No Escape
Page 7

Isabelle winced. “I keep forgetting he’s not into compliments.”
“He’ll survive,” said Grant, giving her a wink. “Besides, they’re good for him. Make him tough.”
“If he was any tougher, he’d be shoe leather.”
“He seems like a good kid.”
“The best. He never gives me any trouble. I think he’s afraid I’ll send him away if he does.”
Grant gathered up what little was left of the sliced turkey and mayo and stowed them back in the fridge. “He doesn’t know you very well, then.”
“And you do? After fourteen years and a few letters?”
It was more than a few letters. It was little bits and pieces of her life she’d chosen to share with him, and that was of more value than she’d ever know. She’d remembered him, and she cared enough about him to keep on remembering him even when he wasn’t very good about writing back.
What was he going to write? He couldn’t talk about his job beyond the surface stuff, like promotions, and there really wasn’t a whole lot else in his life. Eventually, he got tired of thinking up stuff to say and stopped writing. Even so, Isabelle kept writing to him.
“I know enough about you to know that you’d never throw a kid out for screwing up a little. I also know that any woman who cares about whether or not a kid has homework is certainly going to care about whether or not he has a warm place to sleep at night. You can’t fool me. You’re still as soft as ever.”
And not just her heart. He could still feel the slippery weight of her hair gliding over his hand, the silky smoothness of her cheek beneath his fingertips. He wanted more. A lot more.
Part of him stalled out every time a thought like that went through his head, like he was invading on forbidden territory. She wasn’t some woman in a bar who was expecting to hook up with him for a night of debauchery. And Grant couldn’t give her more than that. At least not right now. He had plans. A new job waiting for him in Denver. He had a schedule to keep that would hopefully lead him to a woman like Isabelle in a few years, but not yet. He wasn’t ready yet.
He had to be sure he’d burned every shred of his father out of his makeup before he committed himself to a woman. Until then, he’d never take the chance that he’d abandon a family and do what his father had done. Anything less would be unforgivable.
Isabelle cleared the dishes from the table. “Do you think I’m too soft on him? I mean, maybe he’d be better off in a home with a father figure. That’s something I can never be for him.”
The insecurity in her voice made Grant want to kick himself. He went to where she was rinsing off dishes in the sink and pulled her around by the arm until she looked at him. “You misunderstood me. Soft is a good thing. Dale doesn’t need anyone to teach him the harder lessons of life. Life has a way of taking care of that without any help, and probably already has in his case.” He knew he shouldn’t be touching her so much, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He slid his hand down her arm and took her wet fingers in his hand, giving her a little squeeze. “What he needs is to know he’s safe, that he has a home where he’ll always be welcome, and someone to lean on when things get hard. You’re doing all of that, so give yourself some credit. He’s lucky to have you.”
Isabelle’s eyes went shiny, and she blinked several times to clear them. “Don’t you dare make me cry, Grant Kent. You’re here to help, not make me all sappy.”
He gave her a wink, when what he really wanted to do was see if her mouth was as soft as the rest of her. “Fine. No sap here. I’m all about the help. How about I start by taking out the trash?”
She stared at him with a strange look that he couldn’t decipher but said, “It goes in a bin around back.”
Grant took care of the chore, but when he came back inside, Isabelle was no longer in the kitchen. He heard her voice float in from the living room, along with that of another man. Not Dale. He said something to her, and when she spoke, her tone was tight with anger. “I won’t do it.”
“You have to,” said the man. “Wyatt will do anything to get his son back. You’re not safe with Dale in the house.”
“If you didn’t think I’d be safe, then why did you bring Dale to my attention? We both know he needs to be here right now. I’m not kicking him out.”
Grant ignored the fact that he was not invited into their conversation and stepped into the living room. Isabelle looked stricken, almost like she was going to be sick. Grant went to her side so she’d know he was here for her. And to let the man in her living room know it, too.
He turned to the man standing there and demanded, “Who the hell are you?”
The man had short, dark hair and wore a well-fitted suit. He was average height with a slightly stocky build that told Grant he had some muscle under his jacket.
He frowned and tilted his head up at Grant as if he recognized him. “Grant Kent?” he asked. “Is that you?”
Grant tried to place him but couldn’t.
“Grant, this is Keith Elders,” said Isabelle.
She’d recovered some of her composure, but he could still see a slight tremor of tension running through her slim frame.
“Do you remember him?” asked Isabelle.
The man’s name struck a chord in Grant’s head, but he couldn’t quite place him.
“I lived with Lavine, too,” said Keith. “I was a few years younger than you at the time, so you probably don’t recognize me.”
Grant spent a lot of time trying not to think about the short time he’d lived with Lavine. Unfortunately, he remembered the face of every one of the children he’d put out on the streets the night he killed his foster father. Two of those faces could have matched the man standing before him, but Grant didn’t know which one it was. “Sorry, man. It’s been a long time.”
“Too long,” said Keith as he extended his hand in greeting. “It’s really great to see you again. Isabelle didn’t tell me you were coming for a visit.”
Grant shook the man’s hand. “She didn’t know I was coming. It was kind of a last-minute thing.”
“I told him what’s going on,” said Isabelle. “He’s going to talk to the police tomorrow.”
Keith’s mouth flattened on a frown. “You need to stop worrying about those poor souls and worry more about what’s going to happen to you if Wyatt decides to come take his son by force.”
A stab of fear for her made Grant’s body tighten, and he took a half step closer to Isabelle.
“Is that a risk?” Grant asked her. “You didn’t mention it.”
“It’s an irrational worry. Wyatt doesn’t have any idea where I live.”
“It’s not irrational,” insisted Keith. “The man has a record for assaulting women. He wants his son back. It doesn’t take a genius to do the math.”
“No. It doesn’t,” agreed Grant, giving Isabelle a hard stare. “You should have said something.”
Isabelle gave him a back-the-hell-off glare. “Why? Because it’s somehow your business?” She pushed out a harsh breath. “Listen. Wyatt wants Dale back, and he’s not going to do anything to mess up his one and only chance of making that happen by hurting me. He’d go back to prison if he did, so it doesn’t make any sense. He’s got to work inside the system, and he knows it.”
Keith shook his head. “Men like Wyatt spend their lives working around the system. I’ve defended enough men like him to know. Don’t trust that he’s suddenly developed some moral code since getting out of prison. I don’t want to see you hurt. Or worse.”
The whole notion that someone was killing Lavine’s former foster children was bad enough, but knowing that there was some ex-con out there who might want to hurt Isabelle made Grant want to find him and remove the threat. Permanently.
Down, boy. Isabelle was right. It really wasn’t his business.
Of course, that wasn’t going to stop him from getting involved, either. Not if there was some kind of threat to her and the kid.
“I’ll be fine,” said Isabelle. “Besides, Grant is staying here tonight, so you can stop worrying.”
“Maybe longer,” offered Grant. As much as he hated the thought of telling David he was going to have to come later than planned, he hated the idea of leaving Isabelle even more. David could take care of himself. Isabelle and Dale, on the other hand, needed him.
The news that Grant was staying seemed to relax Keith somewhat. “Good. Wyatt probably won’t try anything with Grant here. He’s too much of a coward to risk anything unless he’s sure he can get away with it. But what are you going to do when Grant leaves?”
“I won’t leave until I’m sure there’s no threat. I can promise you that, Keith.”
She poked a finger at Grant’s chest. Hard. He resisted the urge to rub away the sting. “You’ll leave when I say you’ll leave. This is my house.”
Wow. Isabelle was hot when she was being pushy. Bright chips of gold lit her green eyes, and a pretty flush brightened her cheeks. Grant almost wanted to push back to see what would happen, but not with an audience. Maybe he’d push later, when they were alone.
There was no way he’d agree to leave her and Dale on their own to face this Wyatt asshole. “It’s your house,” agreed Grant without lying. “I won’t forget.”
That seemed to appease her for now. Later he’d set the record straight and make sure she had some decent security set up. If he had to, he’d pay for it himself. David’s company had some cutting-edge toys that would go a long way toward making him feel better when he left.
“See that you don’t.” She turned to Keith. “If you’ll stop being all doom and gloom, I’ll invite you in for a cup of tea.”
“I’d love to stay, but I have a hearing in the morning and I really need to prepare a little more. Rain check?”
“Anytime. Good luck with your hearing.” She left Grant’s side and kissed Keith on the cheek. In a quiet voice that Grant could barely hear, she said, “Thank you for worrying about me. It’s nice to know someone cares.”
Grant felt an unreasonable flash of jealousy. He worried about her. He cared. Where the hell was his kiss?
It took him several seconds to calm down enough to remember that he hadn’t been in Isabelle’s life for years. Keith was close enough to her that he dropped by without notice and got invited in for tea. Grant was just some guy from her past—not a friend who was there for her on a daily basis. He had no right to be jealous.
Too bad that didn’t make it go away.
Isabelle shut and locked the door. Before she’d had time to turn all the way around, Grant asked, “You two seeing each other?”
Isabelle’s black eyebrows rose nearly an inch. “Keith? Heavens, no. We’re just friends.”
“Does he feel the same way?”