Page 3

Lincoln

Five minutes. That’s exactly how long it’s been since Isabel disappeared behind the bathroom door. Five minutes that feel like an hour. I’ve been pacing the hallway outside, ignoring the curious stares of people passing by, tapping my foot against the tile and pretending everything is perfectly under control. Except it’s not.

I knock firmly on the door. “Isabel?” No answer. “Isabel, if you don’t open this door in ten seconds, I’m coming in.” My voice echoes in the hallway, but there’s nothing on the other side but silence.

Ten seconds pass. Then fifteen.

I mutter a curse under my breath and push open the door. It isn’t locked. Inside, the bathroom is empty. Empty and silent. My eyes skim the stalls—nobody’s in them. No sign of Isabel. Instead, the window on the far wall is wide open, and a cold draft breezes in, rustling the edge of the paper towel dispenser. My stomach twists.

“Dammit, Isabel,” I growl. That stubborn, impulsive woman just escaped out of a bathroom window while I was standing guard outside. I check the corners, just in case there’s some bizarre explanation, but there’s nothing. She’s gone.

My first instinct is to whip out my phone and call Dean. Tell him his sister’s gone AWOL and it’s on me. But I hesitate, my pride warring with my sense of responsibility. Five minutes into my assignment, and I’ve already lost the woman I’m supposed to protect. That’s unacceptable.

I can’t let Dean down. More importantly, I can’t let Isabel wander into danger because she thinks she can handle everything on her own. She has a lead on the person threatening her—fine, so be it. But I’m not about to let her chase that lead by herself.

I sprint out of the bathroom, down the hallway, and through the front lobby. A few people glance up from their desks—employees, clients, I don’t know—but I ignore them, heart pounding in my ears. Bursting through the main doors, I hurry across the parking lot, scanning for my SUV. There it is, parked at the far end. I make a beeline for it.

Once inside, I fire up the engine. The tires squeal against the asphalt as I tear out of the lot. I start checking every row of cars as I maneuver onto the main road, hoping to spot her little white sedan. Nothing. My pulse is jackhammering. Think, Lincoln. Which direction would she go? She’s probably heading for that lead she mentioned, or maybe trying to get lost in the city traffic.

At the first red light, I glance around with increasing desperation—then my gaze snags on a familiar shape up ahead. Isabel’s car is three lanes over, waiting for the same light. She’s hunched over the steering wheel, likely trying to avoid being noticed.

“Oh, I see you,” I mutter under my breath. Relief floods me, but it’s quickly replaced by adrenaline. The light switches to green, and she guns it. So do I.

She tries to weave in and out of the midday traffic. I do the same, horn blaring as I swerve around a slow-moving SUV. This is no time to be gentle—she’s essentially a high-value target, and every second she’s on the open road is another opportunity for whoever’s threatening her to make a move.

We hit a stretch of open road, and she floors it. My car roars as I give chase. I’m leaning forward, knuckles white on the steering wheel, eyes flicking between her vehicle and the road ahead. If she thinks I’m letting her slip away, she’s underestimating me.

We blow through one more light just as it turns red. My stomach tightens—I hate being this reckless, but I’ve got no choice. I nearly clip the back of a truck changing lanes, but I manage to glide around it, adrenaline spiking. Up ahead, Isabel’s brake lights flash, and her car swerves onto the shoulder. She’s pulling over. Finally.

I slam on my own brakes and yank the wheel, grinding to a stop behind her. The engine’s still rumbling when I throw the door open and stomp to her window. My blood is still racing through my veins, part fury, part relief. Relief that she’s safe—furious that she pulled this stunt in the first place.

She rolls down the window just enough for me to see her glaring face. “Lincoln, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What am I—?” I choke back a bitter laugh. “You disappeared out a bathroom window and tore off like you’re in some Hollywood heist. I’m doing my damn job and bringing you back in.”

She has the audacity to look offended, like I’m the one at fault. “I told you, I have a lead. We could catch the person threatening me if we just?—”

“Stop,” I cut her off, voice vibrating with anger. “I don’t care if you’ve got the entire FBI on speed dial. My job is to keep you safe. That means no car chases through the city while you play detective. Understand?”

Her eyes blaze. “I am not playing detective. This is my life we’re talking about.”

“And Dean hired me to protect that life.” My frustration is at a boiling point. I lean my forearm on the car’s roof, trying to calm the roar in my ears. “Get out of the car. We’re doing this my way.”

She shakes her head defiantly, lips pressed into a thin line. “You can’t just boss me around.”

“Actually,” I snap back, “I can, because that’s what your brother is paying me for. Now either you follow me back to the office and drop off this car, or I’ll park my SUV right behind you, and we can sit here all day if that’s what you want.”

She slumps against her seat, scowling. “I don’t believe this.”

I take a moment, staring her down through the open window, both of us breathing heavily from the chase and the argument. She is, without a doubt, the most stubborn, infuriating woman I’ve ever met—and the fact that she’s right about not wanting to hide away all day doesn’t help. Still, I can’t let her blow off protocol. Not when her life’s on the line.

“I get it,” I say, my tone dropping from anger to something less combative. “You’re not the type to sit around and do nothing. But you’re not invincible, Isabel. Whoever’s threatening you could be watching your every move. Going off alone is reckless.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose like she’s fighting a headache. I notice her hands are shaking just slightly, and my anger dims a bit. She’s scared, even if she’d never say so out loud. Isabel’s always trying to prove she can do everything on her own.

“Look,” I continue, quieter now, “we’ll go back to the office so you can leave your car in a secure location. Then we’ll drive to the safe house in my SUV. Once we’re there—out of immediate danger—we can go over your leads. Together. We’ll come up with a plan that won’t get you killed. Deal?”

She’s silent for a few seconds, staring at the steering wheel like it might reveal some magical alternative. Finally, she looks up at me. “That’s your compromise? We go to your secret hideout and then maybe I get to track down this creep?”

I let out a slow breath. “If it checks out, yes. I promise not to leave you out of the loop.”

Her jaw clenches, and I can tell she hates this. But she’s not a complete fool—she knows the odds are stacked against her if she goes it alone. “Fine,” she says, her voice wavering between surrender and lingering fury. “But I’m doing it under protest.”

“Duly noted,” I reply, and step back from the car. “Now follow me.”

She rolls up her window with a scowl. I turn on my heel and stomp to my SUV, sliding into the driver’s seat. The adrenaline hasn’t entirely worn off, and my pulse still thrums in my ears. At least I found her. The thought of her driving around solo, possible threats on her tail, was enough to scare the hell out of me.

A minute later, her car pulls out behind mine. Good. She’s actually cooperating—for the moment. I ease onto the road, glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure she’s still following.

We make our way back to Maddox Security. She parks beside my SUV in the lot, still looking pissed as she climbs out. Her eyes flick up to the windows on the building’s higher floors, probably half-expecting Dean to come storming down, but he’s nowhere in sight. Maybe he hasn’t realized she slipped away yet. And hopefully I can keep it that way.

I pop the trunk of my SUV, gesture for her to toss her bag in the back. She hesitates, clearly struggling between wanting to remain independent and acknowledging the necessity of letting me help. Finally, she shoves her duffel in. I close the trunk, and we both climb into the front seats, the cabin suddenly feeling small with all that tension swirling around.

I turn the key in the ignition, and the engine rumbles to life. “Ready?”

She folds her arms and glares out the windshield. “Let’s just get this over with.”

I give her a sideways glance. Part of me wants to say something to smooth things over. To let her know I understand why she hates this. Another part of me is still simmering with anger and a deep, underlying worry about how stubborn she can be. Instead of speaking, I pull out of the lot and head for the highway that leads to the safe house.

The silence is thick between us, heavy with all the words we’re both holding back. I’m sure she’s biting her tongue to keep from giving me an earful, and I’m straining not to berate her for nearly giving me a heart attack. So we both keep quiet, occasionally glancing at each other but saying nothing.

Eventually, I risk a sideways look. She’s staring out the window, one hand curled into a fist on her lap. The other rests against the door, knuckles white where she’s gripping it. She’s upset—at me, at the situation, at the universe in general. But beneath all that frustration, I can see fear. And damn if it doesn’t make me want to pull the car over and promise her everything will be all right.

But I can’t do that. Not yet, anyway. All I can do is stick to the plan. Keep her safe. Track down whoever’s threatening her, with the help of her intel if it pans out. Because when I told her I’d protect her, I meant it. And no matter how many bathroom windows she climbs through, I’m not going to let her out of my sight until this threat is gone.

We merge onto the highway, the city skyline shrinking behind us. My grip on the steering wheel eases up ever so slightly. At least she’s here now. At least she’s safe. That’s more than I can say for whoever put a target on her back. Because once Isabel and I put our heads together, we’re going to find that person.

And when we do, they’ll wish they never messed with Isabel Maddox.