Touching Eternity (Touch Series 1.5) (37 page)

“Isaiah!” She gasped, outraged and horrified by the statement.

Isaiah shook his head, face solemn. “I’m not making that up, Ams. He’s lost it. You’re not safe here anymore.”

Anymore? When was she ever?

“But how—”

He touched her arm. “Leave it to me. I’ll find a way. Just don’t tell…him!” He jerked a head over his shoulder towards Derek. “I don’t trust him. He still works for your father.”

She understood his paranoia. After all, hadn’t she had the same fear not too long ago?

“Are you sure about this, Isaiah?”

He nodded. “Very.”

They didn’t talk about it anymore that night. Isaiah made a show of leaving her room, only to slip back in when Derek had left. She didn’t let him sleep in the chair again. Instead, he crawled into bed with her, pulling her into his arms and blanketing her in hope.

“I love you,” he whispered into her ear.

A smile tugged on her lips. “I love you, too.”

***

Isaiah never told her what his plans were for their great escape. For the next several weeks that passed, he rarely spoke while his mind was miles way. He stared off into space, his brows furrowed. He would start when she spoke to him as if coming out of a dream. He would blink and mumble an apology. She didn’t blame him. He had so much on his mind. When he wasn’t thinking of ways to get them out of there, he was with her father, running errands and going on missions that made her heart want to shrivel up and die in fear. Isaiah stopped telling her about them, which was both a disappointment and a relief.

“I have to,” he told her one day when she begged him not to go. “If your father suspects that there’s anything out of the ordinary…I have to play along.”

“I don’t like it,” she said, gripping his hand tight. “I don’t like you having to put your life in danger because of his lunatic ideas.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, sounding so sure. But his reassurance did nothing to ease her mind. She carved a groove into the floor with every anxious pace.

Derek never bothered her, never asked her to stop. He sat in his chair, making idle conversation, possibly to ease her mind. One afternoon, he arrived with a gift in tow. He removed it from the inside pocket of his jacket and passed it to her.

“So your head doesn’t explode,” he’d told her, smiling a little.

Amalie had unwrapped the wrinkled brown paper and blinked at the worn leather in her hand.

“It used to be my sisters,” he’d told her. “I thought it would help if she wrote her thoughts down instead of bottling it all up inside. She never got the chance to use it.”

She was unable to stop the tears that cut a path down her cheeks as she hugged the diary to her chest. “Thank you.”

He’d said nothing as he turned away.

It was December before Isaiah’s plans took any real shape.

“Do you think it will work?” she asked once he finished going through his idea.

Isaiah shrugged. “It’s our only hope.”

Logically, it seemed sound, but anything sounded fine with just words. It was the action part they needed to work.

“How are we going to do it?”

He shifted his weight, going up onto his elbow to peer down into her face. “We’ll do it while everyone is distracted. I’ll cut the main power grid, which will shut down all the lights. That’s when you will—”

“But what about Derek?”

“You’ll have to get him out of the room.”

Amalie frowned. “How?”

Isaiah shrugged. “Make something up. Get him to leave. Then, you sneak out and make your way out the backdoor. Don’t stop running until you get to the gates.”

“But there are guards at the gates.”

“It’ll be dark. They’ll be too busy trying to get the lights back on that they won’t notice you if you’re careful.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

It sounded so perfect. The unstoppable surge of excitement was heady and exhilarating. She could almost taste the freedom. But it was too perfect.

“It won’t work,” she said, scared now. “We won’t make it far, not without a vehicle and food and clothes.”

“Let me worry about all that, okay?”

Tremors shook her body as she tried to contain the ocean of fear and anticipation raging war inside her. Could it be possible? Was there a chance they could actually pull this off? It was just too much to think about, to hope for.

“When?” she whispered.

“Soon,” he said. “Be ready.”

She had never been more ready for anything.

It was three days after their escape plan when Garrison summoned Amalie down for supper. It was the first time in months. Isaiah was as suspicious as she was about the sudden invitation.

“Stay close,” he told her as they ventured down to the solarium with Derek only a few steps behind them.

Garrison sat in a high back chair, a cup of lemon scented tea in hand. He glanced up when they walked in and smiled.

“You made it!” he said as if they’d had a choice. “Would either of you like a drink?”

Both shook their heads, wary.

Garrison set his down on a round, glass table at his elbow. “Amalie.” He was looking at her, really looking at her and not over her shoulder or at something in his hand. His eyes were cutting straight into her. “Would you mind?”

It took her a moment to get over the shock to follow the gesture of his hand towards the sleek, black piano a few feet away. It wasn’t the sight of it that had her eyes bulging and her body going rigid. It was the fact that he wanted her to play that had a wave of wary suspicion flowing through her.

The piano had been her mother’s. Julia had done a lot of pleading and coaxing before he’d allowed Amalie to learn. Amalie hadn’t touched the ivory keys in over a year, not since Julia was fired for trying to protect Amalie.

“Please?” He was smiling again, warm and patient.

Her knees were wobbling uncontrollably as she crossed the room. They creaked when she sat on the glossy bench. Her fingers shook as she splayed them over the keys. So familiar. So much like home.

It was probably the wrong decision to make, but the melody wove through the room as it had before her mother died. Every note struck with precision, resounding off every memory associated with the mother she lost. Her mother’s favorite pieces, the one she used to play for Amalie when she was younger built a wave of grief that crashed over her. She played it quickly, afraid she’d be stopped at any moment and taken away. But when minutes passed and no one dragged her back to her room, she slowed, letting herself feel each hum slipping agilely over smooth keys. The sound sliced flawlessly through the arched dome, weaving through the bowls and pots of greenery. The harmony rose into the air, tangling with the sweet, humid scent of exotic blooms clinging to every scrap of oxygen.

Tears filled her eyes and she was glad to have her eyes closed. She thought silently of her mother and Julia, drawing forth their faces. Both had tried so hard to protect her, only to be taken from her when she needed them most. She knew neither would have allowed that year to happen. This was the only way she could think to thank them, so she played with everything in her.

“Okay.”

Amalie jumped, startled by the deafening
click.
Her eyes popped open and widened to find her father standing next to the piano, hands splayed flat on the glossy top, next to a miniature-sized recorder. His green eyes bore down into hers. She tried not to cringe back.

“You look like your mother when you play,” he said, then laughed as if he’d said something funny. “But then you always look like your mother.”

She didn’t know how to respond, so she said nothing.

His mouth opened, but he was interrupted by the march of feet approaching the solarium. The sound seemed to echo from everywhere, rebounding off the walls and ceiling. All eyes turned to the doorway just as four people stormed in.

Two were guards. Amalie didn’t recognize them, but then she didn’t recognize any of her father’s guards. The two behind them were dressed in long, black coats, black trousers and white dress shirts. Both had fedoras resting on their heads, obscuring most of their faces.

Amalie rose off the bench just as Isaiah reached her side in three quick strides, angling himself just enough to block her from sight.

“Gentlemen.” Garrison stepped forward. “I’m afraid this is an inconvenient time. I’m not taking any guests.”

The two strangers moved out from behind the guards and stalked across the room until there were only a few steps between them and Garrison. They simultaneously dug into their coat pockets and removed something small, square and black. They held the objects out and opened a flap.

“Detective Marlein. This is my partner, Detective Casey.” They folded and tucked away their badges. Detective Marlein scanned the room as he did it, shrewd, brown eyes settling on Isaiah, then Amalie before moving back to Garrison. “We need a moment of your time.”

“What is this in regards to?” Garrison challenged, lifting his chin.

“The murder of Gabriel Tomas and his family.”

Isaiah

For a long moment, no one moved. The only sound came from the echo of Amalie’s gasp. Isaiah reached behind him and took her hand, squeezing it once to keep her quiet.

“Why don’t we finish this conversation in my office?” Garrison decided smoothly. “Derek, please take Amalie to the dining room. Isaiah, come with me.”

Without waiting for anyone to comment, Garrison stalked out of the room with the two guards who had shown the detectives in. The detectives waited until Amalie, Derek and Isaiah followed suit before falling into step behind them.

Beneath his hand, Isaiah could feel the tremors that raked down Amalie’s frail spine. He slipped his hand around her waist, drawing her into his side while keeping a close eye on Garrison’s back.

“It’ll be okay,” he murmured for her ears only.

“I don’t like this, Isaiah,” she whispered back, her voice hoarse.

“Just a little longer,” he promised, pressing a kiss to the side of her head before nudging her towards the dining room entrance.

He met Derek’s gaze as the other man followed her inside.

“Your girlfriend?” one of the detectives asked as Isaiah continued after Garrison.

Isaiah ignored the question. He knew from years on the streets, evading men just like the two burning holes between his shoulder blades with their eyes, not to answer anything. Thankfully, they reached Garrison’s office and he was saved from having to speak.

Garrison sat behind his desk, hands folded neatly on top, waiting for them to approach. He looked right in his element, Isaiah thought, moving to stand out of the way. He was painfully conscious of the gun pressing into his spine. He hated the thing, but since his decision to get Amalie out of there, he’d taken to carrying it around. Not wanting to use it, but not wanting to be caught without it.

“Now, what can I help you with?” Garrison asked smoothly, staring into each face in turn.

The detective on the right removed his cap, revealing a head full of chocolate brown curls. He ran a hand through the strands, but didn’t replace the hat.

“How well did you know Gabriel Tomas?”

“Very well! I am—was Godfather to their eldest daughter,” he faltered, looking down at his hands. “She was a beautiful girl.”

“When was the last time you saw Mr. Tomas?”

Garrison cleared his throat, seemingly pulling himself together. “Last month. He told me he needed some time off.”

“Time off?”

“What was he doing for you?”

Both detectives asked simultaneously. They exchanged glances, silently came to some kind of conclusion and spoke again, this time only the dark haired one.