“He certainly was in a hurry,” Alec commented.
Isabel didn’t want to think about this any longer. Everything from the past few days was overwhelming. She had to keep reminding herself that, when she was on that street, she hadn’t been given a choice. The man she killed would have killed her and Detective Walsh if she hadn’t been quicker. He chose death the second he raised his gun.
She was eager to get on a plane to Scotland and put the shooting behind her. Eventually Detective Samuel would find out why Walsh had come to Boston. He had told her that Walsh was a detective.
The obvious conclusion was that he was working on a case, and whatever he had uncovered had gotten him shot. Isabel was certain, by the time she returned from Scotland, the investigation would be sorted out, and Detective Samuel would have all the answers.
“Where am I sleeping?” she asked Alec.
Michael answered her. “You and I are both on the third floor. Come on, I’ll go up with you.”
He picked up her bag and followed her up the stairs. They climbed to the second floor and then to the third. She was thinking she could get a nosebleed this high up. He was thinking what a great ass she had.
There were two sconces on either side of the narrow hallway, barely lighting their passageway.
“It’s so quiet and private up here,” she remarked.
The bedrooms were across from each other with a bathroom in between. Michael opened both bedroom doors. “The rooms have queen-size beds.”
“Is that big enough for you?” she asked, smiling.
He shrugged. “I can sleep anywhere.”
Michael placed her bag on a chair adjacent to the window. Banging his head against the ceiling when he turned around, he muttered an expletive. “I can’t seem to remember the ceiling slopes up here.”
“I think it’s cozy.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” he said as he was walking out.
“Good night, Michael.”
Isabel looked around at her room. The walls were a pale blue with matching curtains, and there was a quilt on the bed that had all the colors of the ocean. It was charming. It wasn’t the Hamilton. It was better. She felt safe here.
While she unpacked and changed into her pajama shorts and top, Michael showered. She waited until he’d gone into his bedroom before she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. She was just about to shut her door and get into bed when she remembered she needed to charge her phone. Neither the phone nor the charger was in her duffel bag. She checked every pocket twice, then dumped everything out of her purse and searched through all the clutter. Not finding it, she stuffed the things she never left home without back into her bag, muttering all the while, even tossing in a few unladylike blasphemies, then decided to ask Michael if he knew where they were. After all, he had helped her pack.
She turned around, and there he was, leaning against the doorframe with her phone and charger in his hand. He hadn’t made a sound, and she wondered how long he’d been standing there. And oh, did he look good. He wore a pair of khaki shorts he hadn’t bothered to button and a white T-shirt that was molded to his body. The man was all muscle and heat, and she had the insane impulse to run to him and throw herself into his arms.
Michael didn’t budge from where he stood. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. God knows he tried.
He knew that if he walked into her bedroom he wouldn’t be leaving. He tossed her phone and charger on her bed, then crossed his arms so he wouldn’t reach for her.
The same question nagged at him again. What the hell had happened to him? This time he knew the answer. Isabel had happened. His discipline and control vanished whenever he was around her.
All he wanted to think about was touching her, and how messed up was that? She was all wrong for him, and he was definitely all wrong for her. Isabel was young and unaware of the treachery in the world; he was hardened by what he had seen and done and very familiar with treachery. His cynicism
would wear her down and eventually destroy the goodness and joy inside her. Being together would end in disaster.
Michael knew she couldn’t handle a casual affair. And with Isabel, neither could he. She was so different from all the other women he’d known. She looked at the world the way he wanted to, and maybe that was yet another reason he was drawn to her.
There was also another deterrent, the fact that she was Dylan’s sister-in-law. Michael knew he’d never hear the end of it if he got involved with her. And yet he was in the mood to ignore all of his reasons to leave her alone.