Page 43 of Graveyard Dog

“Thanks.”

Izzy waited for her to leave, then bent down and kissed Emma’s cheek.

“Mommy?” she asked, her lashes fluttering open.

“I’m going to go check on some things, sweetheart. I’ve asked the Loehrs to watch you if I don’t make it back before tonight.”

Emma frowned. “Celie says you’re lying.”

Izzy put a fist on her hip. “Celie is old and cranky.”

Emma giggled as she fell back into oblivion, her lids clearly too heavy to stay open any longer.

Izzy pulled her into a hug and kissed every inch of her face. Emma didn’t budge. Probably a good thing since Izzy’s eyes had filled to the brim with tears. After holding her as long as she dared and rocking her and squeezing her and smelling her hair, she laid Emma back on the bed and tucked the blankets around her.

She would be safe. Her sun and moon and stars would be safe. She would live a happy life if Izzy’s boss and his wife had any say in the matter. She’d already made arrangements when the strange events started happening. She knew a storm was coming; she’d just confused a thunderstorm with a hurricane.

Now to ditch the bank vault door. The only way to get out of the apartment without Michael Cavalcante knowing would be to sneak out through her window and take the fire escape to the ground. As fate would have it, that was easier said than done.

She grabbed her purse but left her phone on the dresser for Emma. It had the only pictures she possessed of Izzy and her daughter, all tucked safely in the cloud. Emma deserved to have them. And Izzy knew Michael and his team could use it to track her once he realized she was gone. Admittedly, she didn’t knowif that would be a good thing or bad. But Izzy had grown up since the last time she’d seen the man who occupied most of her nightmares. Surely, she could handle him now.

The fire escape wasn’t quite as user friendly as she’d imagined. After almost falling to her death—twice—and ripping her sweater on the stairs, Izzy finally reached the ground and ran for her car. With her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest, she hurried out of the parking lot and toward the bank address she’d looked up before leaving.

If she got out of this alive, how would she explain a bank robbery? Maybe Special Agent Carson could help her out. She seemed very at ease with Izzy’s ability. They all did. What kind of people had she gotten tangled up with?

And Michael hadn’t been wrong. He and his friends were all as hot as a field of jalapeños in a drought.

She shook her head as she turned onto St. Francis. In stressful situations, most people concentrated on the problem at hand. Izzy’s mind tended to wander. Like now, when all she could think about was Michael. Would he stay in Emma’s life? Would he protect her like he did his charge?

Izzy didn’t realize she was crying until a tear dripped from her chin and landed on her hand. She looked at the torn sleeve of her sweater, the yarn frayed at the ends. If she pulled it, would the entire thing unravel? Would she? She felt like that string. Tattered. Ragged. Impossible to mend. She’d been running for so long, the thought of it coming to an end, no matter how bad that end may be, was bizarrely welcome. Her ex was dead. Her stepfather was still insane. As long as Emma was safe, Izzy’s world would be rainbows and daisies.

Rainbows. Emma’s room definitely needed rainbows.

The sign to the bank appeared sooner than Izzy had hoped. She turned into the parking lot—the empty parking lot—and pulled to a stop, looking around. The bank was closed. Hadshe misunderstood the text? She didn’t have her phone, so she couldn’t check, but she was sure he’d sent her to Southwest Bank.

A tiny seed of panic sparked to life inside her chest. She got out and walked to the front door, just in case, only to have her arm nearly wrenched out of its socket. She stumbled into a large bush and realized he had been waiting behind it.

He pointed at a camera and shushed her with an index finger over his mouth. The sight of him weakened her resolve by about ninety-eight percent. What had she been thinking? He was everything she remembered. Sandy hair, only much less of it. Hollow face, only with many more lines. A frame so thin he looked fragile, but Izzy knew he was anything but. He was lanky, strong, and relentless. And he was Izzy’s definition of evil. A dry, dusty devil with leathery skin and no concept of fair play.

As she took him in, he did the same with her. His lips parted in a smile that reminded her of a snake’s right before it swallowed a mouse.

The second she snapped to her senses, the moment she realized this was her chance, he slapped a hand over her mouth so hard she saw stars and leveled a warning glare at her. Her knees gave way under the weight of it, and she stumbled as he dragged her from behind the bush.

He’d parked his Jeep behind the bank and pushed her in front of him, knowing that if she couldn’t make eye contact, she couldn’t mesmerize him. She couldn’t stop him. He was winning the battle before the war had even begun.

He shoved her into the SUV then went around to the driver’s side, never taking his eyes off her. The vehicle smelled like dust and old tobacco. The black seats were so worn, the yellow foam underneath showed through. Empty beer cans and crumpled fast food bags littered the floorboard at her feet. And there, on the middle console, sat a handgun. The kind with a magazine.

It was a test. No way was it loaded. Leo wasn’t that stupid, and if Izzy wanted information about the bomb, she had to play along.

When he got in, he offered her that slithering smile again and said loudly, “There’s a better piggy up the road. One that’s actually open.” He started the car and went north on Cerillos. “I can hardly believe it,” he said, his grin slicing his gaunt face in half. “If it isn’t the magpie. As I live and breathe. Bet you’re wondering how I found you, what with the new name and all.”

Izzy sat dumbfounded. He was talking like they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in ages and had tons of catching up to do. The congenial mannerisms didn’t suit him.

“My psychologist,” he practically yelled—the Jeep was loud but not loud enough to warrant the volume of his voice, “hired some private dick. The minute he found you, I knew I had to make my move.” He gestured with his hands as he spoke and, every so often, pulled at a strand of what little hair he had left.

She did that to him. She’d given him a directive their last morning together before she went to the police. It was clearly taking its toll.

“I was screwing my psychologist for years.” He pretended to elbow her with a chuckle like she was in on some joke. “She liked it that way. Me locked up. Her free as a bird to come and go as she pleased. But in her eyes, I couldn’t cheat on her, and that made me safe. Little did she know.” He laughed again, what little of his teeth were left making an appearance for the first time. “It was a co-ed hospital, for Christ’s sake. How moronic could she be?” He narrowly avoided another car’s front end as he changed lanes. The driver honked, but he didn’t seem to care.

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