I expect Isis’s expression to flicker with discomfort and pain, but instead she lifts her chin.

“I do. I hate him.”

Vanessa smiles. “Fabulous. Then I’m sure you want to see him arrested even more than we do.”

“Or killed,” She says lightly. Too lightly. So lightly it’s frightening. “I’m not picky.”

Vanessa smiles wider. Isis cocks her head as if thinking.

“You’re with the government, right?” She asks.

“Yes.”

“Isis, you’re not doing this,” I say firmly. She smiles at me.

“The only thing I’m doing is eating my shrimp scampi and then maybe possibly dessert. Oh, shit, here comes the waiter, everybody pretend to be cool. Except me, because I am already cool.” Isis digs her phone out of her purse and hands it to Vanessa. “Here’s the pictures of me at graduation. I’m the tall, sexy one in the back.”

Vanessa laughs, flipping through the phone. The waiter drops our food off, and leaves. We eat, carrying on a false conversation that leaves me uneasy for some reason. Vanessa is being far too kind to Isis. I won’t allow her to drag Isis into something that might get her hurt, or worse. Facing down Will Cavanaugh is for me and me alone, not her. I realized my mistake by bringing her here, in the direct line of fire.

Now that I have her, I’m never going to lose her again.

Dinner ends, and Isis orders apple pie. Vanessa pays our bill, and smiles at me.

“I really need to get going. You two stay and have fun a little longer.”

“Where ish you going?” Isis looks up with a mouthful of pie.

“I have some business I need to take care of.” Vanessa shoots a look at the waiter, and nods to the both of us. “Have a good night.”

“Bye!” Isis waves frantically, then looks at me. “I like her.”

I wipe pie filling off her cheek. “She’s an operative. She doesn’t like you. She’s just pretending.”

Isis frowns grumpily. “I could do it, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Plant that device. Will likes messing with me. I’m sure he’d let me in his room if I knocked.”

“Isis, no. You’re not going to confront him. He’s already put you through enough.”

“Which is why I need to confront him.” She sucks her finger free of whip cream thoughtfully.

“You’re not,” I say firmly. “Going to plant the device. You’ll leave it to me. This is my job, not yours.”

She stares at me, dark eyes so innocent and wide. Finally she shrugs.

“Alright.”

“I’m serious, Isis.”

“As a heart attack,” she agrees. “I promise I won’t. It’s all you, baby. Ugh. Did I just call you baby? You are a baby. A whiny baby. With a nice butt.”

I can’t be mad at her for long, my smile strained but still there. In the car, I clear my throat.

“If Will ever tries something, if he threatens you, you can always come to me. You know that, right? I’ll take care of it.”

“I know.” She says idly, staring out the window.

“I’ll protect you,” I say. “I swear it.”

“Hush up,” She leans in. “And kiss me.”

Her lips are fire and apple and cinnamon spice, driving all worries from my mind. We never quite make it home. I pull over at a nearby park, the sun just going down, and Isis straddles my lap and we kiss until the sun disappears behind the trees. My hand slides up her dress and her smell and pants cloud the car in a deliriously succulent haze. When she’s on the verge of losing control, she buries her head in my neck and bites it.

“I love you,” she whispers. “I love you, you stupid idiot.”

I stop my ministrations in her underwear, and she whines. I lock eyes with her, watching her pleasure-fogged expression contort with want. Sweat mists her forehead, her chin, and I kiss it.

“Sorry,” she tries. “I’m sorry I called you an idiot. Please –”

I laugh and resume my work, and she gasps.

“We’re both idiots,” I murmur into her ear.

Later, much later, days later, when we’ve drunk ourselves silly of each other’s bodies and brought each other to brink and back again so many times I’ve lost count, I return to that restaurant and ask after the waiter. The hostess informs me he hasn’t shown up for work since we ate there. She gives me his address when I pretend to be a concerned friend, and the derelict apartment is completely empty, save for a single mattress on the ground, and a note.

J,

He won’t be bothering you again. I took care of it.

V.

I pocket the note, and shiver.

This world of secrecy and blood was fine when it was just me in it. When I was immersed in it, I wasn’t afraid of it.

But now that I have Isis, now that I have something to lose, it is absolutely terrifying.

-13-

0 Years

1 Week

5 Days

“You are fired from being my best friend!” Kayla screams. Even her two in the morning Skype face is Beyonce-flawless. I want to be her except I don’t, because the idea of dating Wren is almost basically like incest because he is so little-brothery to me, and also titties that enormous would make me trip at an inopportune moment, like, say, over the lion’s cage railing at the zoo, and I’d die.

“Stop talking about my boobs! You’re fired!”

“Kayla,” I whine attractively. “Kayla listen, I am not fired, you are fired up.”

“Hell yes I am fired up!” She slams her water glass down and it splooshes all over her everything. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because!” I blush. “Because. Because I was busy.”

Kayla smirks knowingly, and I yell.

“Shut up!”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Shut up anyway!”

“Finally!” She ignores my request. “God, it took you two forever.”

“Ten months is not forever.”

“You could have a baby in that time!”

“Ugh, no, please. No grubs. Promise me you won’t have a grub.”

“I will have nine hundred grubs just to spite you. Speaking of grubs, you’re using condoms, right?”

“YES.”

She just giggles. “Aren’t they weird? Like weird little plastic socks.”

“I will put one on your head and suffocate you.”

“I’m sorry!” She throws her hands up. “I’m just happy you finally got what you wanted in life!”

“Jack is not all I wanted in life,” I roll my eyes. “What I want in life is a stable yet satisfying career in the field of my choosing and a giant house made of a single donut.”

“And Jack.”

“And Jack can come sleep in my donut house sometimes. Yes.”

Kayla stares at me, smiling with increasing amounts of dorkishness.

“What?” I snap.

“You really are in love.”

“Ugh.”

“I’m serious! What other boy would you let sleep in your donut house?”

“Johnny Depp.”

“Yes but he’s married.”