Page 5 of Isla by Any Other Name

“It’s the master, so you have your own private bath. There’s clothes and toiletries in your room. If you need anything else just ask.”

“Good night, Mitch.”

“Good night, Molly.”

Isla awoke with a start. Her heart pounded in her chest. It was still the middle of the night.

The door flew open and Mitch stood in the doorway. His gun drawn, bare chested, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his feet bare. If she weren’t so scared, she’d devour him with her eyes. Muscles rippled as he walked toward her.

“Are you okay, Molly? I heard you scream.”

Isla shook her head. “I must have been having a nightmare. I thought I heard a gunshot and then all I saw was red splattered all over me—I’ll be fine. It’s just too much. I should have never walked down that alley or gone into that garage to see if Jim was okay. I should have gone home and called the police and had them look into it. It wasn’t like my opening that door saved Jim’s life—it didn’t. Now I’ve put my family in jeopardy. If anything happens to my parents, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Molly, you’ll get through this—I promise. I can’t tell you how long this will take to get rectified. Once Hernandez is behind bars, we can rest easier. I don’t know when, but you will get your life back.” Mitch went to flip the lights off and close the door.

“Can you leave the light on? I don’t think I can sleep in the dark right now.”

“Sure, try to sleep.”

She rolled over and pulled the pillow over her head. Morning couldn’t get here quick enough—the night sounds had her on edge. Every noise made her think this was the end. She had to stop thinking like that. These people were here to protect her—they’d keep her safe. She had to believe they would.

In the morning, for better or worse, she would start her life as Molly.

Chapter three

Marcus Hernandez sat on his patio overlooking the ocean. His estate on the Florida coast was his legacy. No one would take this away from him. He’d earned it all. This was his empire and he’d be damned if some little twit would be the reason it was taken from him.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit a button. “Get here, now, and bring Rodriguez with you.” He had to keep his cool. If anyone noticed a weakening in his demeanor, he’d lose the respect he demanded.

Growing up on the streets of Bogatá, Colombia, he learned early how to survive. Selling drugs on the street got him the things he needed—food, shelter, and later, plenty of money. He’d risked everything, including his life, to get where he was today. If Isla Pierce thought she’d be able to take down his empire, she was dead wrong.

Ten minutes later, Roberto Mendez and José Rodriguez walked around the side of the house, their faces stoic, their bodies tense.

“Boss,” Mendez nodded.

Rodriguez extended his hand in greeting, “Señor Hernandez, it’s a pleasure.”

“José, glad you could get away to see me. Have a seat. Roberto, sit!”

The men took their seats. “I’m going to get right to the point. I’m sure Roberto filled you in on the way over. What should have been an in-and-out hit—the old man of that traitor informant Will Watkins—has turned messy. This is unacceptable. I don’t allow mistakes in this business. José, I want this Isla Pierce gone. I don’t care how you do it—just get the job done. Call our contact in the Agency and find out what she knows. I pay her enough to keep her ear to the ground. She better come through if she knows what’s good for her. José, Roberto is at your disposal for as long as you need. Don’t let me down. I want that witness dead. Do you understand?”

José was sweating in his expensive suit. But he answered, “No problem, I’ll get it done. It might take a while to locate her, but my team will find her and she will disappear. I guarantee it.”

“Get to it! And keep me updated on every move. I don’t want any surprises. Keep me informed.” Marcus Hernandez picked up his phone and punched in a number, ignoring the men before him. Dismissed, they stood and left the compound.

Isla awoke from a restless sleep. Nightmares had invaded her dreams. Twice she woke up bathed in sweat, her body trembling. She hadn’t had any more company invading her room so she must have kept her screams to herself. A hot shower was what she needed to wake herself up. This was her new normal. The woman who finally had control of her life was now at the mercy of complete strangers for every aspect of it. That control had been lost in the blink of an eye and that terrified her.

She went to the closet and found a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers to wear. Even her underwear and bra were the right size. After finishing with her shower, she dressed and opened the door cautiously, looking down the long hall and listening for any sounds of life. She heard a quiet murmur coming from the direction of the kitchen. She found everyone sitting around the table going over papers.

“Morning everyone,” she said. “I’m sorry I woke everyone last night. I hope you were able to get back to sleep.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Molly. You’ve been through hell,” Lara said.

Isla poured herself coffee. “I’m a nurse practitioner in the ER, for goodness’ sake. I thought I’d seen it all. I guess I was wrong.”

Colt looked at her with his intense dark eyes. She could tell from the laugh lines around his lips that he was a joker, but had also seen a lot on the job. He replied, “One doesn’t expect to see someone murdered in front of them, Molly. Murder is never easy to witness. Your mind is just trying to accept what it saw. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t feel the way you do.”

Mitch chimed in. “Molly, there’s breakfast casserole in the oven and bagels in the fridge. Max made it last night since he was on watch. We all take turns cooking. Well, everyone but Lara. She’s not allowed near the stove.”