Page 6 of Guarded from Treachery

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Okay. Do you work here?” A beat, and then, “Obviously you do. Why am I asking? Let’s get you inside and I’ll call the police. Give them his description. And get you checked out. Alright?”

I nod at him wordlessly.

As the shock sets in, my body starts shaking. My legs go all wobbly and I have to clutch the nearest car so they don’t collapse beneath me.

He stares at me for a second, his face pinched with worry. “Can I help you inside? If you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t. But it might be faster.”

Speak. Talk to him. Thank him, at least.

“Yes,” I finally manage to croak out. “If you’d help. That would…”

“Of course.” And he slips his arm—a very muscular arm, I can’t help noticing even in this moment of insanity—around my waist, drawing me against his side. “Let me know if anything hurts. I can carry you inside if walking is too much.”

I lean against him, looping my arm around his. “I can walk. But?—”

“Yes?” He looks down at me, meeting my gaze.

A frisson of something moves between us.

My stomach jumps. But for a different reason than before.

“I’m Isla. Nightingale. And you’re…”

“Oh.” A glimmer of a smile touches his lips. The tips of his ears go pink. “I’m Matthew Cross. But you can just call me Matt. All my friends do.”

Amid the craziness, something inside me settles. “It’s nice to meet you, Matt. And thank you.”

2

MATT

Iwonder if she’s okay.

Even though logically I know it’s not my concern, that doesn’t stop me from wondering.

Physically, I’m fairly sure she is.

At least, Isla hasn’t been admitted to any hospitals in the Dallas area, and there haven’t been any new police reports involving her name. When I hacked into the Dallas PD records, there was just the attack from two weeks ago, still open and with little progress made.

It’s discouraging, but not surprising. After all, there were no security cameras in the parking lot, and the description Isla and I gave of the assailant wasn’t nearly enough to identify him. If only I’d seen a distinguishing mark—a tattoo or a birthmark or a noticeable scar—the police might have better luck. Instead, they have a list of characteristics that could apply to any one of a thousand men in the city: approximately six foot three, two hundred pounds, light brown hair, a large nose, and muddy brown eyes.

Could I recognize the man if I saw him again? Yes. But that’s not particularly helpful considering I live just outside San Antonio, over four hours away from Dallas. And I don’t exactly get out much; aside from work I stick close to home, hanging out with my friends at the Blade and Arrow ranch or the little country bar in neighboring Seguin.

I’m pretty pissed at myself, really. With all my experience, I should have been more observant. I should have cataloged enough details for a sketch artist to create an accurate rendition.

Better yet, I shouldn’t have let him get away.

I could have caught him, had I been willing to leave Isla alone. But how could I? Not only did she look absolutely terrified, and for good reason, but I didn’t know if an accomplice was lurking nearby, ready to jump in at the first opportunity.

So I stayed with her and watched as that chickenshit asshole took off, apparently brave enough to take on a woman half his size, but far too afraid to face me.

He was right to be afraid, though. Despite us being about the same size, I’m certain his skills couldn’t compare to mine. After more than two decades in the Army, much of it spent as a Green Beret, there aren’t many people who could beat me in hand-to-hand combat. Or any sort of combat, really.

If only I’d punched him a little harder, I would have knocked him out. But with Isla so close to him, I held back my blow, worried he’d move at the last second and I’d hurt her instead. But if I had knocked him out, I could have restrained himandstayed with Isla, and the case would be solved. She wouldn’t have to worry if that man would come after her again.

Which is one of the reasons I can’t stop thinking about her.

I keep wondering if she’s scared. If she’s lying awake listening for suspicious sounds in the night. If wherever she lives has adequate security. If she’s taking the right precautions to be safe.

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