CHAD PUSHED THROUGH the men’s locker-room door into the hallway and stopped short at the sound of a melodic voice that made his pulse race. Isabel. He peeked around the corner, catching sight of her going into one of the empty workout rooms with John.
What are you doing here in the evening? Not like you to deviate from your schedule.
Had their encounter earlier stimulated her as it had him?
From the gleam in her eye at the restaurant and the way she ran out, she’d been aroused. Still was, and she’d come here to work it out physically since she couldn’t have the type of release that he’d give her.
Fire sang in his blood even now. Growing hotter, burning brighter as he watched her.
Isabel’s caramel-brown hair was pulled into a high ponytail, her luscious hips swaying as she walked. He saw how other men took notice of her, lusted after her with their eyes. She liked it and so did he. As long as no one else touched her.
John talked her through a movement, something basic and easy. She got into position and then John lunged at her. Without a second of hesitation, she responded the way he’d shown her.
Are you thinking of me? Imagining us together, tussling, our limbs entangled, with me finally on top of you, holding you down?
He smiled, sensing their connection getting stronger.
“Hey, Chad,” Abraham said, coming out of the locker room.
Chad pivoted, facing him, and flashed a bright, easy grin.
Abraham glanced over Chad’s shoulder at the room where Isabel and John were practicing, then looked back at him. “Ready for class?”
“Actually, I got an emergency call from the office. I need to go, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Part of him was tempted to stay, hoped she’d see him, giving her another spike of endorphins, making her skin flush only the way he could.
But that would spoil the foreplay.
He was eager to see what she’d do next and he had a few moves that she’d never anticipate.
* * *
“BEFORE YOU LOOK at the file, did Agent Rogers say why she withheld it?” Allison asked, sitting in front of the laptop in the makeshift command center.
Dutch set his motorcycle helmet on the table. “Something about not wanting me to treat Isabel in an overprotective manner because it’d push her away. And, uh, the more I knew, the easier it’d be to slip up.”
“I’m going to make a coffee run. Anyone want anything?” Draper asked.
“Skinny cappuccino,” Allison said. “Thanks, sir.”
Dutch shook his head and Draper left.
“I’ve got to warn you,” Allison said, her voice grim. “The redacted information made my skin crawl and it will definitely make your protective alpha instincts flare, so if you read it, don’t go all caveman on the asset. Okay?”
Give him some credit. As an elite operator on the Fugitive Apprehension Response Team, restraint and patience were prerequisites. “Sure.”
Allison got up and gestured for him to sit at the computer.
“Where should I start?” he asked.
“The restraining order.” She clicked on the document and brought it up on the screen.
Dutch skimmed over it, trying to pinpoint the essential elements of information through the superfluity of legal jargon.
“You want to look at her allegations,” Allison said, as if reading his mind. “She claims that over the course of their one-month relationship, Chad Ellis grew increasingly possessive, controlling and aggressive. She felt intimidated and scared and broke up with him.”
“Any abuse?”
“Not physically, at least not while they were together. In her statement, Ellis comes across as charming and persuasive, like a cult leader. Isabel struck me as a bit inexperienced and too trusting.”
“It’s good she broke up with him before things got violent.”
Allison grimaced. “But there’s more. The night she ended it he tore up her apartment. After the breakup, the harassment started with him following her. She alleged that he called her at all hours, forcing her to change her cell number, but she still received calls at the gallery. Unfortunately, it was never proven. Ellis voluntarily handed over the records for his cell phone and all the landlines of businesses.”
“It would’ve been easy enough for him to use a burner.”
Allison nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”
“What does the guy do for a living?” Dutch asked.
“Here’s the creepy part,” Allison said, bringing up other documents on the screen. “He owns a few car washes, several biohazard remediation cleaning businesses from Malibu to Laguna, and a couple of funeral homes with crematoriums.”
Ice slid through Dutch’s blood. “What is he, a serial killer in the making?”