And for the first time since my wife died, I had the sinking sense that the fortress I’d built wasn’t keeping danger out anymore.
It was keeping me trapped inside with it.
10
Izzy
“So…” Tone stretched the word out like she had all the time in the world, “tell me everything there is to know about Izzy.”
She was perched in a wing chair just outside the walk-in wardrobe, legs tucked beneath her, watching me with the kind of casual interest that felt anything but accidental.The wardrobe itself was obscene—rows of perfectly spaced suits on one side, shelves of shoes that looked more like art installations than footwear.I was half convinced the clothes had never been worn.Or if they had, it had been with purpose.
“There’s not much to tell, really,” I called back from inside as I zipped up a pair of jeans.They fit like they’d been tailored for me, which made my stomach do a small, uneasy flip.“I work as a barista by day and go to art school by night.Where I can, I take freelance art jobs.”
Tone hummed thoughtfully.The sound carried weight.
I stepped out, smoothing my hands down the peasant-style top she’d paired with the jeans—soft fabric, delicate embroidery at the neckline.Comfortable, but elegant in a way my usual clothes weren’t.
Her eyes widened.Then she squealed.
“Oh my god,” she breathed.“You lookstunning.”
I glanced down at myself, then reached for the tag still tucked under my arm.When I saw the number, my stomach lurched.I lifted it between my fingers and shook my head.“I can’t believe you spent this much money ononetop.”
“It’s nothing.”She waved my concerns off immediately.“I’m just relieved I got the sizing right.”
“This is more clothing than I’ll need in a lifetime,” I said honestly.
I hesitated, then looked at her properly—really looked at her.She was relaxed, but observant.Warm, but sharp.Someone who noticed things even when she pretended not to.
“Speaking of which, do you have any idea how long I’ll be here?”
Something flickered across her face.Not guilt.Not concern for me, exactly.Displeasure—but aimed elsewhere.
“I don’t even know why you’re here,” she confirmed.“All I know is Raze called me and told me to organize clothes and have them couriered over.”She scoffed softly.“Courier them over?Please.When have I ever followed instructions?”
That earned a reluctant smile from me.
“I wanted to see what was going on with my own two eyes,” she continued.“And I’m very glad I did.”
Her expression softened, just a touch.
My question slipped out before I could stop it.
“Will he hurt me?”
The room went suddenly still.Tone’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Darling, he won’t hurt you if you’re innocent.”
I swallowed.Let that settle.
Then she added, almost lazily, “Are you?”
“Innocent?”I repeated, incredulous.“Ofwhat?”I threw my hands up, pacing a short line like a caged animal with good posture.“Do I look like a fucking spy?”
Tone arched a perfectly sculpted brow.“The spy who wore Prada,” she mused.“It has a certain ring to it.”
I groaned and collapsed dramatically into a nearby chair, stretching out with all the grace of a sulking child.“Fantastic.I get kidnapped and interrogated by a woman with better eyebrows than me.”