Page 43 of Isla by Any Other Name

Colt knocked on Mitch’s door at six. “Yeah,” Mitch said, jumping to action and pulling on a shirt. “Come in.”

Colt stood in the doorway. “Anything I should know before we go downstairs?”

“No,” Mitch said. “Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Colt. “Maybe it was the way the two of you looked at each other. Has anything changed between the two of you?”

Mitch felt like he was backed into a corner. He already had Max on his case. If he admitted something to Colt, he could be pulled off the mission.

“Nothing to talk about,” Mitch said, tightly. “I’ll be down shortly.”

“Okay,” Colt said, not looking entirely convinced. “Do you want to wake up Molly or should I?”

“I’ll wake her. We’ll both be down in a few minutes. Now go,” Mitch directed, more firmly than he normally would. He needed Colt to remember that he was in charge here.

“I’m goin’,” said Colt, raising a hand in surrender.

Everyone joined them for dinner. Colt’s pot roast was delicious. He accepted everyone’s compliments with a smile. The conversation at the table was about the previous day’s debacle. It had been a hell of a ride. They were all on high alert. The adrenaline pumped throughout the room as the conversation wound around the table.

Dirk came into the room. “Mitch, the director wants you. He’s waiting on the computer downstairs. He doesn’t sound happy.”

Mitch stood and caught Isla’s gaze before turning and going downstairs. Once downstairs, he sat at the desk in front of the computer. His commanding officer stared back at him.

Director Seth Thomson frowned as he looked down at Mitch’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just a flesh wound,” Mitch said, trying to fix his face so he didn’t show any discomfort. “Molly fixed me right up, a few stitches. It pays to have a nurse practitioner on the scene.”

The director barked, “What the hell happened out there yesterday?”

“They found us—that’s what happened. I don’t know how, but they did. These guys are ruthless.”

“Mitch, I’m not going to lie, the US Marshals’ office is ready to take over. I know that’s not the way we planned it. But this is the second time they’ve found her. I think it’s for the best if we turn her over to them. If anything, it would throw them off her trail and she might still be alive to testify when this finally goes to trial.”

“Seth, we can keep her safe. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her and neither would the rest of the team. We’ve been protecting her for the last eight weeks. She’s become more than just a witness to all of us. My team is the best you’ve got and you know it. We can get the job done. Haven’t we proven that to you continuously?”

“It’s not a case of you not being the best. It’s out of my hands. You need to deliver her to the Marshals’ office tomorrow. I tried to stall them, but they weren’t having any of it. Mitch, they know what they’re doing. They do this for a living every day. They’ll relocate her and set her up. We’ll work with the Marshals’ office to relocate her folks as well. She’ll be fine—I hear she’s tough.”

“She’s not as tough as you think,” snapped Mitch protectively. “She’s fragile right now.”

“She’ll be fine once this is all over. I just got word that the date for the trial has been scheduled for the second week of January. It’ll all be over soon, and then she and her folks can get on with their lives.”

“That’s a month from now. I don’t understand why we have to turn her over to the Marshals’ office when the trial is only a couple months away.”

“Like I said before, Mitch, it’s out of my hands. This came from above. Talk to her tonight and fill her in. Have her ready to go.”

“I don’t like this, sir. You can put that in your report.”

“I’m sorry, Mitch. I don’t like this any better than you do. I’m just following orders, like you are.”

Mitch hung up the call and then hung his head. Following orders—it’d seemed so easy before. Now it felt like the hardest thing he’d ever have to do.

Chapter twenty-three

Mitch sat at his desk for what felt like an hour. Finally, he lifted his tired bones and climbed the stairs to the kitchen. Isla was already there, concern written all over her face. He met her gaze as she stood up.

“What’s wrong—is it my parents?” she asked as her eyes filled with tears.

“Your parents are fine,” Mitch said. “Molly, let’s go up to your room, we can talk there.”