Page 44 of Guarded from Treachery

What if she’s in danger right now, injured internally, and we get her to the hospital too late?

Shit.

And what about the stress? She’s dealing with so much already—what if this last traumatic event pushes her body over the edge? What if we arrive at the emergency room only to discover that this baby Isla’s already attached to is in danger?

She’ll blame herself. Though it’s not remotely her fault, I know Isla enough to know she’ll come up with plenty of reasons why it is—she shouldn’t have come, she should have fought back more, should have struggled less—and how if something happens to the baby, she’ll never forgive herself.

But she would be wrong. Nothing that happened was remotely her fault.

It was mine. I’m the one who was with her. Not Rhiannon or Erik. Me.

I feel so damn guilty. Every decision I made is under harsh scrutiny as I torture myself with all the ways this could have been avoided.

As I glance over at Isla huddled next to me in the backseat, another wave of intense regret washes over me.

She’s so pale, her red-rimmed eyes and chewed-raw lips the only spots of color on her face. Her neat braid is all in tangles, and her pretty pink dress is all wrinkled and has a tear on one sleeve. Her hand hasn’t left mine since we got into the car, her fingers clutching mine with a strength that belies her size.

The only comfort in all of this is Isla’s slight weight leaning against me, a constant reminder that she’s here, that those men didn’t take her away from me.

It was too close. Her captor had her only ten feet from the back exit before I stopped him. Yes, I know she’s wearing the tracking earrings, and we would have caught up before they could have gotten far, but any amount of time in their clutches was too much.

And who knows what they had in mind for her once they got her out of the building. Would they have hurt her? Done something to the baby? Or even?—

No.If I think about that, the control I’m barely hanging on to will snap. And then I won’t be a help to Isla or my teammates.

But shit.

Part of me wishes I had shot him. Not the rational part; that part knows that knocking him out was the better choice. I had my gun pressed to the back of his head; if I’d pulled the trigger it would have been horribly traumatizing for Isla. Not to mention, killing that man would have meant hours spent at the police station and possibly criminal charges.

I would have worked it out—between myself and some of my more computer-savvy friends, I’m confident any problems would be worked out, eventually. But then I wouldn’t be here with Isla, trying my best to keep her safer than I did the first time around.

If only I had done something different. Insisted on having a doctor come to Isla’s apartment instead of making the trip to the office. Pushed for an appointment that was outside regular business hours. Called Rhi to come let us into the reception area instead of choosing to take the back exit instead.

If only I’d done a better job, Isla wouldn’t be scared and hurt all over again.

“We should be at the hospital in just a few minutes.” As Erik’s voice shakes me from my self-recriminations, Isla jerks against me, her body tensing at the sudden sound.

My arm tightens around her shoulder, instinctively hugging her to my side. “It’s okay,” I murmur, feeling the exact opposite of it.

“I know,” Isla replies quietly as her eyes meet mine. “I’m fine. Just a little jumpy.”

Guilt wraps around my chest and squeezes. “I’m sorry, Isles. I wish?—”

“No.” She sits up and turns slightly to face me. Her voice firms. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Arguing about this won’t accomplish anything, so I swallow my immediate denial and instead change the subject. “Are you feeling okay? Any cramping? Pain?”

“I feel fine.” At my raised eyebrows, she amends, “My knees are a little sore. But it’s not a big deal.” She pauses, tiny wrinkles etching across her forehead before she adds in a less certain tone, “I’m not having any cramping. So that’s good, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Rhiannon answers. She twists in her seat to look back at us. “I’m not an expert in this, obviously, but I would say if you’re not having any cramping or pain by now, it’s a good sign.”

Isla gives Rhiannon a jerky nod. “I’m sure you’re right. I’m sure everything is fine.” She goes silent for a few seconds, her attention shifting to the view outside the car window. At noon on Saturday, there’s a steady stream of cars passing by us, each one bringing fresh potential of an oncoming threat.

I know we’re safe in the customized B and A vehicle, a three-row SUV that’s equipped with almost as many security features as the president’s state car. It would take a tank or a rocket launcher to cause any significant damage, and after the incident with Sarah and Dante, I even figured out a way to make the computer system unhackable.

But I still can’t help worrying. Not just about being in the car, but once we get to the hospital. Even with me, Erik, and Rhiannon accompanying Isla, she’s still not as safe as I’d like.

WhatI’dlike?

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