Flirting with Disaster (Jackson: Girls' Night Out 2)

She shrugged. “Everything is good. Aside from the horrifying carnage in my studio, I mean.”

“Right. Well. I hope you’re taking this seriously now. Lock your door. Be careful when you get home tonight.”

“I will,” she said. “Scout’s honor.”

As soon as he closed the front door behind him, she winked at Lauren. “I was never a Girl Scout.”

“Yeah, he could probably tell by the way you held up two fingers instead of three.”

“Oops.” Isabelle cringed. “Oh, well. He’s too polite to call me on it.”

“Polite, huh? I was going to say ‘fucking sexy,’ but I guess that’s just me.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s just you.”

“Oh, really? Honey, I’m gonna need all of these details.”

Isabelle laughed off Lauren’s curiosity, but she could feel her cheeks warming. He really was sexy. And if she could keep him focused on her paintings instead of her past, he wouldn’t be a threat to her. “There aren’t any details.”

“Then I need reasons why. You’ve been whining about your sex drought for the past year, and now the gods have dropped a hot US marshal on your doorstep, and you haven’t devoured him yet? You’ve got some ’splaining to do, missy. Over drinks.”

“Fine. But only over drinks.” Isabelle excused herself to grab her purse, feeling strangely discomfited around her friend. Tom being there had reminded her that she wasn’t lying to only him; she was lying to everyone.

Somehow it hadn’t felt that way with her girlfriends, at least not since those first few conversations. They knew who she was. Who she really was now. But having Tom around reminded her that her whole life was a lie.

No. Not her whole life. Just her past. Everything she was doing now was real and genuine, and she was not going to let one US marshal ruin that.

She grabbed her little clutch purse. “Ready?” she called out as she headed back to the living room.

Lauren waved toward the front door. “This girls’ night has officially begun. Let’s do this.”

* * *

FROM THE COVER of the trees on the far side of the road, Tom watched the taillights of the car move slowly away. He felt guilty standing in the dark, watching, but he was in the woods only because he was heading back to the judge’s on a trail he’d already cut through the snow. He wasn’t spying. Much.

The problem was that he hadn’t had a good reason to stop by Isabelle’s tonight. He hadn’t really needed to check on her. Everything had gone quiet in anticipation of the start of the trial tomorrow. They hadn’t heard one word from the defendant’s brother or any of his other supporter

s. Of course, that silence had Tom on edge, too, but not as much as his suspicions about Isabelle.

Or whatever her real name was. That name was a lie. He was sure of it. She wasn’t from Washington, she wasn’t Isabelle West and she wasn’t an innocent isolationist suspicious of the feds.

“Or you’re overreacting,” he muttered.

If he used a little creativity, he could imagine that she was a girl from rural Washington State who’d been raised by parents from Cincinnati, who’d kept her off the grid until she was in her twenties. That might explain the slight accent that had nothing to do with the West Coast and the fact that there were no property, tax or motor-vehicle records for anyone named Isabelle West before 2002.

That slim possibility aside, he had no idea who she could be. A criminal, certainly. Or maybe just a woman escaping a bad past. If she’d been a victim of domestic violence, judges had the leeway in almost every state to issue an off-the-record name change. Or maybe she was just a girl who’d gotten herself into a bad situation and had been forced to make a run for it.

“Shit,” he muttered, finally turning back to make his way through the woods. He had a problem. He knew he did. A compulsion to help people whether they wanted it or not. Especially those who didn’t want it.

A problem, maybe, but it wasn’t an unreasonable one. Often the people in the worst trouble were the least likely to ask for help. He knew that firsthand. And Isabelle showed all the symptoms of someone like that. She was prickly and proud and smart and self-contained. She hadn’t even wanted him to check her place for an intruder. How would she ever reach out about something weightier?

He took a deep breath and tried to lose himself in the walk. The moon was almost full, and it glowed from every snowy surface, so he had no trouble making his way. But the beauty surrounding him wasn’t as peaceful as it had been when he’d walked Isabelle home.

He’d gone back tonight hoping to discover more of who she was. He hadn’t paid close enough attention the night before. At least he knew who was in the picture with her now. Her girlfriends. And it must mean something that she hadn’t had one other framed photograph in the house. No family. No kids. No history.

Maybe he should just let it go. Mary joked all the time about his determination to fix things that were none of his business. He knew it was about his parents and their tendency to stick their heads in the sand and hope for the best. He loved them, and he’d never say it, but his brother would’ve had a hell of a better shot at survival if they’d stepped up and interfered.

His cell phone rang, destroying the silence of the forest and startling him from his thoughts. He was surprised to get a call out here. Service was spotty even when he wasn’t in the trees.