“They weren’t children any longer,” insisted Isabelle. “They were adults who’d made something of their lives. They’d moved on.”

“And so should you.”

“I am moving on. I’m trying to help the people I care about.”

“You’re not helping. You’re only scaring them,” said Keith.

“I think Isabelle is right,” said Everett. “I, for one, am not going to risk my life staying here. I’m going to get out of town until this all goes away.”

Isabelle gave Everett a relieved smile. “Thank you for believing me, but thank you more for protecting yourself. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Everett blushed.

Keith let out a rude, scoffing sound. “This is ridiculous. I can’t believe you’re going to send people running for the hills. How are any of us going to find peace if you keep disrupting our lives?”

“I’d rather disrupt your lives than see you dead.”

Keith looked at Grant. “What do you have to say about all this? Do you believe her?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Why? Because it will get you into her bed quicker?”

“Keith!” scolded Isabelle.

Grant refused to let the man ruffle him. “I believe her because she’s right. I believe her because the evidence supports her.”

“I know you. You’re a womanizing bastard who’ll screw anything with legs.”

“You have legs, Keith. I haven’t screwed you yet.”

“I’ve lost my appetite,” said Keith and pushed away from the table. He threw a bill down to cover his drink and stomped away.

Everett looked around nervously at the emptying table and said, “I should probably go start packing. Sorry to leave so soon.”

“Best of luck,” said Grant.

“You’ll call me when you get there safe, right?” asked Isabelle.

Everett nodded and scurried away.

“Guess it’s just the two of us now,” said Grant.

Isabelle sighed. “Guess so.”

CHAPTER NINE

The night wind was cold on Isabelle’s face as they left the restaurant. Ravioli sat in her belly like a pile of wet cement. Even the smell of the takeout she was bringing home for Dale’s evening snack turned her stomach. All she wanted to do was go home, spend some time with Dale as soon as he got back from his study group, and go to bed. Maybe things would look better in the morning.

Then again, maybe she’d lie awake all night trying to figure out what to do now. She’d done what she could to help her friends, and she’d continue to do whatever else she could, but it wasn’t enough.

At least Everett would be safe. She could count that as a win.

“You look cold,” said Grant. He put his arm around her and pulled her close as they walked side by side to the car.

It felt good to have him near, and not just because of the warmth spilling from him or way his fine body fit hers so well. It was more than that—the support of another person who didn’t think she was crazy was a precious gift.

“Try not to worry,” he said. “I’ll find a way to convince the police to keep an eye on Amanda’s house and places of work. Keith, too.”

Isabelle feared that wouldn’t be enough. “Maybe after they have some time to think about it, to be afraid tonight, they’ll come around.”

“I hope you’re right.”

As they neared Grant’s Mustang, Isabelle felt him slow. Three young men stepped out from where they were crouched behind his car. One of them opened his long coat and took out a baseball bat.

Isabelle was staring in shock when Grant stepped in front of her and held her behind him with one firm hand on her arm.

“Evening, guys. Admiring my car?” asked Grant.

“It’s a fine ride. Toss over the keys and no one will get hurt,” said the man with the bat. He couldn’t have been more than twenty, and he had to have at least one piercing for each of those years. His hair was shaved close to his scalp, and an angry glint of violence lit his dark gaze.

“Here you go.” Grant tossed his keys near the feet of the closest man. “Isabelle, go inside.”

“No, Isabelle,” said another young man. “Stay and play with us. We’d love to take you for a ride.”

“Go.” Grant’s order was harsh and unyielding.

Isabelle backed away, fumbling for her cell phone, which was buried somewhere in her purse.

Before she’d moved five feet, all three men charged Grant.

Isabelle let out a terrified squeak and tripped over a concrete divider. She sprawled to the ground and a sharp bite of pain tore at her back.

The first man reached Grant, who stood in a loose-limbed stance, ready for him. Grant went through a smooth series of motions that were nearly too fast for Isabelle to see, and the man was left in a moaning heap on the asphalt. She had no idea how he’d moved like that, but he was beautiful in his violence, as if he’d been born for it.

For a moment, Isabelle was too shocked to do anthing. She’d never seen anything like this before, not even in the movies. Grant was incredible. Deadly grace personified.

This couldn’t be real.

The next two guys saw what had happened to their buddy, so they came in at the same time, one wielding that heavy wooden bat. He took a swing at Grant’s head. Grant ducked to the side as if he’d known for a month the blow had been coming. He used his momentum to knock the second guy down with a hard jab of his elbow, but not before the other guy managed to slam his fist into Grant’s head.

Grant stumbled and shook his head as if trying to clear it.

Isabelle’s hands were clumsy with fear and cold, but they found her cell phone. When she pulled it out, the battery was missing. It must have been jarred loose when she fell on it.

Sirens blasting through the night, getting louder. Someone’s hands closed around her arm and she screamed and batted them away.

“Easy,” said an older woman. “I’m just trying to help you up.”

Isabelle looked over her shoulder at the three women who had just walked out of the restaurant. Two of them were talking into cell phones, hopefully calling 911. “Someone needs to help him!” she shouted.

No one moved. Then again, they were all women at least twice her age. What were they going to do?

“Go inside and get help,” Isabelle ordered the woman at her side.

She pushed herself up, though something along her spine protested the movement. She grabbed a fistful of landscaping stones and shoved them into her purse. No way was she going to sit by and watch as Grant got hurt.

She knew he was tough, but three against one? Those were really bad odds, even for a tough guy.

Grant was holding his own, keeping his distance from that wicked bat, but he didn’t see the man he’d knocked down first rising to his feet behind him.

Isabelle took hold of the strap of her purse and started swinging it like a sling. She didn’t have to get close enough to reach him—or more importantly, for him to reach her—only close enough for him to worry she might and distract him. If he was forced to deal with her, it would give Grant a few more seconds to take care of the two men he was facing.

“Behind you!” she shouted the warning to Grant as she neared her target.

Grant shifted to cover his flank but didn’t look away from the guy with the bat.

The man who was about to go for Grant turned and saw Isabelle coming for him and, behind her, the crowd of onlookers.

“Shit!” he cursed and lunged for her.

She swung her purse at his arm, but she missed. Her blow glanced off his shoulder and he turned toward her. He was pissed. She could see it in the vicious sneer twisting his mouth and the promise of violence in his eyes.

He grabbed her arms hard enough that Isabelle thought he might have broken one of them, then he slammed her against the hood of a car. Her head bounced off the hood, stunning her.

Security lights floated around overhead, blinding her for a moment. Then she saw the man scramble away, running toward the drycleaner’s.

The next thing she knew, Grant’s furious face filled her vision. His eyes were too bright, and a trickle of blood dripped from a cut on his cheek. “Don’t move,” he ordered.

Isabelle’s back ached and her arms throbbed, but there was no serious damage. If she kept lying in this awkward position of being bent backward over the car, that might change. “Let me up.”

Was that her voice? It sounded faint and raspy and desperate, not at all like it should have.

Grant’s fury faded to concern, but his mouth was tight with anger. “Are you hurt?”

“Lying like this hurts. I need to sit up.” She pushed against his hold, but all it did was make her back hurt worse.

“All right. Let me help you up. Slowly.” He helped her sit up slowly, doing most of the work for her.

Moving hurt, but the pain was already easing. The same could not be said of two of the men who’d attacked. They were lying facedown in the parking lot. Neither one of them moved.

Flashing blue lights and sirens filled the night as several patrol cars pulled in, blocking off the exits. Policemen swarmed the scene. While the first responders checked out the men on the ground, Officer Brooks and Reynolds arrived and headed straight for Grant and Isabelle, while still more officers began to question the crowd of onlookers.

“You two are magnets for trouble,” Brooks stated. “Wanna tell me what happened here tonight?”

Reynolds held his pencil at the ready.

Grant’s voice was hard and cold. “Three men were waiting by my car when we came out. They attacked first. I fought back.”

“I only see two, and there’s not much of them left.”

“The third one ran off that way,” said Isabelle. She pointed in the direction of the drycleaner’s, but her arm felt so heavy and weak, she could barely hold it up for two seconds.

She was shaking. Cold. Grant held her tight, but it didn’t help.

Grant could have been killed tonight. So could she. Who would take care of Dale if she was gone?

“Were they armed?” asked Reynolds.

“Just a bat,” said Grant.

Brooks nodded his head in the direction Isabelle had indicated. “Check it out, Reynolds. See if he’s still hanging around.”

“I’m on it,” said Reynolds as he jogged off to coordinate with other officers.

“You all right, ma’am?” asked Officer Brooks.

“Fine,” she said, as Grant answered, “She needs to be checked out.”

“So do you. That cut on your face will need a stitch or two, most likely.”

“It’ll wait.”

Brooks radioed in that they were going to need an additional ambulance, then asked them, “Any idea why they attacked you?”

“No clue,” clipped out Grant. “They said they wanted the car, but it was a cover story.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Brooks, narrowing his eyes.

“I gave them my keys and they didn’t leave.”

Brooks looked unconvinced but said nothing.