Chapter Nine

I don’t like people who can’t make fun of themselves.

It means more work for me.

—True story

The texts confirmed everything, just like Leo knew they would. Her stepfather was nothing if not clever. Had they released him? Even if they had, they couldn’t have informed her, what with her being on the run and all.

When she read his first text, she’d almost blacked out. The world had spun around her as Michael talked about pizza toppings. When he asked about the texts, she’d almost told him. Had almost begged him for help. But how could she do that to him after everything she’d already put him through?

No, this was on her. She would make sure Emma was never used as leverage, and if that meant the ultimate sacrifice, so be it. At least then, Leo would have no need to get involved in Emma’s life.

First, she had to ditch the man of her dreams. Then she had to do as Leo asked. If he’d really planted a bomb—it wouldn’t be the first time—she had to at least try to find out where. And if she was lucky enough to survive the day, she would do everything in her power to save as many people as she could.

But first, she had a bank to rob.

She snuck into Emma’s room and looked around at the blank walls. Where pink wallpaper and stuffed unicorns should be, the room was palpably bare. The kid had never had her own room. This was a first, and it was supposed to be a learning experience for them both. Picking out paint colors and decorations. She’d had so many ideas.

Sia was packing up her medical kit. “She’s doing great,” the doctor said. “May I use your bathroom?”

“Of course. End of the hall on the right.”

“Thanks.”

Izzy waited for her to leave, then bent down and kissed Emma’s cheek.

“Mommy?” she asked, her lashes fluttering open.

“I’m going to go check on some things, sweetheart. I’ve asked the Loehrs to watch you if I don’t make it back before tonight.”

Emma frowned. “Celie says you’re lying.”

Izzy put a fist on her hip. “Celie is old and cranky.”

Emma giggled as she fell back into oblivion, her lids clearly too heavy to stay open any longer.

Izzy pulled her into a hug and kissed every inch of her face. Emma didn’t budge. Probably a good thing since Izzy’s eyes had filled to the brim with tears. After holding her as long as she dared and rocking her and squeezing her and smelling her hair, she laid Emma back on the bed and tucked the blankets around her.

She would be safe. Her sun and moon and stars would be safe. She would live a happy life if Izzy’s boss and his wife had any say in the matter. She’d already made arrangements when the strange events started happening. She knew a storm was coming; she’d just confused a thunderstorm with a hurricane.

Now to ditch the bank vault door. The only way to get out of the apartment without Michael Cavalcante knowing would be to sneak out through her window and take the fire escape to the ground. As fate would have it, that was easier said than done.

She grabbed her purse but left her phone on the dresser for Emma. It had the only pictures she possessed of Izzy and her daughter, all tucked safely in the cloud. Emma deserved to have them. And Izzy knew Michael and his team could use it to track her once he realized she was gone. Admittedly, she didn’t know if that would be a good thing or bad. But Izzy had grown up since the last time she’d seen the man who occupied most of her nightmares. Surely, she could handle him now.

The fire escape wasn’t quite as user friendly as she’d imagined. After almost falling to her death—twice—and ripping her sweater on the stairs, Izzy finally reached the ground and ran for her car. With her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest, she hurried out of the parking lot and toward the bank address she’d looked up before leaving.

If she got out of this alive, how would she explain a bank robbery? Maybe Special Agent Carson could help her out. She seemed very at ease with Izzy’s ability. They all did. What kind of people had she gotten tangled up with?

And Michael hadn’t been wrong. He and his friends were all as hot as a field of jalape?os in a drought.

She shook her head as she turned onto St. Francis. In stressful situations, most people concentrated on the problem at hand. Izzy’s mind tended to wander. Like now, when all she could think about was Michael. Would he stay in Emma’s life? Would he protect her like he did his charge?

Izzy didn’t realize she was crying until a tear dripped from her chin and landed on her hand. She looked at the torn sleeve of her sweater, the yarn frayed at the ends. If she pulled it, would the entire thing unravel? Would she? She felt like that string. Tattered. Ragged. Impossible to mend. She’d been running for so long, the thought of it coming to an end, no matter how bad that end may be, was bizarrely welcome. Her ex was dead. Her stepfather was still insane. As long as Emma was safe, Izzy’s world would be rainbows and daisies.

Rainbows. Emma’s room definitely needed rainbows.

The sign to the bank appeared sooner than Izzy had hoped. She turned into the parking lot—the empty parking lot—and pulled to a stop, looking around. The bank was closed. Had she misunderstood the text? She didn’t have her phone, so she couldn’t check, but she was sure he’d sent her to Southwest Bank.

A tiny seed of panic sparked to life inside her chest. She got out and walked to the front door, just in case, only to have her arm nearly wrenched out of its socket. She stumbled into a large bush and realized he had been waiting behind it.

He pointed at a camera and shushed her with an index finger over his mouth. The sight of him weakened her resolve by about ninety-eight percent. What had she been thinking? He was everything she remembered. Sandy hair, only much less of it. Hollow face, only with many more lines. A frame so thin he looked fragile, but Izzy knew he was anything but. He was lanky, strong, and relentless. And he was Izzy’s definition of evil. A dry, dusty devil with leathery skin and no concept of fair play.

As she took him in, he did the same with her. His lips parted in a smile that reminded her of a snake’s right before it swallowed a mouse.

The second she snapped to her senses, the moment she realized this was her chance, he slapped a hand over her mouth so hard she saw stars and leveled a warning glare at her. Her knees gave way under the weight of it, and she stumbled as he dragged her from behind the bush.

He’d parked his Jeep behind the bank and pushed her in front of him, knowing that if she couldn’t make eye contact, she couldn’t mesmerize him. She couldn’t stop him. He was winning the battle before the war had even begun.

He shoved her into the SUV then went around to the driver’s side, never taking his eyes off her. The vehicle smelled like dust and old tobacco. The black seats were so worn, the yellow foam underneath showed through. Empty beer cans and crumpled fast food bags littered the floorboard at her feet. And there, on the middle console, sat a handgun. The kind with a magazine.

It was a test. No way was it loaded. Leo wasn’t that stupid, and if Izzy wanted information about the bomb, she had to play along.

When he got in, he offered her that slithering smile again and said loudly, “There’s a better piggy up the road. One that’s actually open.” He started the car and went north on Cerillos. “I can hardly believe it,” he said, his grin slicing his gaunt face in half. “If it isn’t the magpie. As I live and breathe. Bet you’re wondering how I found you, what with the new name and all.”

Izzy sat dumbfounded. He was talking like they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in ages and had tons of catching up to do. The congenial mannerisms didn’t suit him.

“My psychologist,” he practically yelled—the Jeep was loud but not loud enough to warrant the volume of his voice, “hired some private dick. The minute he found you, I knew I had to make my move.” He gestured with his hands as he spoke and, every so often, pulled at a strand of what little hair he had left.

She did that to him. She’d given him a directive their last morning together before she went to the police. It was clearly taking its toll.

“I was screwing my psychologist for years.” He pretended to elbow her with a chuckle like she was in on some joke. “She liked it that way. Me locked up. Her free as a bird to come and go as she pleased. But in her eyes, I couldn’t cheat on her, and that made me safe. Little did she know.” He laughed again, what little of his teeth were left making an appearance for the first time. “It was a co-ed hospital, for Christ’s sake. How moronic could she be?” He narrowly avoided another car’s front end as he changed lanes. The driver honked, but he didn’t seem to care.

Izzy was finding his behavior more and more bizarre. Road rage was his favorite kind of rage, but he’d let someone honk at him without the barest hint of a consequence? Maybe the psych ward really had changed him.

“Not that I didn’t appreciate the effort she put into our sex life. Know what I mean?” He looked her up and down and glared at her. “Seat belt.”

She peeled her hands off the arm rests and put on her belt.

“Anyway, I’ve had her looking for you for the past two years. Nothing. You were a ghost. Imagine my surprise when my very own Isadora showed up on the news at a convenience store robbery in South Texas. That man could not confess fast enough.” He tsked and shook his head. “Always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. She got your name from the cops and tracked you down from there. That’s when I knew it was time to make my big escape.”

Izzy had had about enough of his life story. She smirked at him and said, “Don’t you have a birdhouse to build?”

“What?” He cupped a hand over his ear to hear her better, then threw his head back in laughter. “Oh, I can’t hear you. I’m officially deaf now.” The smile that slithered across his face made her shudder. “You can’t do jack shit to me if I can’t hear you, yeah?” He reached over and grabbed her face as they sat at a stoplight, squeezing until she felt her cut into her cheeks. She fought his hold, but he pushed her away in disgust, slamming her head against the window. “Acid, bitch. Hurt like hell, too, but desperate times.”

Acid? He’d made himself deaf? With acid? She gaped at him, unable to believe the lengths he would go to.

“Kate did help, though.” He pointed to his ear. “My psychologist. She sedated me. Kept me on pain meds for weeks while I healed. Still hurt like a son of a bitch, but at least I finally have something in common with my aunt, God rest her putrid soul. Old biddy never liked me.”

Izzy’s mother had learned the very basics of sign language from his aunt. That was how they’d met. How he’d become her stepfather. How her mother had died.

Izzy grabbed a napkin off his dashboard as he rambled on about his Deaf aunt, who was a lovely woman. She searched through her purse for a pen and scribbled a question, her hands shaking so much it was almost illegible. It read, Where is Kate now?

He leaned closer and squinted to read the note, then shook his head and turned back to the road. “I told her about you, Magpie. My bad. We can’t have just anyone knowing about your gift, now, can we? I had to kill her.” His brows slid together in thought. “She was surprised when I did it. I was surprised she was surprised. Did she learn nothing from our sessions?”

They took a left at the fork and ended up on Sandoval. She’d explored the charming city of Santa Fe quite extensively and didn’t remember any banks this far north. Maybe a small branch?

She wrote another note and waited for the next stoplight to show it to him. Why did you take Emma?

“Ah, I thought she might be like you. You know,” he said, looking her up and down, “figured she might have that cursed ability of yours. Turns out she’s just a normal brat like the rest of them.”

A state cop passed them, going in the opposite direction. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and watched in the rearview as the officer turned off Cerrillos. Izzy got a good look at the SUV’s back seat. It was filled with wood and random objects. Things one found on the side of the road. He was still building them. The birdhouses. She’d given him an order that morning, catching him right as he opened his eyes before his brain could adapt to what she was doing. She’d told him to confess to killing her mother, to show the police where he’d buried her body—in the backyard, no less—and to build a million bird houses. She figured it would keep him busy.

He noticed her studying his collection. “I still have to build them. Kate helped me in a lot of ways, but she couldn’t even put a dent in that little directive of yours.” His anger reared up and he went to grab her hair.

Izzy dodged his attempt and flipped him off. With both hands.

That amused the psychopath. He burst out laughing, slapping his hand on the steering wheel as he drove. “You haven’t changed at all, Magpie. Such attitude.”

This was getting her nowhere. She needed to know where the bomb was. And if Emma was in danger because of it. She wrote another note, struggling against his erratic driving and the condition of the road. She held it up to him.

“The bomb?” he asked, incredulous. “Where is the bomb?” His jovial attitude did a one-eighty. Like always. He pressed his lips together, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. “This is why we can’t have nice things. There is an order, Isadora. I get the money, and you get to live.” He sat stewing in his anger before adding, “Maybe.” He gaped at her as though she’d offended him in some unknown way. “Have you even thought about me? Your only family? Did you wonder how I was doing after that bullshit directive you gave?” He held up a hand to her and turned away. “I can’t even with you right now.”

Izzy frowned, the expression more wary than disappointed. Leo had always been erratic, but his behavior had gone downhill with age. He was almost childlike in his temperament, but most self-centered people were.

They drove to the outskirts of town where there was little more than sagebrush and tumbleweeds. Izzy had been right. He pulled into a shopping center that just happened to have a small bank branch on one end. But how much could they get away with from this tiny affiliate in the middle of nowhere?

He parked on the side of the building, looked at the gun, and then at her. “Look at you, Isadora Welch. Playing all nice.” He fished a magazine out of his front pocket, took the gun, and slid the cartridge inside before chambering a round. “And here I was, worried you’d grown some balls over the years. You’re just as pathetic and weak as ever.”

He wasn’t wrong.

She decided to risk it and see if he remembered any ASL. She asked him with two quick signs, “Bomb, where?”

He scowled at her. “I told you, Magpie, when I get the money, you’ll get your bomb.” He rapped his knuckles on her forehead, the pain sharp and penetrating.

But it was the strong scent of tobacco that was making her stomach churn. There were too many memories attached to that scent.

“Stay focused, and I might just take you with me on the road.” He looked up in thought. “Like a world tour. You and me together like old times, only we are going for bigger fish in the future.” He splayed his hands so she could better envision his plan. “Next, we hit a casino.”

He elbowed her in excitement before stuffing the gun into his jacket pocket and grabbing her arm. Without warning, he got out of the Jeep, dragging her with him over the console. She had to quickly unclip the seat belt lest she lose a limb.

They stopped just short of the front door. He turned her to face him and put his hands on her shoulders. “Now, remember,” he said, far too loudly, “just do your thing. This is a test run, yeah? Let’s see how this goes, and we’ll decide later if you get to live or not.”

She didn’t respond. He was delusional if he thought she would travel the country with him, robbing banks. She needed to come up with a plan and fast.

He opened the door, and they walked inside. It had been a long time since Izzy had done something like this. Even her nerves were nervous. The first person she saw was the security guard. He stood chatting with a female loan agent, sitting at a desk on the opposite side of the counters. His uniform didn’t fit well at all, and she wore a coat over her…police uniform?

She turned away from them the second she realized the security guard was none other than Agent Carson’s partner. How in the…? Her gaze darted to the single teller sitting at the counter. Izzy almost stumbled again when she saw Agent Carson counting money like she’d been born to it.

They must’ve discovered her disappearance about four seconds after she left. How did they beat her stepfather here? And how did they know where he was headed? She was so stunned, she stumbled when Leo thrust her forward.

He grabbed her quickly so as not to draw attention, then impaled her with a glare. The one that melted her knees and her resolve. Weak and pathetic, indeed.

One more quick scan, and Izzy found Michael sitting at the end of the counter under a sign that read Customer Service . He wore a tie and a tweed jacket, the coat so tight she worried it would rip at the seams any second.

He didn’t look up at her. He played on a computer, pretending to type something. At least, she hoped he was pretending. He could bring down the whole financial system with one wrong stroke. And where did he get those glasses? Because day-um .

But for real, how did they beat her and Leo here, and who’d decided on their roles? Michael would’ve made a much better security guard than a kid who barely looked old enough to buy alcohol. Then again, maybe that was the point. To put Leo at ease, they’d made the security guard the least threatening individual in the room—including the female cop.

Leo had noticed the security guard, too, of course, but if they did their jobs correctly, the guard would never be alerted to the fact that their transaction was anything but copacetic. That was how they’d gotten away with robbing banks and other institutions for so long.

“Can I help you?” Agent Carson said, tapping a stack of fifties and putting it back in her drawer.

All she did to change her appearance was put her dark hair up and slide on a pair of purple glasses. She was adorable. She still wore her navy suit but had an employee name tag that read: Bunny . She was pretty sure that wasn’t the agent’s real name.

Izzy filled her lungs and released the air slowly before starting. Would Agent Carson know what to do? Would Leo even remember the minutia of the process? Either way, Izzy would have to make it quick.

“Be still,” she said softly.

The agent stilled, and her expression went blank. Michael must’ve told her how to act after seeing Iz mesmerize the nurse. She could only pray she wouldn’t blink.

“You will forget us in sixty seconds.”

Please, don’t blink.

“You will take all the paper money out of your drawer, minus the dye pack, put it in a bank bag, and hand it to me.”

Please, don’t blink.

“No,” Leo whispered in her ear. He’d likely been watching her mouth to make sure she didn’t rat him out. “I want more.”

She shook her head, refusing, and said the final words that would bring Agent Carson out of the trance but keep her locked on the mission until it was completed. “That will be all.”

Leo jammed the gun, still in his pocket, into her back. She sucked air through her teeth but ignored him. Still, the act caught Michael’s attention. He looked up as casually as he could, but she caught a spark of anger flash across his face from her periphery. She shook her head quickly, the movement almost imperceptible.

Agent Carson blinked and inhaled as if she’d been holding her breath. She was now in a state of in-between. Limbo. Or she would’ve been, had Izzy actually mesmerized her. But how did she know not to blink? To hold her breath?

Emma. Of course. Had they called Emma and asked her? Either that, or Michael was way more preceptive than she’d given him credit for.

Agent Carson emptied her drawer, a congenial smile on her face the whole time, leaving a bundle of twenties that surely had the dye pack stashed inside. She zipped the bank bag closed and handed it over. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, thank you,” Izzy said. “Have a good weekend.”

“You, too.”

They turned to leave just as a city police car pulled up. Was this part of the ruse? Izzy didn’t know. She didn’t know what to do or how to act.

Leo grabbed her arm and steered her to a door that led to another parking lot in the back, but it was locked, given the bank was about to close. If this had all been real, Leo’s panic would’ve given them away.

“I’ll get that door for you,” the fake security guard said as the cop walked in. Izzy realized from Michael’s expression that the cop was very much not a part of the plan. Probably off duty, checking his phone, barely paying attention to anything going on in the bank.

All Leo had to do was let the security guard open the door, but he couldn’t hear him. He thought the guard was coming for them, so he did the unthinkable. He pulled his gun.

Michael reacted faster than anyone would’ve imagined. He was around the counter before Leo could even aim. The movement caught Leo’s attention, and he turned, pistol raised and pointed at Michael’s chest.

Without thinking, Izzy stepped in front of the gun, and the world slowed around her. Was it shock? The dump of adrenaline coursing through her system? Or just her wild imagination?

Either way, she would very likely die. Isadora Ellen Welch. Izzabel Eleanor Walsh. Whatever name she went by. If she was too slow, she would die. Leo would pull the trigger. Michael would tackle and subdue him. And someone else, probably Carson, would try to stop the bleeding.

As long as Emma was safe. And Michael would make sure she was. Izzy knew that deep in her soul. Knew she could trust him. Loved him for it.

Leo’s finger was tightening on the trigger when Izzy captured his gaze with hers. He couldn’t hear her, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t understand her. She signed the word before he even knew what was happening. “Still.” Be still. Her opening epitaph.

He stopped instantly. His face went slack as his watery eyes bore into her. The gun was still aimed point-blank at her head, but he stood frozen, unable to squeeze the trigger.

Michael was on him instantly, tackling him to the ground. The gun flew across the floor and stopped right in front of the city cop, who looked up in alarm, hand on his sidearm as he tried to assess the situation.

Leo lay on his back, his arm raised stiffly in the air, tears running down his temples due to his inability to blink. But it was his inability to breathe that had Izzy questioning her morals. Her ethics. Her sense of right and wrong. She could let it play out and be done with him. He would never be a threat to Emma again. He would never use Izzy again.

Agent Carson knelt in front of him, and she knew. She looked back at Izzy. “Is he—is he dying?”

Izzy said nothing. She honestly had no idea if he would die or if his bodily functions would take over before that happened. She’d never pushed her ability this far before. Should she let it play out? See what happened?

“Izzy,” Michael said to her, his tone soft as he stood beside her, towering over her like an oak. “You don’t want this. You don’t want his death on your conscience. I promise you.”

He would black out soon. It would be out of her hands. And it wasn’t like they could convict her for killing him with her super special secret power.

“Damn it,” Agent Carson said, starting CPR as her partner called an ambulance. The real employees came out of a back room then, some of them half-dressed, all of them in shock.

“Izzy,” Michael said again. “Celie will know.”

His words jolted Izzy out of her trance. He was right. Celie would know, therefore Emma would know. But more importantly, she would know. Despite her latest nickname, she was not a killer.

She knelt on the other side of Leo and put a hand on Agent Carson’s shoulder to stop her. The agent leaned back, already out of breath, and gave her some space.

Izzy reengaged with him, her gaze settling on his, capturing it. She didn’t have much time. He would black out soon. “You will forget me from this day forward,” she signed. Her movements surprised Michael and Agent Carson, but she would explain later.

Though Leo was catatonic, he seemed to balk at her words. He focused on her as though he knew deep down what she was doing.

“I will not even be a distant memory to you. You will go back to the prison hospital and never try to escape again. You will never hurt anyone again. And as soon as you’re finished building one million birdhouses, you will start again, building one million birdhouses, over and over, until the day you die.” She leaned closer, signing and speaking the words, “Bomb, where?”

He shook his head and grunted, his face turning a sickly shade of scarlet with the effort. “No. Bomb.”

She nodded. “That will be all.”

He slammed his lids shut and filled his lungs with air, only to cough it all out and start over again. He repeated this for the next several minutes until an ambulance arrived. Agent Carson handcuffed him to the gurney and rode in the ambulance with him as her partner took everyone’s statements.

“How sure are we there isn’t a bomb?” Agent Carson asked before leaving.

“Very. He couldn’t possibly lie to me in limbo.”

That seemed to satisfy her. “Your go-bags are pretty well stocked,” she said. “You probably won’t need them anymore, but if you do, you might want to add a few Twinkies. They last forever, they’re light, and they come in handy in a pinch.”

Was that her way of making amends after Izzy had almost let her stepfather die? Of showing her she understood? Either way, Izzy would take it. “Thank you.”

The agent let Michael and Izzy leave, as well as Donovan, who’d been in the back protecting the real employees. Donovan drove them to Izzy’s car, and Michael took over from there.

They met back at the apartment complex, but before they got out of the car, Michael turned to her, his expression the picture of grave disappointment. “Why the fuck would you jump in front of a gun like that?”

Ruh-roh. Someone was peckish. He probably never got his pizza.

“And we should have dealt with this together, Iz.” He looked out the windshield, the barest hint of sorrow flashing across his face. “You should have trusted me.”

Her heart fell, despite the fact that her chest had tightened around it. She reached over, placed a hand on his ridiculously handsome face, and turned him back to her. “The fact that I trust you is why I wanted to deal with my stepfather alone.”

“That makes zero sense.”

“I left Emma with you, knowing she would be looked after. Knowing she would be safe.”

“Still a stretch, Killer.”

She laughed softly and gazed into the cerulean depths of his irises. The color was too clear, too bright, sparkling in the setting sun. He had shown up out of nowhere, so unexpectedly, and in less than twenty-four hours, he’d shown her the definition of noble and gracious and kind. He’d shown her…

She paused, her jaw going slack as she shook out of her thoughts and gaped at him. “It’s Stockholm Syndrome.” She covered her mouth with a hand and spoke through her fingers, her words muffled. “I have Stockholm Syndrome.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

“No, I do.” She inched away from him, suddenly wary. “That’s why I feel all warm and gooey around you.”

“You feel warm and gooey around me?”

“That’s why I trust a man I barely know.”

“How gooey?”

“It’s a syndrome.”

“And where exactly is this goo located?”

“A sickness.” She pointed at him, her index finger accusing him of everything from shoplifting to genocide. “You just keep your distance, Bucko.”

“Bucko?” he asked as she slid out of the vehicle without taking her eyes off him. “What happened to the goo?”