Page 12 of Tracked By the Fixer

“You–” I start to say, but I can’t say anything else. My tongue feels way too big for my mouth. I swallow hard, feeling like I might choke on my saliva.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says, coming toward me. His touch on my arm when he turns me away from the carnage he’s created is deceptively gentle. I know what those hands can do, and it terrifies me. “Come on, let's get you out of here.”

“You killed them,” I say again as he walks me toward the car. “They– Isaiah, you–”

“I know,” he says gently. I can’t equate the man talking to me with the man who killed those people. I think I might be going insane. “Don’t worry about that, though. Those bodies won’t be found. There’s a cleanup crew on the way.”

I can’t think of anything to say in response, so I stay quiet. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, I need to get away from him. I don’t feel safe around him anymore, and it’s obvious to me that I don’t know him at all.

I can’t believe I let myself get caught up in this psycho’s web.

He helps me into the car, and I think my lucky stars that he’s going to be taking me home. Except we don’t go toward my apartment. Instead, Isaiah smiles over at me and says, “Good news, we’ll be able to make our reservation now.”

“I– I thought you said you had something to deal with at work,” I whisper, my heart sinking.

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck as he says, “I was hoping I’d have more time to figure out how to tell you this, but thatwasthe thing I had to deal with at work.”

“So… this…” I say slowly, putting together the pieces of the puzzle. I have them all now, but still I can’t quite believe it.

“It’s my job,” he says, not batting an eye. “I only do this kind of handling for work, though. I don’t shoot people for fun.”

The way he says it is so blunt. It makes me squirm in my seat, unable to find a response. That doesn’t seem to bother him, though. So, as we ride the rest of the way to the restaurant in silence, I begin to formulate my escape plan.

God, I hope I’m able to get myself away from him.

Isaiah parks on the street and leads me into the fancy steakhouse with his large hand on the small of my back. Even if I wanted to break away from him right then, I couldn’t. Especially not in the heels I’m wearing. So, I hold my head high and try to exude normalcy.

I think I do a fairly good job of it. We get to our table quickly, and I agree to each of the appetizers that Isaiah suggests. For good measure, I even order a mocktail. I make small talk with him, not really registering any of the conversation. Then, when our drinks hit the table, I excuse myself to wash my hands.

From what I can tell, Isaiah doesn’t suspect anything. He gives me a warm smile, and it’s almost enough to make me forget about what I saw less than half an hour ago. But I can’t get the image of those two men, crumpled and dead on the ground out of my head.

Instead of going to the bathroom, I head straight for the front door. Without breaking my stride, I let myself out, stepping onto the street. The first breath of air feels like freedom.

At first I walk calmly, not wanting to raise any alarm bells. The further away from the restaurant I get, the faster I go, keeping up a brisk trot for a block. Eventually, I stop just long enough to take off my heels. Once my feet are free and my shoes are in my hand, I take off running.

As the buildings pass me by, the weight in my chest starts to lift. I’m going to get out of here! I’m going to make it home! I just have to duck in somewhere and call Wendy to get a ride. Just being near my best friend will calm my nerves, even if I’m too overwhelmed to get any words out.

I’m about to duck into a bank when I feel hands on my waist. I hear two men’s voices that I don’t recognize. Desperately, I try to turn around and see who has me, but I’m thrown into the back of a van and the doors are closed before I can say anything.

As they get in and drive away, I’m screaming at myself in my head.Whycan’t I move?Whydo I freeze? I shouldneverhave run away from Isaiah.

Chapter Eight

Isaiah

I know Lilly left the restaurant. When she got up, I was well aware of the fact that she wanted to make a run for it. So, I let her get through the doors before I threw some cash on the table to cover our bill and a tip for the server before I followed her.

Instead of going by foot, I get into my car. I’m careful not to alert her of my presence, even going so far as pulling onto a side street when she stops to take off her shoes. I long to get out and insist she let me drive her home, but she needs some time to cool down.

She’s been twitchy and uneasy since the events in the alley, and I should have known better than to bring her to the restaurant. It was a miscalculation on my part. Forced normalcy wasn’t what she needed. What she needed was a proper explanation and the space to freak out on me.

I’ll beat myself up about it later, after I ensure she gets home safely. Then I’ll start my campaign to win her back. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I’ll be damned if I lose her over this. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she’s mine.

Several blocks away from the restaurant, she starts to slow down. At first, I assume it’s because she’s tired from all that running. Then, I notice the way her eyes dart around all of the buildings, and I realize she’s looking for somewhere to step into. I’m not sure what her reason is, but it’s a smart one; she’s not the type to take risks.

I’m about to pull onto another side street to stay out of her line of vision when I notice two men running at her. Abruptly, I stop my vehicle and throw it into park, not caring that I’m blocking the road. I start to run at them, but they’re faster than me.

I watch in horror as they throw Lilly into the back of an unmarked, white van. From the efficiency of their maneuver, I can tell that they’re professionals. It’s highly likely that they’re a second wave of men sent by the boss of the two I’ve already taken care of.

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