Page 58 of Guarded from Treachery

Erik and I lift our chins in agreement. “Affirmative.”

Dante’s hand comes up. “On three.”

Seconds later, I’m sprinting towards the guest house at the rear of the property, ducking behind groups of shrubs and small copses of trees. The only visible light comes from the scattering of stars overhead and a dim glow from the gatehouse in the distance.

I’m not worried about getting caught. But Iamworried about what we may find. Because as much as I want to find the truth, I’m scared of how it’ll hurt Isla. If we find something that proves how the pregnancy happened—right now it’s an uncertainty, but if she knows for sure…

Shit.

I’ll support her through anything. But even my strong Isla has a breaking point.

When I get to the guest house it’s exactly as Isla described. Small. Cozy. Private.

Tooprivate?

Private enough for anyone to break in and have their way?—

Fuck. No. I can’t think about that now.

Now is for laser-sharp focus and making sure I don’t miss anything.

As I pick the lock at the back door—one of the skills I learned when I joined Blade and Arrow after Cole suggested it, saying, “It’s not a requirement, Matt. I don’t advocate breaking laws in most situations. But sometimes the ends justify the means.”

I’ve never agreed more than at this moment, when Isla’s life could depend on what I find inside.

Once I have the door unlocked, I slip through it and into the darkened kitchen beyond. Thanks to Isla, I know what to expect—a small kitchen slash dining area attached to an open concept living space, with a hallway leading to two bedrooms and a bathroom just to the left.

The house smells stale, like it hasn’t been entered in weeks, but I can still catch the faint scent of Isla’s shampoo lingering. A fine layer of dust coats the dining table, and as I move further into the house, I find the same evidence of dust on the rest of the furniture.

Even in the dark, I can see why Isla liked it here. There’s a fireplace flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that would be perfect for all her little models, and a big picture window that looks out to an expanse of open yard. A gently worn couch faces the fireplace, and I can easily see Isla snuggled up there while she watches her favorite shows.

I start working my way around the living room first, peering in corners and along the top of the shelves, searching for anything out of the ordinary. But there’s nothing but more dust and a few cobwebs.

In the dining area, I repeat the same inspection. Again, nothing.

Then I move on to the kitchen, inspecting the cabinets and drawers and around the window frames. From there, I search the refrigerator, finding it empty except for a few unopened bottles of water. The freezer is just as sparse, with just the ice-trays still inside, and a small container filled with loose ice cubes.

Frustration builds as I head down the hallway to the bedrooms. Not that Iwantedto find something suspicious here, not in the house Isla spent months living in, but at least it would be something.

Though Dante could have discovered something in the main house that’s more promising. It’s possible this guest house is exactly that, just a perk to entice qualified estate managers to work here over the dozens of similar estates in the area.

Isla said it was one of the deciding factors for her when she was approached about the job. As she told me earlier today, she hadn’t been looking for a new position, but she’d kept her resume on the job placement website current just in case. But when the head of personnel contacted Isla offering free housing, a car allowance, and a salary twice what she was currently making, it seemed too good an offer to refuse.

But was the offer too good to be true?

I investigated the personnel director weeks ago and when questioned, she claimed she was just given Isla’s resume by her boss and told to bring her in for an interview. Remington explained he’d seen Isla working at a colleague’s estate, and he was extremely impressed with her skills. Since Isla’s been working in the Dallas area for years, the job offer didn’t seem unusual.

“It happens all the time,” Isla recalled when I asked her about it. “These uber wealthy guys like poaching employees from each other. It’s like a competition. And if the employee in question is a young-ish woman, somewhat attractive… it’s silly, but it’s sort of like a status symbol.”

“But he never did anything inappropriate,” she was quick to follow with. “I rarely saw him. And he definitely never asked me to do anything illegal. The job was normal. I liked it. And I felt bad when he died.”

Idon’t feel bad. Not when I still have a sneaking suspicion that this Remington guy was somehow behind this.

Although, I’m halfway through the house and still haven’t found anything. So maybe I’m wrong and it’s all a coincidence.

Or not.

As I’m making my first circuit around the larger of the bedrooms, the one Isla used to sleep in, I spot something that doesn’t fit.

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