Page 98 of Guarded from Treachery

How? Why?

I reach for my phone again, feeling like I’m moving through quicksand. My pulse is deafening. My lungs don’t want to work.

Where is she?

I thought I knew fear. But this?—

Horrible scenarios fly through my head, each one worse than the last. Someone forcing all the people in the shop into the back and holding them hostage. Possibly picking them off one by one. Or—oh, please, no—my Isla hurt. Bleeding. Even?—

No.

I can’t lose her. I can’t.

On a whispered prayer, I look at the screen.

Isla is still here.

Not in the shop, but somewhere out back.

Her dot’s still blinking madly. But it’s no proof she’s okay.

Forget subtlety, I flat-out sprint around the building, terror pushing me faster than I’ve ever run before.

Sig in hand, I hold it at the ready, my finger tensed on the trigger and ready to fire. All my muscles are poised to attack.

As I race around the side of the one-story brick building, I ruthlessly shove my fears down. Now is time for focus and strategy. For using the same logic I do in my investigations. For leaning on the skills I’ve mastered over so many years.

Whatever happens, I can’t let my emotions take control.

Isla needs me calm. Poised. Ready to do whatever it takes to help her.

Just before I round the back corner, I hear the rise and fall of excited voices.

Not celebratory voices, but not frightened, either.

Then.

My phone rings.

Answer it or keep running?

Isla’s name splashes across the screen.

Nothing makes sense.

I punch the answer button as I fly around the corner. “Isla!” I shout. “Where?—”

“I’m here.” It’s soft. Shaky. “Right here, Matt.”

For a second, I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

At least a dozen people are crowded in a loose circle at the rear of the shop. Most of them are women, with a few taller male heads spread among them.

And then through the circle Isla emerges.

Her clothes rumpled but unstained. Hair falling free of the braid she had it in earlier. One hand resting across her belly, the other clutched to her chest.

But she’s not bleeding. Not limping as she walks towards me.

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