Page 20 of Guarded from Treachery

5

ISLA

All I have to do is make it from my car to my apartment.

It’s not far, maybe fifty feet or so, close enough that I can see the little numbers above my front door and a small package on the step in front of it.

On a normal day, it might take a minute to cross the distance from the first row of parking spaces and down the little path to my apartment building. Just a quick trip, one I wouldn’t have given a thought to a month ago.

When I found this apartment, I couldn’t believe my luck. An end unit, with my own private entrance and a cute little front porch with enough room for some decorative plants and a cheery welcome sign set beside them. Set at the rear of the apartment complex, this building is the most private of them, with an expanse of lawn to the front and a thick brush of trees behind it.

I thought about safety, of course—as a woman living on my own, it would be foolish if I didn’t. But Ithoughtthe property seemed safe.

As I toured the complex, I was reassured by the well-lit parking lots and the neatly-kept paths lined with little lights set into the ground alongside them. I was impressed by the inclusion of several blue light boxes throughout the property, as the leasing agent bragged, “We have emergency buttons that connect directly to security, but no one has ever used them. We have an excellent safety record here.”

Back then, I believed her.

Now? I’m far from convinced.

Those lights didn’t stop someone from trying to break into my apartment. They didn’t deter cars from lurking in the row closest to my building at night. Those allegedly helpful emergency buttons weren’t much help when I was attacked getting out of my car and the man had a vise grip on my arm.

And the security guards? What a joke. As I belatedly discovered, there’s exactly one guard on duty at night, all the way across the complex in the main office building, and his default speed is set somewhere between snail and turtle. When I called security after the attack in the parking lot—thesecondone, how crazy is that?—he showed up a leisurely half hour later at my apartment and pronounced, “Well. You look okay to me.”

Lovely, right?

So given my crappy experiences thus far, I’m not terribly thrilled about leaving the relative safety of my car and exposing myself as I make the short trip to my apartment. I’ve been sitting here for over five minutes, my heart racing faster and faster, the front door seemingly getting further away by the second.

I know I need to do it. Get my keys out, my pepper spray at the ready, and just make a run for it. If I run, I should be able to make it in under thirty seconds.

But knowing and doing aren’t the same thing.

Not for the first time since I left Blade and Arrow, or even the twentieth, I wish Matt was here. If he was, I wouldn’t be scared. If Matt was here, he would walk me to my apartment, and probably check out the inside of it, too. He might even stay to install the bag of security gear he gave me, so I wouldn’t be up until daybreak trying to do it all myself.

And if Matt was here, I wouldn’t feel so alone.

Each time I called him during the drive home, his voice was a welcome comfort. He didn’t quiz me about the traffic or how long I still had to go. He didn’t sound annoyed about staying up late to answer my calls.

He was just… wonderful. Kind. Gently concerned. And he knew just the things to say to make me laugh. He told me about some of the pranks he’s pulled on his teammates, like the most recent one when he childproofed Erik’s apartment complete with doorknob covers, cabinet locks and even a special toilet lock. Or the time he recruited his teammate Dante’s fiancée, Sarah, to help hide all Dante’s clothes all over the Blade and Arrow ranch and it took almost a week to find all of it.

It was hard to be scared when I was laughing my head off, which I’m sure was Matt’s intention. And then at the end of each brief call, he’d say the same thing in his rumbly voice. “Drive safe, Isla. Call me in half an hour. Or sooner, if you need anything.”

Maybe it’s a bad idea to let myself rely on him so soon. After all, there’s no guarantee his company will help me. He could call tomorrow to let me know they’ve decided to pass, and I’ll be right back where I started.

Except worse, because now I’ve clutched onto a sliver of hope, and I’ll be even more crushed if it’s taken away.

If I’m honest with myself, it’s more Matt I’m afraid of losing. Which is crazy since he’s not mine to start with. And he won’t be, not given the screwed up situation I’m in.

What’sreallycrazy is that I’m even thinking about him that way. Inexplicably pregnant, dismissed by the police, and mysterious men coming after me? That should be more than enough to concern myself with. But in the back of my mind, there’s still a whisperedwhat if. What if somehow this all works out—how, I’m not sure—and there’s some way to explore this thing between Matt and me at the end of it.

Snorting out a laugh, I shake my head at myself. How ridiculous of a thought is that?

My gaze jumps to the clock on the dashboard and I wince. It’s after one A.M., which is hours past my usual bedtime, and I have to get up for work in less than five hours. That’s not even counting however much time it takes to set up all this security equipment, and I know I’m not going to sleep without it.

Just get out of the car and do it.

But I don’t want to.

After another few minutes of debating with myself, I grit my teeth and get ready to move. Looping my purse and the bag Matt gave me over my shoulder, I clutch the keys to my apartment in one hand and the canister of pepper spray in the other. As I get ready to open the car door, my heart pounds so hard I fear a heart attack. Cold sweat drenches my body.

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