the beach below as I eye her warily. So far she’s gone along with everything, but I have a feeling the window of her compliance is closing.
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.
The Red Ledger Page 2
