Chapter Three

Please stop asking me if I’ve had a rough night.

I always look like this.

—Meme

“What’s going on?” Michael asked Izzy as he scooped Emma into his arms and pulled her to his chest. She’d gone limp in a matter of seconds, and Izzy was doing everything in her power to quash the panic rising in her chest.

“She’s having an allergic reaction,” she said as she tore through her purse.

“To what?” he asked.

At last. Her fingers curled around the cylinder. She brought out an EpiPen and knelt in front of Michael, her baby completely limp and covered in hives. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

Without opening her eyes, Emma nodded, the movement weak and hardly reassuring. But the Neanderthal was right. To what? She’d been eating an apple.

“Do you have peanuts in your pocket?” Izzy asked as she pushed the pen into Emma’s thigh.

Though Emma didn’t react to the needle, her airway relaxed almost instantly, just in time for her to throw up into her mouth. The fluid slipped past her swollen lips and ran down her cheek.

Izzy started to grab her, but Michael turned her over as she cleared her daughter’s mouth and wiped her face. She was like a rag doll.

“I don’t have peanuts. Where’s your car?” he asked, standing with her cradled in his arms and heading toward the door.

Izzy grabbed her keys and purse and followed. “Any kind of energy bar with peanuts in it?”

“No.” He didn’t wait for the elevator. He headed straight for the stairs and rushed down them with surprising agility, given his size.

“Have you been eating peanuts?”

He stopped just outside the building and looked for her parking space. “Is that yours? The Hyundai?”

“Yes, but if you’ve been eating peanuts, you’re only hurting her more.”

“Let me guess,” he said as she unlocked the doors. “She’s allergic to peanuts.” He opened the back door and grabbed Izzy’s arm, shoving her into the back seat.

“Yes, and—”

“No. I haven’t had any.” He looked into Emma’s face. “Her eyes are swelling up.”

Michael handed Emma to her, then pulled out the seat belt and fastened it around both of them. He took the keys out of Izzy’s hand and closed the door.

“We should call an ambulance,” she said when he jumped into the driver’s seat, hurriedly pushing it back so he wasn’t eating the steering wheel, and then started the car.

“Trust me, Killer. I’m much faster.” And he was. He cornered and switched lanes like they were on glass.

Izzy held Emma to her, checking her breathing and making sure her airway was clear, or as clear as possible, but the wheezing had her stomach twisting into Gordian knots.

“Does this happen often?” he asked.

“No. Not like this. I don’t understand. It was just an apple.”

“But she reacted right after taking a couple of bites.”

“I wash every piece of produce before putting it out, just in case. I can’t imagine how this happened.”

He had them in front of the emergency room in four minutes. It would’ve taken an ambulance longer than that just to get to them. He jumped out of the car, took Emma into his arms, and ran inside, leaving Izzy to follow once again, her heart swelling almost painfully with gratitude.

“Severe allergic reaction,” he called out to a nurse, placing Emma onto a gurney. “And she has asthma.”

The nurse checked Emma’s pupils and called for a colleague as she wheeled the gurney back to the emergency room. “How long has she been unconscious?”

“About five minutes,” Izzy said, following closely. “Her inhaler is empty. I gave her a shot with an EpiPen. It helped, but then she started vomiting and passed out.” The longer she spoke, the more her voice rose. Panic darkened the edges of her vision.

“What’s her name?”

“Emma. Emma Walsh.”

“Emma? Can open your eyes for me, sweetheart?” the nurse said loudly, getting no response. She checked Emma’s vitals and made sure her airway was clear as two other nurses and a doctor rushed over. The wheezing was better but still there.

“What’s she allergic to?” the doctor asked, checking her pupils yet again.

“Peanuts.”

“Did she eat any?”

“Of course, not,” she said. “I don’t keep them in the house.”

“Peanut butter left on a spoon?”

“Never. I don’t keep peanut products in the house at all.” What did he care at this point anyway? He needed to focus on her daughter and stop accusing her of being a bad mother. She could do that all by herself.

The doctor, looking younger than the gray at his temples suggested, ran his stethoscope over Emma’s chest and checked the meter clipped to her finger. “Let’s get her some oxygen, start an IV with Benadryl, and I need that epinephrine. Now.”

“Yes, Doctor,” an older nurse said, her every move like a well-oiled machine.

They took scissors to Emma’s shirt, the incision cutting the head off a sparkly unicorn, her tiny body startlingly fragile on the huge gurney. As an army of medical professionals worked on Emma, Michael put his hands on Izzy’s shoulders and pulled her back a little to give them room. The warmth of his palms startled her. As did the reassurance his closeness brought. She’d felt like a sparrow in a hurricane for so long, navigating a never-ending barrage of distrust and threats. She didn’t know how to take this new sensation.

At some point, a woman from administration came to get Emma’s insurance card along with Izzy’s ID, but they didn’t ask Izzy to leave her daughter’s side to fill out the paperwork just yet. For that, she was thankful.

It didn’t take long for Emma to wake up. They talked to her, speaking clearly to make sure she was responsive. Her eyes looked huge over the mask administering a breathing treatment, but she nodded her head and answered everything she could—in her British accent, of course—until she could no longer fight the weight of her lids and they drifted shut again.

The hives had disappeared, and the swelling in her face had diminished. They draped her in a pink hospital gown with rabbits on it, and a nurse covered her in a warm blanket as the doctor, almost as tall as the man at her back, pulled them aside.

“We’re going to keep her overnight for observation. Her symptoms could return, but she seems to be out of the woods.”

Izzy breathed deeply for the first time since they’d arrived. It had felt as though Emma’s condition had manifested in Izzy’s body, fighting for the air she couldn’t allow it to have.

“You don’t know how this happened?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m very careful, and she hasn’t been out of the house since yesterday. I can’t imagine.”

“Okay, well, Stacy is bringing you the papers to get her registered. But just so you know, we have to report this.”

“Report it?” Michael said, closing the distance between them to stand beside her as though readying to confront the doctor.

She patted his hand, the one on her right shoulder, to calm him. Of course, they had to report the incident. It was protocol. Izzy knew about the allergy, and Emma had been in her care when it happened. Child abuse? Neglect? They had no way of knowing that she would die for the tiny creature lying in that bed.

She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I know.”

The doctor smiled sadly. “I take it this isn’t your first rodeo.”

“It’s not,” she said, lifting her chin. Short and sweet. For now, her goal was to keep their conversation as concise as possible. The paperwork would be a nightmare. She just wanted to get through it and focus on Emma, not answer his questions on top of the plethora that awaited her.

The doctor nodded to her, then to Michael, the Neanderthal, whose hands were still on her shoulders like they belonged there, the warmth the most comforting thing she’d felt in a very long time. She’d had no one. Absolutely no one. And then he’d shown up like he owned the place—which he did—and went from hostage to confidante in a matter of hours. How was this happening?

“We’ll take her to her room now,” a nurse said. Izzy hadn’t noticed when the doctor left. “You can bring this paperwork with you.” She handed Michael at least a tree’s worth of papers secured to a bright-orange clipboard.

He accepted them.

“We’ll come get it in a bit. Take your time.”

“Is she completely out of the woods?” Michael asked her.

“Her symptoms can return even stronger hours after an initial reaction. It’s called biphasic anaphylaxis.”

“I’ll take your word for that.”

“If you notice any changes in her breathing, hives, swelling, if she complains of dizziness, anything like that, call the nurse immediately.” She and a colleague pushed the gurney down a bright hallway to an oversized elevator. She selected the third floor and added, “But we’ll be close by if you’d like to get coffee or grab some breakfast.”

“Maybe later,” he said, never taking his eyes off Emma. Izzy realized he had an arm around her shoulders, steering her down the hall.

The feeling of having someone with her, of not being utterly alone, was new. It was both unsettling and oddly comforting. She chastised herself—she had no idea who this man was—and tried to put some space between them. He let her, yet kept a hand lightly on her upper back as though knowing she needed the support. Was she so transparent?

They took Emma to a room in the pediatrics wing. It had a recliner that doubled as a bed so a parent could stay the night. The nurses flitted around Emma, getting her settled before heading out.

One of them turned back, a pretty blonde who couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of Michael. “There’s also coffee and soda right down the hall.” She pointed. “There’s usually pastries, too. And there’s always ice cream in the freezer if you need a pick-me-up.”

“Thank you,” Izzy said, wondering if the man she’d assaulted not more than five hours earlier had noticed the girl’s interest. Not that it mattered to her.

Michael pulled one of the two chairs closer to Emma’s bed and motioned for her to sit, then went around and grabbed the second one for himself. They sat on either side of Emma, facing each other, and Izzy did everything in her power to avoid eye contact. She smoothed the blanket. Checked the IV on the back of Emma’s hand. Reached over to adjust the canula under her nose and over her ears so it didn’t pull and cause soreness. Then she remembered the paperwork and stretched to grab the clipboard on the windowsill behind her when he spoke, his voice harder than she’d expected.

“She felt like feathers.”

She turned back to him, his stare accusatory.

“She weighs nothing. Why is she so thin?”

Izzy couldn’t help the emotions his questions stirred inside her. He knew nothing about them, yet his words sank into her chest like a knife. It tightened, and her bottom lip trembled. She pulled it between her teeth to stop it. He had no idea what they’d been through. How dare he accuse her of…what? Abuse? Neglect?

Then she looked at Emma. The tiny being that made her life worth living. Emma had never let their circumstances crush her spirit. She was Izzy’s light. Her sun. Her reason for living. Now, she understood how a mother could give up her life to save her child. She would do that very thing a thousand times if that’s what it took to keep her daughter safe.

“Izzy,” Michael prompted.

She shook out of her thoughts but didn’t dare look at him. She didn’t think she could take any more accusations, and this was not the time or place to launch into defense mode. So, she simply said, “She’s five.”

He didn’t buy it. “I know what a five-year-old girl weighs.”

Surprised, she looked up at him and made a disgusted face to try to throw him off course. “That doesn’t sound creepy at all.”

His expression flatlined. “My charge was five years old.”

Wonderful. A change in direction. She’d take it. “Your charge?”

“The daughter of two of my best friends. I’m part of her security team.”

“Security? That’s your job?”

“One of them. As I was saying—”

“Wait, she was five years old? How old is she now?”

He narrowed his eyes on her, probably figuring out her game. “Fourteen. Ish. But she was five not that long ago.”

Izzy frowned. “She was five nine years ago.”

He drew in a deep breath and went back to watching Emma like a wolf watches its prey, not waiting for the symptoms to return but hunting them down before they dared show themselves. “It’s a long story,” he said, his voice soft, his expression contemplative. “Suffice it to say I know what a five-year-old with more attitude than a runway model in Gucci weighs.” She smiled at his startlingly accurate description of her daughter, until he added, “So, what’s her story?”

How could she explain the complexities of their lives without giving away the truth? “We haven’t always had an easy life.”

After a long moment, he looked back at her, his gaze somber, and she realized how incredibly handsome he was. Eyes like sunshine on the Mediterranean Sea, so blue they were startling. A nose almost imperceptibly crooked, much like the smile he’d cast her more than once that day. And a strong, shadowed jaw that begged to be touched like the sharp side of a machete begging to be tested. All brooding charisma and rugged charm. He could handle himself in a fight. That much was clear. He had a boxer’s shoulders and a perceptive nature—almost wary, from what she’d seen so far.

But those types of people tended to lean toward violence to solve their problems. Just like her ex. Then again, he didn’t have the calmness this guy had. Like a hand grenade, powerful and explosive, sitting quietly, biding its time until all else failed and power was needed. He may have been a member of the infamous Bandits, but he was probably one of the more levelheaded of the bunch. Did that make him less dangerous? Or more?

“Why?” he asked, his tone gentle but stern.

“Why?”

“Why hasn’t your life been easy?”

“In a word?”

He lifted one of those boxer’s shoulders. “Sure.”

“Men.”

That crooked smile emerged, one corner of his shapely mouth rising, and she steeled her heart. She and Emma did not need a man in their lives. Never again.

“Care to elaborate?”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Cupcake ,” she said, referencing his earlier use of the colloquialism, “but I don’t owe you anything.”

He reached up and rubbed his temple. The one that had darkened from the trauma it’d received.

What had she been thinking? She hadn’t. Plain and simple. She’d gotten a knock at two in the morning. Nobody thought well at two in the morning. Both her brain and body had reverted to their most basic survival mechanism: sheer panic. Maybe because of all the strange things that had been happening to her over the past couple of weeks. She’d been on edge, a razor-sharp one, and it wasn’t helping her stress levels.

She dropped her gaze and took Emma’s hand. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I deserve a lot worse than a frying pan to the skull.”

“Yeah?” Her gaze met his again. “What have you done?”

“What haven’t I done?” he said with a comical snort. “But, back to the topic at hand…”

She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. There are some things I can’t talk about.”

“I could always file assault charges.”

By now, she knew that particular threat was just that. A threat and nothing more. His reaction when the doctor said he had to report the incident told her everything she needed to know. He didn’t like the authorities, in any way, shape, or form. She would use that to her advantage.

“And I could always report your building for code violations.”

He’d been leaning forward against the bed, his elbows resting beside Emma, but he shot straight up at her words, a look of utter dismay on his face. She had to fight tooth and nail not to giggle. He really was too easy.

“What code violations? I’ve been really careful. Some would even say meticulous.”

She lifted a single brow and gave him a judgmental once-over. “Not careful enough, I guess.”

“Mommy,” Emma said, her voice hoarse.

“Emma!” Izzy threw an arm over her daughter and leaned closer.

Emma’s lips were chapped, her face had grown ashen, and when she finally pried them open, her eyes were watery and lined in red.

A sharp pang of regret rocketed through her. She pushed the curls back from Emma’s face. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

She placed a hand on one of Izzy’s that cupped her face. Izzy grabbed hold of it and brought it to her mouth, kissing each tiny knuckle over and over.

“I told you. He’s made of light. We can trust him. Even Celie says so, and she doesn’t even like him.”

“Celie?” Michael asked. He stood and looked down at the two of them, relief softening his strong features.

Izzy ignored him and turned back to her daughter. “Then how did he—?” She stopped and glanced at him once more before lowering her voice and leaning closer. “How did he…you know, do what he did?”

Emma frowned and eyed him through squinted lids. “I don’t know, Mommy. You should tie him up and torture him for information.”

“I’m game,” he said.

Izzy rolled her eyes, but the little miscreant in the bed just giggled. Then coughed. Her chest sounded like gravel, and she struggled to take a deep breath.

They both pulled her into a sitting position, and Michael rubbed her back while Izzy poured her a cup of water. After a quick sip, Emma calmed down and lay back in the bed.

“Is this normal?” he asked Izzy. “Should we call the nurse?”

Emma shook her head and said between coughs, “It’s okay. They’re very busy.”

“Hey.” He took her chin between his thumb and index finger and turned her face toward him. “Not too busy for you, kiddo. Never too busy for you.”

His words surprised Izzy yet again. How could he be so caring toward a girl he’d only known a couple of hours? Her brain could not reconcile the man who’d once been a biker in a notoriously violent motorcycle club with the gentle giant sitting across from her now. It just didn’t compute.

The young nurse came into the room, pushing a wheelchair. “Looks like I’m just in time,” she said, her gaze darting from Emma to Michael.

He didn’t seem to notice.

Izzy rose to her feet. “Where are you taking her?”

“The doctor would like an X-ray of her chest for precautionary measures,” she said. To Michael, completely ignoring the woman who’d been in labor for twenty-four hours just to bring the patient into the world.

Izzy convinced her eyes not to roll back too far lest she look possessed. “Okay.” She nodded her approval and lifted Emma out of the bed. “She’s been coughing.”

“We’ll get another breathing treatment ready.”

“Thank you.” Michael helped her put Emma in the wheelchair before folding a blanket and draping it over her bare legs.

“You good, Squirt?”

She nodded and gave him a thumbs-up before coughing into her hand again.

“I should go with her, don’t you think?” Izzy said.

“This’ll just take a minute. I’ll have her back in a jiff.”

The nurse smiled sweetly at Michael and started to leave, but Izzy didn’t like the girl’s answer, even though she had no reason to argue. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to their already precarious situation, but her anxiety took hold, so she made a decision. One that might look strange to the unindoctrinated, but better safe than sorry.

She hurried to hold the door as the nurse pushed the chair over the threshold, but before they got far, Izzy put a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

The nurse turned to her, confused.

Just the opening she needed. She locked gazes with her, lowered her voice, and said, “Be still.”

The nurse stilled instantly, her face going slack.

“You will not take your eyes off my daughter, even for a second, until you have brought her back to me safe and sound. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the girl said, her eyes watering due to her inability to blink. “Completely.”

“That will be all,” Izzy said.

The nurse blinked back to reality, nodded hesitantly, then pushed the wheelchair toward the elevators, offering one last glance over her shoulder before pressing the button.

“That was interesting.”

Izzy jumped two feet into the air. The Neanderthal had walked up behind her and had seen the whole exchange.

“What?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could manage.

“You do that a lot. Give people strange orders and expect them to follow them.”

She scoffed and walked back into the room to get her purse. She sat to send a text, letting her boss know she wouldn’t be in, and then scrolled through the phone to call Emma’s school to report her absence. Emma had only just started there three weeks ago. She hated that she had to miss already, but it was Friday, and they were letting the kids out early for in-service, so she shouldn’t miss much.

But she’d only started her job at the diner three weeks ago. She could be fired for this. Her stomach churned at the thought. She could always order her boss to reinstate her, but she hated doing that. It was unfair, and who knew what it did to their brains? She tried to only use her ability in emergency situations. Like with the nurse. Desperate times and all.

Also, she liked the owner. He and his wife had practically saved her life. She would never be able to repay them.

“It would seem we have a little time on our hands,” the Neanderthal said, taking his seat on the other side of the bed. “Maybe we could pick up where we left off.”

“You and I both know you won’t call the cops.”

“No, but I could always call my old buddy Ross Dunsworth.”

Izzy sucked in a soft breath. The threat did exactly what the man wanted it to, and it told her all she needed to know about him. “I knew I should never have trusted you.”

He shrugged. “Live and learn. Now, spill.”

A sting behind her eyes had her fighting tears of frustration. The threat may have seemed unremarkable to the Neanderthal, but she had been running for her life—for Emma’s life—for six years. There was nothing unremarkable about Ross Dunsworth. The man was ruthless. He would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, and he wanted nothing more than Izzy’s head on a platter. Along with the rest of her. Because how else would she be useful to him?

And Emma. Oh, how he would use her to his advantage, just like he had with Izzy’s sister. She would die before she put Emma into such a precarious situation, and Izzy knew exactly what to do with her precious daughter should it come to that. She already had people picked out to raise her. They were an older couple, so gentle and kind, and they loved Emma like their own daughter.

But she would avoid that situation if she could, and that meant dealing with Michael. She didn’t want to run again. She had a sweet setup in Santa Fe, but she could waitress at any diner in the country. Jobs weren’t the problem. Making enough money for food and shelter was.

She welded her teeth together in resignation and swallowed hard before starting. This man could be the death of her. One phone call, and the fragile world she’d built would come tumbling down around her. Her hands shook ever-so-slightly, and she laced her fingers together to stop it before raising her chin as defiantly as she could. “Just so you know, I will never be controlled again.”

He lifted a single brow. “I would hope not.”

“I’m very smart.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And I’m not afraid to hurt anyone who tries to take advantage of me or my daughter.”

“Good.”

She let a bitter smile steal across her face. “You’ll change your mind once you know the truth. Greed gets the better of even the strongest men.”

He leaned closer, staring at her from over the bed as he softly said, “You don’t know me very well, Killer, so I’ll let that slide.”

Surprised by his offense, she tried to figure him out. No one in her entire life, not one person, had ever been immune to her ability. But this man with his cerulean eyes and ridiculously wide shoulders was. She had never seen anything like it. And now he was about to find out the truth. A man she had no control over would know her secret.

Every bone in her body screamed for her to run. To get Emma, leave all their possessions behind, and just go. But her daughter had said she could trust him, and Emma had never been wrong. She’d even saved their lives once with that nifty trick of hers. She had the ability to assess someone’s mettle in a matter of seconds. She could see anger, grief, jealousy, and happiness from a mile away. She was extraordinary, and Izzy would never let anyone use her like she had been used. Their gifts couldn’t be more different, yet they could both be used to do horrible things. But Emma trusted this man. Seemed to adore him. And that was very rare.

Still, her bones were screaming, the muscles around them straining for her to get up. To run. To hunt down Emma and disappear like she’d done so many times before.

Maybe it was worth one more shot. What could it hurt, after all? She had to try. For Emma, she needed to try.

She leaned close to him, as well, and concentrated as hard as she could on the man before her. “You will forget me and my daughter in fifteen seconds.”

“This again?” he asked, seemingly disappointed.

“You will get up immediately and walk out of this hospital.”

“I don’t think so, Cupcake.” He blinked. He didn’t get up and walk out, he blinked.

Damn it. She couldn’t give up now. “You will forget everything that has happened today.”

“I don’t know if you know this, but being tased is rather unforgettable.”

“And you will…” She huffed out a breath of defeat. “Why are you not leaving?”

“No way can I leave now. This is just getting good.”

“Who are you?” she asked as though he could tell her why he was immune to her ability.

He reached a hand over the bed for her to shake. “Cavalcante. Michael Cavalcante. Though growing up, my friends called me GD.”

She ignored his hand. “GD?” she asked, remembering the tattoo on the inside of his forearm with the letters GD inside a pair of salivating canine teeth, the dog behind them a Rottweiler. A mercurial moment of déjà vu flitted across her mind, like trying to grab a handful of fog and having it slip through her fingers.

He shrugged and folded his arms over his chest. “Long story. How about we get back to our regularly scheduled program?”

She gave up. She had no choice. It wasn’t like telling him the truth would change anything. He wouldn’t believe her. They never did. At first. It was only after they began to believe her that the trouble started, and she had no intention of proving herself. Basically, she was making a mountain out of a molehill. A deadly, cancerous molehill.

She drew in a deep breath and said, “I’ve done terrible things.”

“Who hasn’t? Keep going.”

“No, really. I’ve hurt people.”

“Sounds like you didn’t have much of a choice if someone was controlling you.”

She dropped her gaze to study her scuffed boots. “That doesn’t excuse everything.”

“How about you explain, and I’ll give you my two cents? If you want them. But don’t spend them all in one place,” he added, warning her with an index finger.

He was impossible. All charm and charisma. She didn’t owe him anything, but she decided to give him a heads-up nonetheless. “You won’t like it.”

“I never liked eating vegetables either, but what can you do?”

Or maybe he would. Fine. He wanted the truth? He would get the truth. She tossed him a challenging glare and said point-blank, “I began robbing banks when I was seven.”