“I’m going to the store. Can I get you anything?”

I overenunciate each word and take in the wide-eyed stares from my classroom of students. They attend the Horizonte Centre to learn English, and I have the unfair advantage of being fluent in their native language as well as my own.

Ramona, a teenager from a nearby secondary school, raises her hand. “Can you get for me a loaf of bread?”

I smile because she’s progressed quickly in my class but also because I recognize my drive in her. That drive to excel, paired with an affinity for language, had in some ways saved me. Language had healed me. Ultimately, it had given me a ticket to run away.

“Of course. Anything else?”

I glance around the room for other participants. I sense someone’s eyes on me and turn my head. Kolt is standing in the doorway. He looks fresh wearing his expensive blue jeans, a pale-blue collared shirt, and a cocky grin, as if I didn’t blatantly shoot him down just hours ago.

“Bom dia, amigos.” He flits his gaze around the classroom and then nods to me, his smirk deepening. “Senhorita Foster.”

I want to be mad, but he makes it difficult. I can only muster mild annoyance. “English only in my classroom, Mr. Mirchoff.”

“Lunch?”

I want to admonish him for clearly flirting with me in front of my students. They smile and share knowing looks. I think they enjoy this pretend romance that most of the school and its staff believe we have. I think they also enjoy when I play hard to get.

“We have ten more minutes of class. I suggest you get back to work. Tchau.”

I flip my hand in his direction and move to the whiteboard to highlight some new vocabulary.

“Now, who brought their recipe homework today?”

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting across from Kolt at the outdoor café. I’m devouring my sandwich while he picks at a pastry beside an emptied cup of coffee.

“How are you feeling?”

I look up, wide-eyed. “I’m fine, why?”

He follows the curve of the cup with his finger. “Well, after all those caipirinhas last night, I thought it might be a rough morning for you.”

I pretend like I don’t hear him. We both know the truth anyway.

“Can I take you out tonight? Dinner maybe?”

I shake my head. “The city is too crazy right now. Maybe next week sometime after things calm down.”

That would also buy me time to figure out what to do with him. Because a real relationship isn’t in the cards for me right now.

He works his jaw and stares at me intently. I’m worried he can read my thoughts. I’ve never been great at schooling my features.

“Isabel, what’s going on with us? We work together. We’re friends, and we messed around a few times. Now I don’t know what we are.”

I swallow hard and avoid his gaze. “I don’t like labels.”

“Fuck buddies?”

I glare at him. “Stop.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but I can’t stop thinking about what I want this to be.” He gestures between us, his expression softening.

“Kolt…” I sigh because it’s safer than forming words. I like our easy friendship. I enjoy the low hum of our attraction. But I can’t get entangled with him.

“Is there someone else back home?” Concern shadows his eyes.

I shake my head. “He’s gone.”

His lips tighten. “Who is he?”

“Nobody. An old flame. It was a long time ago, but he’s not the problem. I’m the problem.”

“You’re perfect.” Affection and determination wrap around his words, tugging at my heart.

At this moment I hate Kolt for being sweet and charming. I hate myself for not being able to embrace it, because if I could, that means I could be normal. I could fall in love, make love, and carve out a normal future with a man like him. But I’m not healed all the way, and I’m not certain I ever will be.

“I’m so far from perfect, you have no idea.”

I distract myself by watching the people on the street. Every walk of life. Every wild and passionate inclination fueled by this week’s celebrations. I belong to this city more than I’ll ever belong to Kolt. Even though it challenges me and scares the shit out of me sometimes.

On the other side of the street, a man dressed in black is leaning against the building. In black jeans, black T-shirt, and a faded green jacket, he seems to be the only one not in motion. I can’t look away. Something about his face commands my attention. The longer I look, the faster my heart beats. So fast and so loud that I can’t hear Kolt speaking above it.

I’m riveted. I’m in disbelief.

“Isabel?”

I tear my gaze away to meet Kolt’s. “What?” I snap at him, because I can’t help how annoyed I suddenly feel by this conversation and his untimely distractions.

He leans in and reaches for my hand. “All I’m asking for is a chance to talk this through over dinner.”

“Fine, dinner.” I pull my hand away and look back to the man in the street. Fear seizes my heart. He’s gone.

No, no, no.

How could I have lost him? Seconds have gone by. Only seconds. I grab my purse and throw some bills on the table.

Kolt frowns. “Where are you going?”

“I’m sorry. I just have to go.” I push up from the table and walk away. I scan up and down the street. My breath hitches when I catch a glimpse of the man’s green jacket disappearing behind a group of partiers several feet away.

I don’t think. I move as quickly as the crush of the street traffic allows.

“Tristan!” I yell, garnering a few looks from passersby.

He doesn’t look back. My heart falls.

It has to be him. It has to be. Otherwise I’m crazy.

My thoughts whirl and stutter. Maybe I have lost my mind. Maybe that’s how badly he’s broken me. That’s how desperately I want him back. I’ve dreamed him up so many nights, he’s going to haunt my goddamn days now too.

The seconds seems to grow longer as that last thought passes through my mind. He’s disappeared again. No matter how hard I look or fast I move, he’s nowhere to be found.

My gut is telling me he’s close. My whole body is telling me I need to find him again. Except I feel like I’m running out of time.

I pass salons and stores and run-down nothingness. I scan faces and peer down alleys. I don’t know how far I’ve gone or how much time has passed, but as hope dwindles, a familiar pain stabs at my heart.

Loss. Regret. Utter loneliness.

I should turn back. I should go back to my life and forget the dream…banish the memory…heal my heart.

I’m rioting inside. She knows me. She screamed my name down the street, for fuck’s sake.

Determined to prove my gut was all wrong about Isabel Foster, I decided to see her up close. Resolve once and for all that there was nothing special about her so I could kill her and move on with my plan to get out of Rio and on to my next assignment. I had no idea I’d be tempting fate.

I’ve been traveling the globe for three years. Working, blending in, and then getting out of sight. No one’s ever given me a second glance. No one’s ever known my name. I’m a ghost, and with one look, this woman has pulled me from a life of anonymity. I don’t know how to wrap my head around this new reality. It’s both terrifying and too tempting to deny.

If she knows me…

God, the possibilities are endless. My life is a book ripped in half. The first few hundred pages forever lost. But what if they aren’t?

I can see her clearly from inside the restaurant I ducked into moments ago. She’s stopped in the middle of the busy street, only a few feet away, wringing her hands and looking everywhere. Looking for me.

She turns her back to me. Her shoulders hunch. I can almost feel her ready to give up. I should let her. I should finish this, but there’s no way I can now. In the space of a few seconds, she’s graduated from a mark to the most fascinating person I’ve ever known.

I step out of the shadows of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk. She spins as if she senses me there. Our gazes lock. She says my name again, and another explosion of panic detonates. I can hardly fucking breathe.

I pivot quickly, continue up the street, and turn into a narrow alley. Darkness closes in on me the farther I walk. The alley is empty, quieter than the busy street. I can hear her footsteps behind me. Then her voice.

“Tristan!”

I turn back, and she halts a couple feet away. I’ve been watching her from afar for days. Being this close to someone I’m supposed to take out typically means they’re about to say their last words. This is different. So very different.

“Oh my God. I never thought I’d see you again.” Her eyes are glassy, and her voice trembles. “It’s me… Isabel.”

She reaches for me, and I’m ready to jump out of my skin. I cover her mouth with my hand and press her to the alley wall. She puffs rapidly into my hand, confusion washing her beautiful features. Her stormy hazel eyes are red-rimmed, but she doesn’t struggle against me.

“Who knows about me?”

I drop my hand so she can speak. Her rose-colored lips part, but she remains silent. Is she in shock? Why do I want to kiss her? Why does seeing her cry twist something inside me?

Not knowing fills me with renewed frustration. The muscles in my jaw tense, and I grit out the next words. “Tell me. Who knows I’m here?”

She shakes her head quickly. “No one.”

I exhale in relief. “No one can know.”

As I say it, I realize I can’t trust her to stay quiet now that she’s seen me.

“Are you in trouble, Tristan? Is everything okay?”

A shockwave jolts through me every time she says my name. It’s making me edgy. This woman’s presence had me unsettled from day one. If I don’t find out why, she’ll haunt me forever. I need to find out what she knows about me. I need more time. Except every day she’s breathing is a day we’re both at risk.

I’ve given her more time than she deserves. She’s supposed to be dead. I’m not about to let her get me killed too.

Back on the street, pedestrians stream by unaware and unconcerned with us. I have to make a decision. Kill her now or satisfy curiosity about my past that’s never burned this fiercely.