and sister had made him an expert in dealing with determined, independent women who could take care of themselves.
But he had to show Isabel that even the strong sometimes needed backup.
The next time Chad Ellis messed with Isabel, Dutch was going to see to it that he regretted it.
Chapter Eight
The annual fund-raiser was winding down but had gone better than Isabel had hoped. The elevator had been fixed earlier that afternoon. Canapés were being served and chilled champagne flowed all evening. Her uncle Emilio had purchased a painting over the phone, showing his support as always even though he couldn’t attend. They’d exceeded their mark, raising twenty thousand over their goal, and still had two paintings left.
The one thing that’d make the night better was seeing Dutch.
Isabel checked the door again, hoping he might show. Not that he had any reason to. She’d run out on him at lunch yesterday without a legitimate explanation, hadn’t called him to say thank you for dropping off the food despite his laid-back way of giving her his number and she’d neglected to extend him a formal invite to the event.
He must think she was a total basket case. Why would he come tonight unless he was a glutton for punishment?
“It’s haunting,” the mayor said about the abstract expressionist painting, yanking her from her thoughts. “This artist has the depth and passion of Jackson Pollock. I’ll take it.”
“Fantastic.” She plastered on a hollow smile. Pulling off her biggest event of the year with such a resounding success should’ve made her happy. But there was a gaping hole in her life. If only she knew how to fill it. “Thank you so much for your support.”
The mayor shook her hand and they held the pose for a photo op in front of the painting. With any luck, the picture would make the front of the Art and Entertainment section of the Sunday newspaper.
Isabel directed the mayor’s assistant to Brenda to complete the purchase.
One painting left.
The phone rang. Isabel made her way through the milling crowd to the front desk and answered. “Kismet art gallery.” She pressed her opposite ear closed so she could hear over the murmur of conversations in the background. “Isabel Vargas speaking. How may I help you?”
Heavy breathing rasped through the phone. Isabel’s stomach plummeted, her muscles tightening. Long breaths in and out over the line in her ear, deep, slow grunting.
Her hand fluttered to her neck and she fiddled with the string of pearls she wore.
“I hate your lipstick,” an altered male voice groaned, and the cold lump in her throat swelled to the size of a bowling ball. “That shade of red makes you look like a harlot. But I love the dress.”
First, he’d shown up at the restaurant and now he was making harassing phone calls again. No matter how he disguised his voice, she knew it was him. Chad Ellis.
“Sophisticated, yet, enticing. A second skin against your body, showcasing your curves.” He grunted, his breath growing heavier, deeper, viler. “You look beautiful tonight. Nice touch with the pearls. Such a tease.”
Bile burned up the back of Isabel’s throat as she dropped her hand from her neck and looked around out the front window. He wouldn’t be easy to spot. That maniac was hiding in the darkness, where no one else would be able to see him.
No witnesses.
“I bet you smell even better,” he said, dragging out each syllable in an eerie way that raised goose bumps on her skin, but she swallowed the bitter taste filling her mouth. “Maybe I’ll come closer to take a whiff. I miss you. Can you feel my eyes on you? Like a physical touch you crave. Watching you makes me so hot—”
“Get a life, you sick pervert, and stay out of mine!” Isabel slammed the phone down and caught the shocked glances of those around her.
Embarrassment heated her face, her heart fluttering. “Sorry.” She raised a trembling hand in apology. “Excuse me.”
She was done. No more hanging up in silence. No more running away. No more living half a life because she thought there was something wrong with her. She wasn’t the problem.
He was.
“Everything all right?”
Isabel turned around, freezing midspin. Dutch stood beside her, dressed in a slate-gray shirt buttoned almost all the way to the top and dark slacks. His face was tense, concern stamped across his features. The surprise was so pleasant and shocking she threw herself against his chest, hugging him.