Chapter Seven

List of things ain’t nobody got time for.

1. That.

—Meme

It took Emma all of three minutes to fall asleep after her breathing treatment. They’d been worried. She’d just had a severe allergic reaction and an asthma attack and ended up at a fire, of all places. But her coughing had died down, and the hoarseness of her voice had softened.

Izzy tucked the blanket around her and sat back in her chair. “Do you think it’s real?”

“What?” he asked, easing back into the chair he’d borrowed from the kitchen.

“Celie.”

“Yeah, about that…” He rubbed his chin. “Emma died?”

“She lost consciousness after being pushed off the monkey bars. I just thought the breath had been knocked out of her. By the time I got to her, one of the dads was giving CPR. It was not my finest moment.”

“Why is that?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

She peeked from under her lashes and said, “I lost my shit.”

He grinned. “Understandable. Were you living here?”

“No. That happened somewhere in Tennessee,” she said, thinking back. “We’ve only been in New Mexico for about a month.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about that. How did you end up here? Santa Fe isn’t exactly cheap.”

“It’s not a very exciting story.”

“Boring is good.” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

She looked up in thought, the movement revealing the sultry curve of her neck. Michael had to shift in his chair and look away lest he embarrass himself.

“Two months ago, we were living in a tiny town in Texas when a group of Bandits came into the diner where I worked. It was fine. I just played it off as a coincidence, but they kept watching me and hung around until I had to close up. Needless to say, I got very nervous, even though the fry cook was still there cleaning up. It would’ve been twelve of them against me and one half-blind fry cook with a porn addiction.”

“What did you do?”

She shrugged. “I did what I always do. I ran. Emma was watching movies in the back room, so I picked her up, walked out the back door, and left town without even getting our things from the motel.”

“I knew you were smart.”

“Do you think so? If you knew what I’ve put Emma through, you would change your mind.”

“Doubt it.”

“I’ve dragged her all over the country. We’ve slept on streets and in cars and bathroom stalls. We’ve bathed in park fountains. We’ve eaten leftovers people offered us.”

Michael fought the urge to pull her into his arms. To swear to protect her and Emma at all costs. He couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t drag her into his world, no matter his good intentions. “I don’t understand,” he said. “You could get anything you want with a few words.”

She shook her head. “It’s not always that simple. I’ve gotten into trouble more than once. I was arrested in Mississippi for walking out of a restaurant. I’d entranced the server but not the manager. Emma was stuck in a tent outside the city with a woman I barely knew for an entire day. Who knows what that woman could’ve done.” She swallowed a sob, turning away from him to hide her face. “I’ve learned when to use my ability and when not to. Sometimes, it’s simply not worth the risk.”

“But you’re here now.”

She looked around the room, almost in awe. “I still can’t believe it. This is the most stability Emma’s ever had. An apartment. A car that doesn’t break down every couple hundred miles. It’s an exhausting way to live, running for one’s life.”

“Do you know for certain your ex is still after you?”

She nodded. “I got confirmation about a year ago. I was pulled over by a state cop in Arizona for a broken taillight. He told me there was an arrest warrant out for me in North Carolina. Ross had filed charges with one of his cop buddies, saying I’d stolen ten thousand dollars from him. But the warrant had my new name on it. Somehow, he found out what name I’d been going by. I have no idea how.”

“Did the cop arrest you?”

“No. I told him the story, and he just let me go. He was very kind. Said his sister was in a similar situation. It didn’t end well.”

“So, you had to change your name again?”

“Yes. I kept the Walsh but changed my first name to Izzabel.”

“Pretty. What’s your real name?”

She hesitated.

He raised a brow. “You don’t trust me now?”

“I mean, what if all of this is a big ruse? What if he really did send you, and that’s just how good you are at your job?”

He sat stunned at first. After everything they’d been through… Then he caught a flash of humor flitting across her face.

“Isadora. Isadora Welch.”

“That’s beautiful. And it fits.”

She ducked her head to hide a smile.

“Speaking of names,” he continued, “you didn’t happen to catch any of the bikers’ handles in Texas, did you?”

She laughed softly. “It’s not important. I panicked. I tend to do that.” She indicated his swollen temple with a nod.

“I don’t know,” he said, rubbing it. “I think the Taser was worse.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. You’re smart, tenacious, and you’ve managed to keep that girl safe for five years while on the run.”

“That’s called blind luck.”

“That’s called being a mom.”

She gazed at him with deep appreciation. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

He tipped an invisible hat. “And what brought you to Santa Fe again?”

We ended up in the parking lot of a diner on Cerrillos at two in the morning, exhausted, starving, and out of gas. The owner came out, fed us, and let us sleep in his storeroom. The next day, we met his wife. They offered me a job, and the rest is history.”

“This apartment is his son’s?”

“Yes. And the car belongs to the diner. He had me pick it out and paid cash for it right on the spot. He said he wanted to start doing deliveries, but we haven’t implemented that yet, so he’s letting me drive it for now.”

Michael didn’t have the heart to tell her that delivery drivers used their own vehicles. Did the restaurant owner buy her a car outright? “Okay, but why orange?”

“What?”

“The car. It’s orange.”

“And?”

“Like really orange.”

“It’s Soultronic Orange.”

“Sooo, it’s orange.”

“No, it’s Soultronic Orange.” She leaned closer and drew out the syllables. “Sooooultronic.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I have no idea. But it sounded cool at the time.”

She had him there.

His phone dinged. He checked it. “My friend Donovan is almost here. He also has a Bandits tattoo. In case you’re wondering, we aren’t in the life anymore. Though we’re thinking about starting a new motorcycle club called the Jalape?os.”

She snorted. “You’re going to name your motorcycle gang—”

“Club.”

“—after a chili pepper?”

“Yeah, but it’s a really hot one. And, I don’t want to brag, but my friends and I are pretty hot.”

The look on her face was worth the ridiculousness of his statement. Anything to get her to smile. Or, well, half-smile and half-grimace. Either way.

A soft knock sounded on the door. Special Agent Carson peeked inside. “Can I see you two for a minute?”

Izzy stood and checked Emma’s breathing and temperature before kissing her forehead and following Michael out. With Emma’s curly hair splayed on the pillow, and her eyes closed, she looked like a doll. Then again, so did her mother. She didn’t look real. She looked like an artist’s rendition of perfection. Surreal. Striking. Unattainable. Her features were so unusual they could be considered otherworldly.

He stopped short in front of her, and she looked up, paying special attention to his shoulders. “I don’t remember a bank vault door here.”

“Sorry,” he said, holding the door for her.

Carson motioned them into the kitchen. She had brought in a whole team. They were checking Izzy’s apartment like it was a bona fide crime scene. Fingerprint analysis. DNA analysis. Threat analysis. Michael had no idea it would become such a big deal, but he was grateful.

Carson pointed to the broken handle from that morning. “I don’t know what happened with the oven door, but we took fingerprints just in case.”

Izzy choked on air and ended up coughing for several seconds. “No,” she said between coughs. “That’s been broken for a while. It just falls off every so often.”

“Yeah, I keep meaning to fix that,” Michael said, toeing it with his boot.

Izzy nodded her confirmation. “He’s just been so busy, what with…busy season and all.”

Michael elbowed her softly. She coughed again.

“Okay, then.” Carson turned and surveyed the forensics team. “They’ll need your fingerprints to exclude you from the investigation, but there’s a lot going on here.”

“A lot?” Izzy asked, her voice an octave higher than usual.

Carson turned back to them. “Would you two like to sit down?”

Damn it. This was going to be worse than he imagined.

“Sit down?” Izzy asked.

Michael led her to the small kitchen table, easing her around an agent taking photos of a boot print. Probably his.

Carson sat, as well. “Ms. Walsh, you said your ex doesn’t know anything about your daughter?”

The shrug she offered was born of helplessness, a situation she couldn’t fathom. Michael didn’t like it. “I didn’t think so,” she said, her mind racing to figure out what was going on. “I had no idea he’d found me. Us. But none of this seems like something Ross would do. He’s just not that…meticulous.”

“Meticulous is the right word.” Carson pointed to an evidence bag filled with apples. “For starters, your fruit and a couple of other items in your refrigerator have been covered with peanut oil. I take it the strawberry milk is Emma’s?”

Izzy nodded and paled before Michael’s eyes. Her chest began to rise and fall with quick, shallow gasps. Her dusky irises shimmered with unspent tears.

“Do you have an allergy, as well?”

“No,” she said, dumbfounded. She glanced around the room, surely wondering what else he’d tampered with. “Not at all. Why? Why would he do this? Is he trying to kill my daughter?”

“Maybe not,” Michael said. “Remember, he had someone waiting at the hospital. Maybe his plan was to abduct her after all.”

She looked at him, her gaze filled with realization. “That makes sense. If he found out about her, he would try to use her to control me. It’s his MO.”

“We’ve checked most things in the kitchen, but I would throw out anything that can be tampered with. Though it does seem he only targeted perishables. He probably wanted this to happen fairly quickly.” Carson looked at Michael. “That means he’s been nearby, keeping watch, waiting for his opportunity.”

Michael couldn’t agree more. “Can you check the cameras in the area?”

“Already on it,” Carson said. “But I’ll expand the radius. Check convenience stores and the like.”

“Thanks.” He turned back to Izzy just as a knock sounded at the door.

One of the agents opened it, then held out his arms to block the man’s path. But not much could stop Donovan St. James.

“Donny,” Michael said, rising to avoid a conflict as the man pushed his way in.

Donovan nodded a greeting to him, then turned his attention back to the young agent.

The kid took a step back, one shoulder raised protectively as if he thought Donovan might hit him.

“He’s with me,” Michael said hurriedly, showing his palms to the kid. Then he held out a hand to his oldest and dearest friend and dragged him farther inside. “Thanks for coming.”

Looking as scruffy as ever, the former president of the New Mexico chapter of the Bandits Motorcycle Club took his hand in a firm shake before his gaze slid to the woman sitting at the kitchen table. Then he turned back.

“Doc,” Michael said, taking her hand, as well. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course.” The gorgeous redhead scanned the plethora of agents that had taken over the small apartment. She had a medical kit slung over her shoulder. “Where is she?”

He pointed. “In the bedroom. This is her mom, Izzy.” Michael gestured to her.

Izzy stood to greet them.

“This is Donovan,” Michael said.

Though hesitant, Izzy shook his hand, and Michael realized he was wearing a leather Bandits bracelet. She couldn’t seem to look away.

“Ms. Walsh,” he said to her.

She finally tore her gaze from his wrist. “Izzy, please.”

Donovan agreed with a nod.

“This is my fiancée, Dr. Lucia Mirabal.”

“Sia,” she said, shaking Izzy’s trembling hand. “Can I see her? I just want to check her lungs and airway really quick.”

“Absolutely.” Clearly grateful, Izzy started to lead the way, but Donovan stopped her.

“Can I talk to you both for a minute? And you, too,” he said to Carson, who was standing back until all the introductions were made.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Sia said, patting Izzy’s palm. “You guys chat.”

Izzy hesitated again. She looked up at Michael. He shot her a smile that he hoped was reassuring and not lecherous. He’d never been great at smiles. Smirks, on the other hand…

“Of course,” Izzy said. Trust was not her strong suit, for good reason. “First door on the right.”

“Got it.” The doc’s smile radiated so much warmth, Michael considered turning on the AC. “I’ll take good care of her, Izzy.”

Izzy offered Sia a bashful, almost embarrassed grin. “Thank you.”

They went back to the kitchen table. Izzy sank into a chair as though exhaustion had taken hold. He could hardly blame her. It had been a long day. He could use a whiskey himself. The rest sat at the table, as well—Michael on Izzy’s right, Donovan across from her.

Donny stared at her, his expression full of sympathy. Michael had filled him in on as much as he could without betraying her ability. He simply implied that she had one, and that her ex would do anything to get it back. To get her back.

“I’m so sorry about what you’ve gone through today,” Donovan began.

“Thank you.”

“So, you think your ex is behind this?”

“Yes,” she said with a determined nod, a rebellious curl falling over her forehead. “I can’t imagine who else would do something like this.”

Donovan drew in a deep breath, a soft crease forming between his brows. “I called a good friend of mine from the North Carolina chapter and, I’m sorry, Izzy, but Ross Dunsworth died eight months ago.”

Once again, Izzy sat speechless. She pressed the fingertips of one hand to her mouth in thought. Michael imagined her brain was about to explode. He knew his was.

Carson checked her phone. “I just got the report. You’re right. Suspicious motorcycle accident, but they couldn’t prove any foul play.”

“My contact said he’d gotten on the Bandits’ bad side.” Donovan looked at Michael. “Their very bad side.”

“Fire or knife?” Michael asked, referring to the removal of his club tats.

“Neither. He ran before it came to that. Went into hiding.”

“I guess they found him.”

“Can you think of anyone else who would do this to you?” Michael asked Izzy. “Anyone else who knows about your ability?”

Her gaze shot up in surprise, landing first on Donovan and then on Michael with a fleeting pit stop on Carson.

“He didn’t tell me anything,” Donovan assured her. “He only told me what he had to so we can get to the bottom of this. You have an ability, and there have been people in your life who’ve used it to their advantage.”

Carson agreed. “I only know you’re like a lot of people at that compound,” she said, her expression full of sympathy. “You’re special. You could melt eyeballs with your brain for all I know.”

Taken by surprise again, Izzy snorted softly. “That is definitely not my ability.”

“That makes me feel much better,” the special agent said. No wonder she was such good friends with one half of his employer. The better half: Charley Davidson.

“But there’s no one. I learned at a very young age not to advertise my ability. The only other person who knows—who really knows—has been locked up for murder in a prison psych hospital for the last eighteen years. And he has a long way to go before he gets out.”

“Who is that?” Carson asked.

“My stepfather, Leo Martin Sanders.”

The agent typed it into her phone. “Date of birth?”

“March twelfth. I don’t know the year. He’s in his late fifties.”

As Carson took down the details, Michael stood to check on Emma and the doc, but before he could take a single step, the front door slammed open, and a young woman swallowed in bandages walked in holding a scalpel.