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

Tom stopped talking, and they both turned to her. “What did you say?” he asked.

Isabelle wasn’t sure she could speak the words again. She never thought she’d say them even once. But she looked into his green eyes, so new and so familiar, and she said it one more time. “My dad. He gave me a gun. He told me to get rid of it and never tell anyone. I hid it instead.”

“This was after the shooting?” Tom asked, his body straining closer, face intense.

“Yes. Just before he ran.”

“You still have it?” he asked.

“Yes. At first I thought it was his, but then I realized they already had the gun he’d used in the shooting. Why would this one be so important? Why was everyone looking for it?”

“Isabelle—” he started, but she couldn’t stop talking now.

“Who was I supposed to give it to?” she rushed on before Tom could interrupt. “Who could I trust? If I chose the wrong person and the gun disappeared, I’d be the last one who knew it had ever existed. I’d be a loose end.”

She gulped in a breath, embarrassed at the strained, high sound of it.

His hand curved around hers and squeezed. “Listen. Isabelle. If you give me the gun, you won’t be the only one who knows. I’ll know. Mary will know. My boss will know. My whole team. You can tell your friends, too, and you won’t be alone.”

She nodded, and when she spoke again, she couldn’t produce more than a whisper. “I think it’s the gun used to fire the first shot. I think it belongs to whoever wanted that cop dead in the first place.”

Tom nodded. He was squeezing her hand too hard, hurting her fingers, but when she looked down, she realized it was her hand wrapped around his. Her knuckles were white.

“We were the same age, you know. Me and that girl my father killed. It was one of her first big busts, and she was protective. That’s all. That’s why she noticed the drugs missing from holding. She was trying to do her job, and she didn’t know yet that she wasn’t supposed to.”

She let go of Tom’s hand and wrapped her own fingers together to hold tight. “He still treated me like his little girl, like I was still too precious and innocent to take on the world, and he shot that girl in the back while she was running for her life. My dad did that.”

“I’m so sorry,” Tom murmured.

She nodded. “I just want it over. I don’t care anymore. Just keep them away from me.”

“Is it at your cabin?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Mary,” Tom said softly. “Can you handle things here while I drive Isabelle home?”

She heard them discussing something quietly, but Isabelle didn’t pay any attention. She couldn’t be bothered. Nothing mattered except getting this over with.

She’d known the gun was key to everything, but it had also been the thing keeping her alive. If she had the gun, or even if she only knew where her father was with the gun, then she was both dangerous and valuable. Without it, she was nothing. Just a possible link that would be safer to eliminate than ignore.

Making her disappear would’ve been the easiest thing in the world. A few people would’ve suggested to the press that she’d run away to live with her fugitive father, and no one would’ve even looked for her body. That was what her dad had left her with. No protection. No security. No love.

She realized Tom was speaking to her and looked up. “What?”

“I won’t put the cuffs back on you, but we’re probably going to pass Gates, so wear your coat loose and hold your hands together.”

She nodded and shrugged on her coat. There were no marks on her wrists. The cuffs had been loose enough that she probably could have slipped out of them if she’d been willing to hurt herself. But she could still feel them there, the cool steel of them on her flesh. She clasped her hands together and let Tom take her arm.

She heard Gates yell something at Tom as soon as they hit the parking lot. The FBI agent popped out of a parked car with his cell phone to his ear.

Tom’s hand on her arm kept her moving, but she stared at Gates as he strode across the lot, trying to discern some evil on his face, but he looked like anyone else. Maybe he hadn’t been bought out. Maybe he was only a dedicated federal agent. If so, she didn’t have to feel the least bit guilty. He’d be thrilled to have the case solved.

When he was almost on them, his foot slipped on an icy patch of slush, and Isabelle looked down to his shiny brown dress shoes. They weren’t practical here. They weren’t practical in Chicago at this time of year. And they looked very, very expensive.

Tom opened the back door of the SUV, and she slipped in without looking at Gates again. He kept yelling at Tom, asking where the hell Tom thought he was taking her. Tom remained calm. “I’m booking her into the county jail. You can see her in a few hours, I’m sure, once she’s out of processing.”

Gates shouted about making sure Tom lost his job, but Tom just got in the SUV and pulled away.