I find it difficult not to just wrap Isaac up in my arms for the rest of the day. His story sits heavily on my chest, his sadness pouring through me as I imagine the woman he left behind and all the sorrow that has plagued him ever since. I want to be there for him, to help him heal and move on, but the truth is we have bigger problems.

After some discussion, we decide to head out and get supplies.

“Jumping in and ambushing them isn’t the way to go. We need more information about these people. Knowledge is power. The more we know, the more we have to take them down in the smartest possible way.”

His dark eyes are beseeching, like he’s willing me to see reason. I nod, knowing that he’s right, even if I do want to pummel them head on. “I agree but what kind of stuff do we need?”

He lifts a skeptical eyebrow at me. Good God, even his eyebrows are hot. “You’re telling me that a journalist doesn’t know how to go about facilitating a stakeout?”

My lip twitches into the smallest smile as I cross my arms and lean back, staring back at him. “I’m a researcher, mostly, but I think I know enough to successfully accomplish this mission.”

“Good. Now why don’t we go gather some supplies while it’s still light out? We’ve got some time before they meet tonight.”

He stands then, holding a hand out for me to take, and I do, sliding my palm into his and relishing the sensation of it. When I stand, I don’t move away, instead facing him with our bodies close, the heat of him radiating straight through me.

I wonder if he’s going to kiss me, if he’ll press my body up against the wall one more time for a last free for all before we face the danger. Instead, he steps away, patting his leg for Buster to follow.

“Come on, pal. We’ve got some errands to run, and you need to get out.”

Buster wags his tail, the limb slapping against the nearby wall as his tongue lolls around with his panting. I’ve grown fond of Buster over the last week. He’s like one of those people you meet and feel like you’ve been friends forever, even if he is just a dog. He’s helped us out more than once, and I’m happy to have him along.

We bundle up and head a few blocks west until we find a hardware store. Isaac makes a few purchases – things to help us see in the dark without being noticeable. At the front, a few old school disposable cameras keep watch, and I smile at the man behind the register.

“Selling some old relics, huh?” I ask, and his eyes dart to the cameras before he laughs.

“Sometimes old fashioned isn’t so bad,” he says, and I consider that.

Having a camera that isn’t tied to a cloud might not be a bad idea. Before Isaac can pay, I toss two disposables on the counter with our other purchases, and the store owner rings them up. He bags everything before handing it all to Isaac, and we step back out into the frigid cold.

Isaac looks at his watch. We both turned our phones off, fully aware of the fact that we are both likely being tracked by now. We quickly realized that we had no other way to tell time. He looks up at me, and behind him, the sun sets beyond a city skyline.

“We’ve still got a couple of hours. What do you think about having a nice dinner, you know, before we toss ourselves in harm’s way?”

My stomach gurgles in support of this idea, and I nod, happy to get sustenance. I shouldn’t be hungry. My stomach should be in knots but it isn’t. A steadfast determination to get these motherfuckers and then perhaps have some dessert after dominates me. Maybe indulge in a little victory sex with Isaac once we’re done. Maybe have a little dessert on Isaac.

Yes, that sounds absolutely perfect.

We walk back to the apartment, Buster sniffing trees and suspicious wetness on the side of buildings as we go. Before we get there, Isaac has us stop in at a little market, and he purchases food for what looks to be a delicious Italian meal.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” I say.

He shrugs. “I imagine there is a lot you don’t know about me. You’d be surprised how many firemen have culinary leanings. We like to eat well when we’re waiting for a job.”

“We’ll see just how good you are in the kitchen,” I say, and my imagination runs wild.

It’s pretty hard not to. I cast a sideways glance at Isaac, and I have to crane my neck to look up at his strong jawline, his perfect bone structure. He is godlike, and the more I get to know him, the more I feel ready to tell him the truth of my own feelings.

Perhaps once this is all said and done, I can.

“Always challenging, aren’t you?” he asks with a gleam in his eye. He pays for the food and we finish the journey back home, climbing the stairs to his apartment. I don’t even bother to glance at my own doorway. Who wants to be there when I can enjoy a nice peaceful meal with the hottest man on Earth?

When we enter his apartment, Buster beelines for his water bowl before settling comfortably in his dog bed for a nap. I chuckle, glancing over at him as we make our way into the kitchen.

“Tough life, hey, bud?”

Buster lowers his head and closes his eyes, unperturbed by my comment. I slide onto a stool next to Isaac’s kitchen counter as he begins pulling ingredients out of bags and preparing the stove and oven for cooking.

“I’d love a glass of wine right about now but I know I shouldn’t,” I say wistfully, staring at his small wine rack, filled with a variety of bottles.

He nods. “Not a good idea. We need clear heads tonight for what we’re about to do.”

I sit and watch him in silence for a bit, thinking again about his story, and wanting to know more.

“Did you always want to be a firefighter?” I ask.

He shrugs a powerful shoulder as he pulls out some raw chicken and sets it on a pan to bake. “I did, yeah. My old man was one in New York. He was on call on 9/11.”

I swallow, waiting for the story to turn dark, as so many of those stories do.

“And?” I say when he doesn’t continue.

He looks back at me, realizing that he left me hanging. “Oh, he’s fine. He survived the day, saved as many people as he could but he was never the same after that. It was a day of horrors for a lot of people but he saw everything firsthand. That does something to a person.”

His eyes are dark and haunted, and I know he’s thinking about that woman and the little girl again.

What was her name?

“After that, the change in him changed me, too. I realized that the world needed help, and there weren’t enough people out there to provide it. I grew up wanting to help people, and seeing how my dad did it, taking on this job felt like a natural progression, the family business, you could say.”

I find the courage to ask the questions burning at the tip of my tongue. “What happened to the girl? The one that you saved?”

He looks down and says nothing, then looks at me. “She’s as fine as she can be, given the circumstances. I heard she was placed with an aunt, a close relative, and that she’s been in therapy. I didn’t get more information beyond that, though I do…” He hesitates, inhales, then plunges on. “I do contribute to a college fund I’ve created for her. I’ve been putting money in it ever since the accident. It makes me feel better about what happened, even if it won’t make up for what I couldn’t do. Her name is Penny.”

He tosses some angel hair pasta into boiling water, giving it a stir before he leans his elbows on the counter and looks up into my eyes. “What about you? Was your mother a writer?”

I laugh, taken aback at his fast topic change, though I can tell he’s ready to move on, and I allow it. “Hardly. She was a stay-at-home mom, actually. My dad worked odd jobs, finally settling in as a mail carrier. We didn’t have too much but we did all right.”

“You talk to them often?”

The question makes me uncomfortable. I’m reminded that I was nearly killed and hospitalized and my family still doesn’t know. I feel like a terrible daughter but I’m still struggling to remember why I backed away from them. Something to do with Gareth, I think. “Not as often as I should, no.”

“I noticed they weren’t there when you woke up, or when you were out for that matter.”

“I think you noticed that no one was there but you,” I counter.

He stands up once again, turning to stir the pasta. “I did notice that. I’m not sure why that is though. I think you’re pretty fantastic, Scarlett.”

My cheeks heat and I lift my cool fingertips to them, hoping to hide a little of my blush. “Yes, well. Since I can’t remember a good chunk of the past year, maybe I stopped being as nice as I ought to have been.”

I want to tell him about how I’ve left my family out of the loop, about my suspicions that the ties lead to Gareth in some way. Oh, shit, I should have checked on them the minute I knew I was in danger, because they might be in danger by association. Perhaps, I had a good reason for keeping them at bay.

Have I been protecting them this whole time, ensuring that they have no connection to me? If Gareth knew that I would be hurt were they to fall into danger, there is a chance he would use that information against me. Maybe he already tried, and that’s why I cut them out recently. I reach into the back of my mind for any memories that might help and come up empty.

Again.

I release a frustrated breath and Isaac turns to me with a curious expression.

I shrug, placing my elbow on the counter so I can rest my cheek in the palm of my hand. “Just grasping at straws over here. Don’t mind me.”

He stops what he’s doing and leans back on the counter, his eyes inches away from mine as they delve into me, seeing right through me. I want him to look at me like that forever. I want to be seen. It feels like Isaac is the only person in the world who has ever seen me. I’m constantly reminded that he is the only one who I can trust, the only one who was there when I needed someone the most.

My rescuer.

“You’re going to overcome this, Scarlett. You are too strong, too tough to let these assholes win. And you’re not going to do it alone, either. You’ll have to get to them once I’m finished, of course, so there might not be much left.”

I grin into his eyes, and I can’t help myself. I lean forward and plant a gentle kiss on his lips before sitting back in my chair. “Thanks, Isaac. I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight but I’m grateful for everything you’ve done.”

He waves a dismissive hand at me before turning back to focus on the food. He must get thanked for saving lives often. Just another day in the life of Isaac Wright.

The oven beeps, indicating that the chicken is done. Isaac pulls it from the oven before smothering it in a sauce he’s cooking on the stove next to the pasta, which is also just finishing.

“Wow, you are a pro at this,” I say, admiring the streamlined process he’s created for cooking.

When he looks back at me, he’s grinning. “I’m not just a hot piece of ass. I have some pretty major skills.”

“Aw, and here I was thinking you were just man meat,” I shoot back.

He chuckles as he plates our food. He sets it on his small kitchen table before pulling out a chair for me, ever the gentleman.

“A gourmet meal for a lady in distress,” he says, and I cross my arms at him.

“I’m hardly in distress,” I say.

“Agree to disagree as we prepare to sneak up on your would-be killers.”

I can’t argue with him there, so I take the offered seat and dig into the perfectly moist chicken on my plate. The sauce is made with a blend of pesto and alfredo, and the combination is beyond delicious. Topped with a sprinkle of parmesan cheese, I do my best not to wolf it down, realizing that I haven’t had a proper meal in ages. My stomach agrees, demanding more even as I do my best to take small bites, eating slowly.

Isaac changes the topic back to the night ahead of us. We’re close to departure time. We go over our supplies, and I tell him what I know about the house, given the satellite images I was able to bring up during my search earlier. We talk about the best ways we might be able to get in to listen in on the conversation, and Isaac has some surprisingly clever ideas for how to go about it.

“You’re in the wrong profession,” I say. “You should have been a spy.”

He laughs, and it’s a warm, gentle sound. It contradicts with the fierce strength of the rest of him, the warm gooey center of Isaac that no one knows about but Buster and me. We’re in on a special secret – the man Isaac is beneath the muscle, behind that daunting scowl.

It’s beyond comforting. My chest blossoms with warmth at the thought of it, and my feelings slowly continue to reveal themselves to me, even if I’m not ready to show them to the world. Not until we’re safe. Then I can go about my life and start something new. Hopefully with Isaac. Hopefully without fear, ever again.

“I don’t think I would have lasted long as a spy. If you haven’t noticed, I don’t exactly blend into a crowd.”

“And how do you expect to tonight?”

“By not being seen at all. I can be silent when I want to. I can sneak when I want to. I can’t pretend to be something I’m not. That is why I would fail at a job that involves lying day in and day out.”

“Fair enough,” I say, scooping up the last of the sauce with the chicken on my fork and taking my final bite. I sit back in my chair, full and comfortable.

“That was delicious. You are impressive, my friend.”

He nods at my compliment, scooping up our dishes and setting them in the kitchen sink before returning to the table. He glances at his watch again, and I ache to look at my phone. I’ve gotten so used to having it with me, it feels like a phantom limb, like a part of me is missing. I don’t particularly like the feeling. If this experience has taught me anything, it’s that I rely way too heavily on technology.

Once this is over with, perhaps I’ll just get a landline, and call it a day.

I’m about to tell Isaac that we should get going when the world around us goes completely dark. One minute, I’m staring at Isaac’s handsome face, and the next, I can’t see a damn thing, not even my hand before my eyes.

“Isaac?” I say, and I curse the little shake in my voice.

“It’s all right, I’m right here. Give me your hand.”

I stand up slowly, my hands skating along the top of my chair, the table, slowly making my way across until I bump into Isaac’s warm body. I slide my hand down his arm until I’m able to lace my fingers in his, my heart beating a mile a minute.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

I live in the city. Even if the power went out in the apartment, the lights from outside, the buzzing of the world around us, would still be happening. There is no light. There is no sound. Isaac guides us in the direction of the window, pulling back the curtain as we stare out into the street below.

All around us, the entire city block is shrouded in darkness. Every streetlight, every apartment building is cast in black.

“Do you think they’re doing this?” I ask, and I shift a little closer to him, seeking his strength.

“I don’t know. Could be a regular old power outage but we just don’t know. Let me go grab a flashlight.”

“I’ll check downstairs and see if anyone knows of anything,” I say.

Isaac holds my hand tighter. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I pull my hand from his, that old sensation of stubbornness rising as I move to do as I please. “I’ll be fine, Isaac. There’s no way they’re powerful enough to blow out the entire city. It has to be some kind of power grid issue. Relax.”

“You’re telling me to relax at a time like this?” he demands.

I step closer toward the door, making my exit. “Okay, don’t relax but let me do this and then we can figure out how to get to the house without light or technology. Deal?”

“No,” he says but I ignore him and step out into the hall anyway. A small crash and a mumbled curse sounds behind me. My hand finds the bannister, my feet seeking each step as I struggle to find my way in the dark. There are voices outside, and I reach the bottom step finally as I slowly make my way forward.

“Scarlett! I found a light. Come back up so we can do this together.”

Staring out into the shadows, I decide that he’s right, turning to find the staircase in the dark. A meaty, sweaty palm wraps around my mouth then, my body pulled into the chest of a stranger. I scream but the sound is trapped in the padded, salty palm of my assailant. I’m dragged to the front door before it’s opened and a cold gust of wind dances along my skin, goosebumps rising for more than one reason.

I bite the flesh of the hand covering my mouth as hard as I can and a man curses as he flinches away for a fraction of a second.

“Isaac!” I scream. The hand is wrapped even tighter around my mouth before I’m tossed haphazardly into the back of a van. The engine growls as the vehicle pulls away, taking me with it.

All I can do it hope that Isaac heard my scream, and somehow has a way to follow me. Otherwise, they finally win out, and I’m dead.