Page 45 of Twin Deception

“There you go,” she said cheerily after she gave me the number that was after mine on my mother’s emergency call list. It was my cell or this number, and that almost saddened me. That she had no one.

After I disconnected with her, I sat on the edge of the bed and dialed the number she gave me.

Three times I called, and three times I lost hope.

No one answered. No one picked up to provide me with answers. Relief and disappointment mixed and swirled within me at the lack of a reply, but I couldn’t dwell on it.

Before giving up, I dialed the last number I’d found for my father, back when I was going through with the process of cutting ties with him.

Again, nothing.

I sighed, leaning back and closing my eyes at the headache that threatened to build stronger.

I had no answers. Worry gripped me, knotting my stomach. All my muscles ached with the systematic stress that I couldn’t release. After that mind-blowing orgasm on the beach with Miguel, I should’ve been so sated and happy. Relieved and relaxed. I felt neither.

Closing my eyes, I tried to tune out the negativity and not let myself be obsessed with worry.

Confused and overwhelmed, I kept my eyes closed and tried to slow my breath, to force myself to be calmer, because maybethen, I could think. I could plan and scheme—anything to avoid being idle and concerned about the man who was out there trying to be my hero again.

17

MIGUEL

Isabel ran. Just like she had when I’d found her out on the beach, she sprinted over the sand.

Always running.

Always escaping.

Once more, I was treated to her backside as she fled. From me. But she did so under my instructions now.

Whipping my head back and forth, I watched her as she hurried along the retaining wall along the beach. My goal was to cover her as far as I could, but even that was a crappy, hopeless idea. Someone was prepared to take her out with a sniper. Standing on the ground near her, I would be no help if a bullet were to come from above and afar.

Still, I had to stay close as she retreated, physically blocking her the best I could.

As soon as she was gone, running too far ahead, I kept my face trained in the other direction. Scanning the beach, I saw no one who could be alerting a shooter in the distance. And searchingthe line of businesses from where those shots had come from, only one structure was a possibility.

Analyzing the angle and calculating precisely where a sniper would have been set up indicated that there was a single tall building that could have been used.

Narrowing my eyes at the office building that stood out among the others, I ran out into the dissipating rain and planned to assess what I could learn.

The shooter wouldn’t be there. I didn’t have a single doubt about that. By the time it’d take me to run along the street that was half trees and park area and half low buildings, the shooter would have had more than enough opportunity to pack up their gun and scope to leave.

Through their eyepiece, they would’ve seen how we’d taken cover. They had to have watched how Isabel got away. And I bet they would have seen me running in their direction.

Still, I had to try. I needed answers with such an intensity that I felt like my brain would explode. I was sick of this confusion, tired of this feeling that I was missing something critical about what should’ve been so simple. One last job. One minor target. Already, those two conditions had been blown up beyond my control. Isabel wasn’t one last job. She was the job I feared I’d fail to complete. She wasn’t one minor target like many others. She was the woman I wanted to protect and keep safe from whatever dangers had been set on her shoulders.

Ten minutes later, I skidded to a stop at the building I was certain the shooter had taken his shot from. Graffiti coated the surface of the exterior wall. Busted windows and cracked-off doors and shutters gave it a more depressing appearance. It wasa rundown, piece-of-shit building that wasn’t good for anything but squatters and vermin.

And snipers.

I heaved in a deep breath, ignoring the small gathering of hookers and druggies at the corner. They moved to music, butchering what was supposed to be a version of jingle bells. Their laughter wafted over to me, mixed in with the sweetly pungent stink of their weed. Ignoring both, keeping a steady look on my surroundings, I entered the building, gun in my hand and ready to use.

The second I entered, I knew he was gone. No one was here, not even the homeless and hopeless who might often call this a sanctuary. Now that the rain had stopped, they’d moved back out into the fresh, still muggy air, but air that was breezier and cooler after that storm.

Sprinting up the stairs, taking them two at a time, I checked the whole building. Every floor, each room, and all the stairwells.

No one was running out with a rifle. They were gone. No loitering bums were hanging out to tell me anything, either. I checked it all, knowing with every step I took that the odds were low that I’d find anything.

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