Page 28 of Guarded from Treachery

Isla’s gaze softens. “I think that sounds fun. I triedMinecrafton my phone and it seemed interesting, but it was kind of hard to do much with it.”

“Oh, playing on a PC is much better. Bigger screen of course, and more options to customize the playing experience. If you want to see, I can show you?—”

Shit. Why in the world would Isla care about my video games right now?

“That would be really nice, Matt.” Leaning forward, she rests her hands on the table. “With everything so messed up… I’m trying not to totally panic. But it’s hard.”

“Of course it is.”

“So I wouldn’t mind something else to distract me. And if you don’t mind showing me how to play…”

“Of course not. I could take you through the basics while we wait for Erik to get here.”

A smile curves her lips. “That would be great.” A beat, and then, “You asked me what I like to do in my spare time. I like to read mysteries, and sometimes I watch HGTV or Discovery before bed. But what I really like to do is build models.”

My voice pitches up with surprise. “Models? Like ships and trains?”

“No. Like little houses. Rooms. You can buy these sets to make miniature replicas of bookstores and libraries and greenhouses—stuff like that.” She gestures at a bookshelf across the room. “I have some of them over there. But this place is a lot smaller than where I used to live, so I have to keep most of them boxed up in the closet.”

“Oh, wow.” I noticed the little rooms on the shelf earlier, but I had no idea Isla made them. “Those are amazing.”

“Thanks. I know it’s not a cool hobby, like rock climbing or hiking, but I like it.”

I snort with laughter. “Like playing video games is cool? I’m forty, Isla. Most people think I’m decades too old for playing them, let alone collecting.”

Her eyes light with interest. “Collecting?”

Previous times I’ve shared this kind of stuff with anyone aside from my teammates and their partners, I’ve received humoring looks or outright disbelief. Like the woman I went on one date with six months ago, whose response when I told her was,“But you look so normal.”

But I don’t get the feeling Isla will react the same way. “I collect vintage video games. Mostly from the eighties and nineties. That’s actually why I was outside your office building that day. Our job in Dallas was done, and I wanted to check out a video game store that was nearby. So I was cutting through the parking lot to get there, and that’s when I saw you.”

There’s a long silence, long enough for me to worry I screwed things up. We were having a nice conversation, and I managed to swing it back around to one of Isla’s traumatic experiences.

But before I can apologize, she asks, “Did you ever get to go there? To the store?”

“No. I was on the way.” As her forehead creases, I reach across the table and lightly touch her hand. “But I don’t care about the store. Or the games. I’m just glad I was there when you needed me.”

Isla looks at me with those brilliant amethyst eyes, emotion swimming within. “I’m glad you were there, too.” Her fingers brush mine. “And I’m really glad you’re here now.”

My heart rolls over. Squeezes.

No. She’s a client. I have no business thinking about her any other way.

But I’m still damn glad she called me.

7

ISLA

Lately, it feels like I’m living in parallel realities.

In one, I do all the normal things.

I go to work, make small talk with my coworkers, and immerse myself in the minutia of managing my boss’s schedule. Afterwards, I come home and settle into my typical evening activities—yoga, walking on my treadmill, cleaning the apartment, and figuring out something quick but healthy for dinner. Once it’s nighttime, I might text Rory or watch a house flipping show on Discovery or fuss with my newest kit, a tiny rendition of a bakery complete with teeny cupcakes and miniature eclairs.

In that reality, I can almost forget how absolutely screwed up my life is.

In the other reality, the Lifetime-movie-on-speed one, I still have a hard time believing it’s real.

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