Spasms wove through Isla’s spine, pinching muscles and nerves. She dragged her mind from the torture. The plane’s tires screeched against the tarmac. Passengers’ heads jerked and swayed.
Isla was home.
Different city. Same vultures.
She dropped the extra cash for a non-stop flight. The faster she flew out of her enemy’s territory, the better. Martin never warmed up to Isla. He yapped on about blood relation all day long even though he wasn’t biologically connected to the Pierces. Only by marriage did they share similar interests.
The Pierce family was a clockwork maze of liars and schemers, and Isla was one of them.
She turned on her phone and reached under the seat for her bag. As the plane taxied to its gate, she was thankful to return to balmy Florida. Though it had been a temperamental spring, snow never touched the coastal cities. An occasional bite of frost didn’t bother Isla, but blizzards and ice storms were out of the question.
She stood and waited as the stream of people flowed down the aisle. Isla maneuvered around a man mining around in an overhead compartment.
An infant cried. A woman sneezed.
Even when the possibility of someone watching her was slim, Isla remained alert. It wasn’t paranoia but fact.
A text message chimed from her phone. She pulled down the screen.
Carys: Waiting out front.
Her closeness with Carys spanned many years and had been developed with great care. Isla focused her efforts repairing her marred reputation. It was a delicate dance of poise and skill. To align with the Pierce family, Isla had to renounce her own.
With pleasure, she did so with blood vows.
Isla ambled through the terminal. She dodged a near luggage–stroller collision and stepped onto the descending escalator. Her dark, knowing eyes stared straight ahead, disregarding the commotion behind her.
She weaved through a sea of travelers to the glass doors. Isla spotted her convertible and a leggy brunette propped against the passenger door. Carys’s green polka-dotted dress fluttered against her knees.
She didn’t notice Isla right away. Her focus was on the older gentleman standing next to her. Carys tipped her head back with a laugh and slid her palm down the front of his suit coat. Isla shook her head and stepped through the automatic doors.
“Hello.”
Carys screamed and threw her arms around Isla’s neck. “Welcome home.”
“You saw me this morning.”
“I know silly, but I missed you.”
Carys unwound her arms and introduced Isla to the gentleman. His handshake was as firm as his attention was glued to Carys.
“Jack and Father attended University together,” Carys said as she batted her eyelashes.
“During the Dust Bowl?”
Isla was playfully poked. “Be nice.”
“Ellis was quite the football hero back in those days,” Jack said.
He ignored Isla’s jab and continued to talk about the good times, “before arthritis and gout.”
A police cruiser slowed next to them.
“We better go. Our husbands are expecting us,” Isla said and snatched her keys from Carys.
He slipped Carys his business card. “I’ll be in town for a while. Give me a call, and tell your father hello from me.”
“Will do.”
Jack walked backward toward an idling limousine. Carys wiggled her fingers in a playful wave.
Isla shoved her shoulder. “Get in, Scarlett.”
Carys pouted but did what she was told. Isla opened the driver’s side door and tossed her bag into the back. She rearranged her seat and mirrors as Carys buckled herself in. When Isla started her car, the radio blared a whiny-pitched voice.
Isla fumbled with the station. “Damn it, Carys. When driving Monty, you may not torture him with your twangy my-man-set-fire-to-my-pickup-truck music.”
“Because your hippie ‘California Dreaming’ music is better?”
Isla pulled from the curb. “Don’t mock my Mama Cass. You’ll walk home.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“You know I would, and I’m surprised you don’t love the oldies, Mister Geriatric back there.”
Carys pulled the visor down and flipped open the mirror. She dabbed gloss on her puckered lips, tilting her head from side to side. “I love Jack’s incredible stock portfolio, amongst other things.”
“You have issues. Like, electroshock therapy issues.”
“Gavin has fun. Why can’t I?” Carys’s voice slipped into a faux southern drawl.
“I know you believe that in your past life you were a Georgia belle who sipped sweet tea while Atlanta burned, but—”
“And Gavin and Jack would duel for my hand in marriage.”
She glanced over at Carys. There was no point discussing the matter further since she had slipped away into her Gone with the Wind fantasy.
Arranged marriages were considered archaic; however, heiresses or debutantes were encouraged to seek husbands within their family’s financial bracket, illicit or not. Isla discovered that few wealthy and prosperous corporations operated on the straight and narrow. Specialists were hired to secure favorable public opinion. Marriages were no different.
Ellis, a lobbyist of sin, organized Carys’s marriage to the Chair of the Florida Gambling Control Board, Gavin Devlin. The Devlins were one the influential families who oversaw a large portion of the East Coast’s underground business and politics.
Many argued that organized crime families no longer had any pull in the United States, but they were wrong. The mafia had simply evolved over the years. No more gangsters toting Tommy Guns shooting up a rival’s brothel or booze mill; today’s bosses had to progress or spend the rest of their days behind bars. Strike that — the bosses were in prison or dead. Their sons, nephews, and uncles recognized that technology was the future, specifically cyber warfare. It was easier to hide behind a computer than the city’s streets and back alleys.
Carys pushed the visor up; her dark mahogany hair whipped around her face. “I was impressed by your restraint. Martin deserved a punch to the face.”
“He’s lucky we weren’t near the windows. I stuck the device underneath the chair. Not the best place, but it works. Anything after I left?”
“Just a few colorful words about you, but nothing of interest yet. Crosby’s on it.” Carys paused and shifted in her seat. “Have you heard from Reed?”
“No.”
“He was last seen in Aspe—”
“I know.”
“You’ve been tracking him, haven’t you?”
“He’s too close to Jules.”
A gap of silence fell between them.
“Why bear the burden alone? He’s your husband, and he knows you were a Walker,” Carys said.
“I was never a Walker, and I’m not bearing the burden alone. You, your father, Henry, and Crosby know. My commitment to Reed is methodical, nothing more. Jules is my priority, and she needs to remain underground.”
“We can protect her. Better than Ronan’s son.”
Isla weaved through the interstate traffic. “No. The risk is too high. Especially now with Martin dishing out threats, and Henry has given up everything for Jules.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re going to allow Reed to continue his idiotic mission of uncovering a phantom man he believes you had an affair with. You aren’t that kind of woman. Why continue to hurt him?”
Isla remained quiet. What was she to say? Her life was nothing but secrets. She didn’t even know what kind of woman she was. Friends and enemies blurred. All who breathed were threats not only to her but also to Jules. In their society, a child born from perversity resulted in shunning or worse. Even though Isla was a child herself. Ronan could never discover the innocence Isla birthed into the world.
Her daughter purified Isla’s soul.
Martin’s threats crept into her thoughts. She was an outsider wielding too much power. With the listening device in place, Isla could find out how much he did know of her, among any other shady dealings he had going on. Clearly coaxing Mia’s current drug charge wasn’t keeping Martin as busy as she hoped. She didn’t care about his problems with Ellis or the white collars.
Isla slowed and passed through the gates of Devlin Estate. The driveway lined with cathedral palm trees wound toward the two-story waterfront fortress. She pulled to a stop, and Carys gently touched her hand.
“You love my brother. I know you do.”
“He’s my husband. Mere protocol.”
“Keep convincing yourself of that, but I see right through you, Isla Pierce.”
Carys leaned over, kissed her cheek, and slipped out the passenger side. Isla believed all her lies, each deceptive word but one. The one she refused to acknowledge for fear she’d be weakened and her enemies would strike. She hated discussing Reed with Carys. Only a few knew her secret, and at the most inconvenient times, they’d say such things, causing Isla to think about him. Isla glanced down at her Art Deco-engraved wedding band.
Carys whistled, grasping her attention. She winked and stepped through the open front door, disappearing inside.
Damn Carys.
Her phone rang.
Damn Ellis.