“I’ll go with you,” her mother said.
“No way,” Isabel protested. “What about the rest of the family? You’d never see them again.” Her mother was happily remarried, and Isabel’s stepdad had three teenage daughters. He would never leave them.
“You’ll be able to write letters to your mother,” the deputy marshal explained. “She can read them at a designated location, once per month, but she won’t be able to keep copies, and the communication will be monitored.”
“How can I contact her?” Ana asked.
“With letters, the same way. No phone calls, no emails, no social media.”
Isabel watched her mother struggle with the concept, her face lined with worry. “How soon do I have to go?”
“Tomorrow or the next day. You’ll stay in a safe room at the station until we place you. If your mother can pack a bag for you, with sensible clothes and shoes for any kind of weather, that would be very helpful.”
Any kind of weather? Her heart sank. “I want to be near the ocean.”
His smile was impersonal. “We’ll see what we can do.”
Isabel squeezed her mother’s hand, trying to comfort her. This was better than jail. Better than death. And better than being on the run.
But it felt worse, somehow.
Chapter 17
Isabel slept for twelve hours straight.
When she woke the next morning, her mother returned with breakfast, an empty suitcase and an armful of garment bags. The safe room looked like a cheap studio apartment. There was a double bed, a small bathroom and a rickety wood-veneer table. After spending two years in similar places, Isabel felt right at home.
Her mother was a sight for sore eyes, too. She was still so pretty, with her petite figure and dark hair. If she colored it, Isabel couldn’t tell. They talked about family, catching up on everything Isabel had missed while she was away. Her father’s second wife had remarried; Isabel’s stepsister was five.
Isabel told her mother a little of what had happened in Mexico, but she didn’t want to upset her. Needing a distraction, she glanced at the piles of clothes. Although she’d showered last night and been given a pair of striped pajamas, she was eager to try on something new. “What did you bring me?”
Ana unzipped a garment bag, revealing about ten pairs of designer jeans. They looked vaguely familiar.
“You kept all of my clothes?”
“Of course,” her mother said. “I have a closetful of your shoes, too. But I wasn’t sure which ones to pack.”
Isabel slipped off her pajama bottoms and rummaged through the jeans. Most of the styles were flashy, with faux rips and sparkly embellishments. She tried on the newest pair. They were too long to be worn with tennis shoes, and almost too tight to button. “I guess I’ve gained a few pounds.”
“Yes. You were so skinny when you left.”
Isabel heard the sadness in her mother’s voice and felt sick with regret. “I’m sorry for putting you through that, Mama.”
Ana squeezed her shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re back, and healthy.”
They found two pairs of older jeans that fit and rejected the rest. She also chose a few comfortable items—yoga pants and zippered sweatshirts, shorts and T-shirts, a few sundresses. Those, along with basic undergarments, went in the suitcase. The other stuff wasn’t practical enough to pack. “Give it to Goodwill,” Isabel said. “Or sell it to a consignment shop. This stuff must be worth thousands of dollars.”
Shoes were her biggest extravagance, by far. Her mother had brought a variety of styles, from tall winter boots to flirty summer sandals. In Mexico, Isabel had longed for her expensive wardrobe and designer heels. Now that she had them back, she couldn’t care less. Sighing, she selected three sensible pairs and tossed the others.
Her mother stared at her like she didn’t recognize her.
“Thanks, Mom,” she said, giving her a quick hug. “I’m sure I can buy anything else I need when I get there.”
Ana wiped her eyes with a tissue, sniffling a little. “I wish I could go with you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She put on a brave smile. “Tell me about that marshal who rescued you.”
Isabel’s cheeks grew warm. Stalling for a moment, she finished dressing, pulling on a soft gray tracksuit.
“Was he nice?” Ana pressed.
She thought about their mile-high hookup. “Yes.”
“Will he take you to your new home?”
“I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head. Brandon might not have disclosed every detail of their affair, but he wouldn’t be trusted to fly with her. “He doesn’t work for the Witness Protection Program.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I thought he liked you.”
Isabel tried to stay strong, but all of her emotions were on edge. She sank into a chair at the table and covered her face with one hand.
“What’s wrong?”
“I got attached to him,” she whispered. “We … connected.”
Ana looked as pleased as any mother who realized her daughter was infatuated with a man she approved of.
“But now I’m going away, and we’ll never see each other again.”
“He won’t know where you are?”
“No.”
Her mother pulled up a chair, hugging her close. Isabel couldn’t hold in her tears. She cried in her mother’s arms, feeling so defeated by circumstance. She wanted her family back, and she needed Brandon. Every day on the run, she’d longed for closeness and contentment. Peace seemed farther away than ever.
“I missed you so much,” she said, her heart breaking. “I’ve spent the past two years regretting the hurt I caused you before I left. I’d do anything to make it up to you.”
“Oh, honey,” her mother said, smoothing her hair. “When I saw you yesterday, so beautiful and grown-up, all of my pain disappeared. I never blamed you for reacting badly to your father’s death. I only wanted you to be safe.”
She broke down completely, sobbing like a child who knew she was about to lose her mother for the second time.
Chapter 18
One month later.
Brandon spent the first half of the day surfing. He’d been at USMS headquarters for several weeks, wrapping up loose ends and doing an endless amount of paperwork. When a deputy marshal killed a man, he had to complete a mind-numbing round of medical tests and psychological evaluations.
Now he was back in San Diego, on leave.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t been fired. His actions in the hotel room with Isabel were grounds for dismissal, as was forgetting to check in and a number of other infractions. He hadn’t mentioned the incident on the plane. It was the only detail he kept private. And he continued to think about their goodbye-sex, replaying the sequence of events over and over in his mind.
He was appalled by his failure to use protection. The risk of conception was low but he couldn’t dismiss it. He hated the idea of her facing the consequences of his negligence alone. How was she? Where was she? Did she miss him? Insomnia plagued him. Sometimes, very late at night, he wished for the unlikely to occur.
If fate intervened, and Isabel became pregnant, could they be together again?
At noon, he rode a crumbling wave to shore and came in. He secured his surfboard in the bed of his truck and towel-changed by the side of the road, pulling on a pair of worn jeans and a faded T-shirt. It was a sunny December afternoon, like any other.
He’d take Southern California weather over steamy jungle heat any day.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, he drove to a quiet neighborhood in Hermosa Beach. Isabel’s mother, Ana, had lived at this address with her second husband for the past few years. Brandon hadn’t called first. He wouldn’t have known what to say.
When he knocked on her front door, she opened it, her eyes widening with recognition. “Marshal Knox.”
“Brandon,” he corrected.
“Has something happened to Isabel?”
/> “Not that I know of,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “I haven’t heard anything. We aren’t in contact.”
The concern on her face changed to confusion. “Would you like to come in?”
“Sure.”
She offered him iced tea, which he accepted. It tasted like flowers and water, sort of vague and refreshing. The cottage-style bungalow was decorated with shells and knickknacks and boardwalk memorabilia.
“Isabel told me you were in the movies,” he commented, seeing no indication of horror-film kitsch.
“That’s right,” she said, gesturing toward a small office. There was a poster on the wall that featured a curvy brunette running down the beach in a blood-spattered bikini, her face contorted into a scream. The treatment was sexy and gory and over-the-top.
“Wow,” he said, taking a closer look. Then he felt weird for admiring a hot photo of Isabel’s mother.
She laughed at his expression, as if she understood what he was thinking.
Trying not to flush, he glanced at another picture, of Isabel with her father. She was holding a surfing trophy, smiling brilliantly at the camera. He was wearing black leather pants at the beach, his rock-star hair windblown.
“I’d show you Isabel’s room, but she never had one at this house.”
He nodded, following Ana back to the kitchen. They sat down at a small table and he drank his tea, unsure how to proceed. “Have you heard from her?”
“Yes,” Ana said, smiling. “She wrote me a long letter. They wouldn’t let me keep a copy but it was upbeat, and very heartfelt.” Her voice faltered at the last word. “I’m proud of the way she’s handled this.”
“She’s okay, then? Not too lonely?”
Her eyes softened. “I think she’s putting on a brave face.”
“Did she say anything about me?”
“Not specifically. They monitor the letters, so she wouldn’t include anything she considered a secret.”
Brandon’s chest ached with disappointment. He wanted her to be safe, but he was so miserable without her.
“She mentioned you before she left.”
He perked up. “Really?”
“Yes. She said the two of you had bonded in Mexico.
I know she was upset about being relocated. She didn’t want to be separated from you.”
“I’m in love with her,” he blurted.
Ana took a sip of iced tea, showing no surprise at his confession. “Two years ago, Isabel was spoiled, angry and out of control. I feared she would end up like her father. Or, even worse, end up with a man like her father.”
He thought about the hardships Isabel had overcome before she’d turned her life around, and loved her all the more for it.
“Now my daughter is a lovely young woman, sensible and mature, everything a mother could ask for. I always hoped she would settle down with a good person. Someone strong and honorable, like you.”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling powerless over the situation. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Isabel. He could quit his job and ask to be relocated along with her, but he doubted such an idiotic request would be granted. Even if she wanted him by her side, the government liked him right where he was.
“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t caught her,” he said, shaking his head. “And I have one regret that keeps me up at night.”
“What’s that?”
“The last time we were together, I didn’t … take precautions.”
Ana’s dark brows lifted. “Hmm.”
Brandon shifted in the chair, heat climbing up his neck. He’d never felt more awkward, or less honorable.
“In her letter, Isabel made an offhand remark about having her period. I wasn’t sure why she’d include that particular detail until now.”
“Maybe she figured I’d stop by and talk to you,” he said, frowning inwardly. He should have felt relieved by the news. An unwanted pregnancy would have been a disaster, not a blessing in disguise. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Would you like me to relay a message to her?”
“No,” he said, rising to his feet. “For her safety, I have to leave her alone. Now that I know she isn’t … that we aren’t … connected by anything, I can move on.” The lie was so ridiculous, he almost choked on it. He would be connected to Isabel forever, and he had no interest in moving on.
“I’m sorry,” Ana said kindly.
Brandon thanked her for her time and muttered a terse goodbye, walking out before his emotions could betray him.
Isabel didn’t hate her new life.
Much.
It was bitterly cold in Kansas City. She resented the fact that she’d been placed as far away from the ocean as was possible in the continental U.S., but she’d quickly adjusted to the winter wonderland. She worked in a pizza joint, next to a wood-fired grill, so that helped. Over the past month she’d moved up in the ranks at the busy restaurant, going from washing dishes to making pies to waiting on customers.
The hard work didn’t bother her; she enjoyed it. The other employees didn’t bother her, either, although most of them were young men. With her pageboy haircut and baggy sweatshirts, she attracted almost no male attention. A woman had hit on her, in fact. She’d felt a little embarrassed but tried to take it in stride.
The worst part of her job, now that she’d moved to the front of the house, was seeing so many happy families. Casey’s Pizza Company catered to teens and young couples with children. Every night of the week, kids were running up and down the aisles, playing video games and spilling drinks. There was always a baby crying somewhere. Always.
It was difficult to leave at the end of her shift, walking home in the snow alone, Christmas lights all around.
Her apartment wasn’t nice but she liked it. She took pride in her chipped tile countertops and threadbare carpet. With her last paycheck, she’d bought a live pine tree and carried it up three flights of stairs, all by herself. Humming holiday songs, she’d decorated the branches with a sparkly silver garland and colorful strings of beads.
She’d also taken up running. Running wasn’t as much fun as surfing, and downtown Kansas City was no tropical paradise. But she pounded the pavement so hard and often that she’d lost two pounds, despite her considerable pizza intake.
When she wasn’t running, she was writing. Or reading. She’d missed having entire libraries of books at her disposal. Enrolling in junior college seemed like a reasonable option. With no family or friends to speak of, she had plenty of unfilled hours in the day.
At closing time, she left Casey’s and pulled her hood over her head, trudging toward her lonely apartment. Snow flurries floated down from the dark sky, melting as soon as they landed. Grayish sludge squished beneath her boots and her breath puffed out in a little cloud of steam with every other step.
There was a letter in her mailbox!
Unlike her mother, Isabel was allowed to keep their correspondence. She had another letter, tucked under her pillow, that she read every night. This one was a Christmas card. She raced up the stairs, flying into her apartment and locking the door behind her.
After turning on the lamp in the living room, she hung up her coat and sat down with the card, opening it carefully.
Her mother gave an update on Dave and the rest of the family, making a vague allusion to their holiday plans. Isabel couldn’t be a part of the festivities, so Ana didn’t dwell on the details. She did say she missed Isabel terribly. The simple words brought tears to her eyes.
At the end of the note, her mother’s tone changed from cheerful to cautious. Isabel read the last part three times, struggling to make sense of it:
I hope the following news doesn’t upset you. An old friend visited, inquiring about your health. I couldn’t give out any information, of course. It broke my heart to send him away empty-handed. He was very despondent.
After he left, I started worrying about the tiniest details. Are you taking care of yourself, getting enough rest? Please see a d
octor about your menstrual cramps and let me know the results.
Love always,
Mom
It dawned on Isabel that her mother was asking about her period for a reason. She’d only mentioned it in the last letter to put inquiring minds at ease. The deputy marshal who monitored her correspondence knew about her affair with Brandon. Perhaps the odd remark had planted the seed of doubt in her mother’s head.
Or maybe the “old friend” who’d visited was Brandon. Had he asked about her? Had he told her mother they’d had unprotected sex?
How embarrassing.
Cheeks flaming, she folded the letter and put it back inside the envelope. She didn’t need to see a doctor about cramps. She’d had two regular periods since arriving in Kansas and she definitely wasn’t pregnant.
For the next hour, she paced the living room, her thoughts racing. If Brandon had tracked down her mother, and come by in person to ask about her, he still cared. He was “very despondent.”
She hadn’t wanted to believe him when he said he loved her. She hadn’t wanted to love him back, either. In the hotel room, she’d been wrapped up in the moment, high on pleasure. She’d loved everything about his performance in bed. She’d loved the way he touched her, the way he made her feel.
After their mile-high bathroom break, which was hot and needy and unromantic, she finally realized she was in love with him.
She hadn’t been convinced that he returned the sentiment. Until now.
Curling up on the couch, she wrapped her arms around her body, which ached with emptiness.
After a long session of feeling sorry for herself, she leaped to her feet. Flipping open her cell phone, she called Deputy Marshal Shannon Peters, the woman who’d been assigned to protect her.
“I want out of the program,” she said without preamble.
“It’s totally normal to have difficulty adjusting in the first few months, Isabel. Tell me how you’re feeling.”
She gritted her teeth. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“You’d rather risk your mother’s life?”
The Doctor's Guardian & Tempted By His Target Page 34
