Page 33 of Guarded from Treachery

Still. Leaving the apartment with Matt? Having some time to feel almost normal?

“Could we get ice cream?” I blurt out. “There’s this place a couple miles away, they have mini golf and the best homemade ice cream. I haven’t been in ages, but it’s my favorite. Do you think that would be okay?”

Wait. Is he going to come with me? Or will he stay back while Erik and Rhiannon escort me?

But before I can contemplate asking, Matt answers my unspoken question. With a smile, he says, “That sounds perfect. I love ice cream.”

It still slips out. “So you’re coming with me?”

A beat passes. Then he squeezes my hand. His gaze meets mine. “I was thinking I would. Unless you’d rather Erik and Rhi?—”

“No, I want you to come.” Heat suffuses my cheeks. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Isla.” His voice is so gentle my heart aches from it. “Iabsolutelydon’t mind. And I’d like nothing more than to get ice cream with you.”

8

MATT

“Did Isla mention if she was calling out of work today?”

Pausing midway through my third round of pushups, I jump to my feet and look over at Erik. He’s standing by the window with a travel mug of coffee in hand, his posture at ease, but there’s still an alertness about him as he scans the parking lot outside.

“She didn’t say anything to me,” I reply. “Why?”

But as I glance at my phone, I realize the answer before he has a chance to explain.

It’s seven-thirty, which is ten minutes past the time Isla usually leaves for work, and one of the many things I’ve learned about her in the week we’ve been here is she’sneverlate. “Punctuality is one of the things that was drilled into me,” she told me the other day. “Always,alwaysbe on time. It’s one of the few helpful things my parents taught me.”

Having spent over twenty years in the military, that’s one value I definitely appreciate.

Although, knowing how shitty Isla’s parents were to her, I have a hard time thinking ofanythingthey’ve done as positive. The more I’ve gotten to know Isla, the more clear it’s become that everything she’s accomplished has been completely on her own—her degree in business from the University of New Hampshire, on a full scholarship, no less, her success as an estate manager, and an independent life thousands of miles away from her family.

Isla wouldn’t just skip work. And she wouldn’t show up late. Not unless there’s a damn good reason for it.

Erik turns away from the window to face me, concern tightening his features. “She’s usually ready to leave by now. Not that I’d blame her for being late, given everything going on, but?—”

“But she’s never late,” I finish. And I curse myself for not noticing until now.

But I got up extra early this morning, finally giving up on sleep after a series of nightmares, and I thought the best way to get my mind off them was to jump straight into a workout. So I’ve been running through a modified training session in Isla’s living room, sweating through hundreds of situps and pushups and dozens of reps with the free weights Erik brought from Blade and Arrow.

“Not since we got here, at least,” Erik agrees. “I mean, it’s possible she forgot to tell us. Maybe she decided to schedule a doctor’s appointment and took the morning off.”

It’s possible. But my gut disagrees.

I glance down the hall at Isla’s bedroom door, left about a third of the way ajar. I hate having to ask her to keep it open at night, but I’m just not willing to risk her safety. From here I can tell the bed is empty, the comforter neatly smoothed across it. The blinds are partially opened, letting slivers of sun creep across the floor.

But no Isla.

Worry constricts my chest. “I didn’t hear anything. Did you?”

“No.” Erik frowns. “Well, I heard her alarm going off,” he amends. “But that was a while ago. And I figured she was just taking her time getting ready. But now…”

The worry shifts to fear.

Could something have happened to her?

I know the apartment is secure. With the number of alarms and cameras I installed inside and out, it would take a magician to get past them.

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