“It was you in the dream, but I was you.” Isabelle looked at Andy as if she wanted to make sure she understood what she was saying. “I felt everything you felt. The adrenaline, the fear, the love, the pain.”
“Love?” As soon as Andy had said the word she regretted it.
Isabelle didn’t hesitate. “What you felt—feel—for me.”
Andy didn’t know how to respond, so she got out of bed and walked to the apartment window and stared at the bustling streets below. Today—Friday—was warmer than yesterday, the mellow sun peeking through the buildings, blinding her for a moment as she scanned the horizon from east to west, as if looking for a threat.
A way out.
She felt restless. She needed to move, to breathe cold air over the fire in her stomach, the worry eating away at her. The other, unnamed emotion building inside her like a perfect storm.
Love. What a word. Love was never simple or unconditional. That was people’s first and biggest mistake. It had a lifetime of expectations and dreams attached to it people never even knew existed.
“Andy?”
She turned on her heels, struggling to look Isabelle in the eye.
“You can forget about everything else. It’s okay. The only thing you have to remember is that the attack on you and Detective Wright happens in the diner one block down. Roman’s Diner. And it’s going to be soon, maybe in the next few hours. The dream was vivid, more real.”
Andy frowned. “How do you know where it will happen?”
“I went jogging with Warrick last night, scouting possible locations.”
Who the hell let Isabelle roam free at night? Andy swallowed the sudden surge of anger. “How did you even know where to start looking?”
“My algorithm. And Jam helped with some data points.” Isabelle sat back, sheets tangled between her legs. “Will you please come with me to the diner? I want to show it to you so that you know what to expect.”
“I don’t know if that’s wise. We can talk through it here, as always.”
“Being there would be better. Besides, I need to get out.” Isabelle crawled from bed.
Andy inspected her for any signs of trauma but detected none. Isabelle stood her ground, head slightly turned, a soft smile on her face, but her eyes ready for battle. She knew what she was doing. What she wanted.
Andy was amazed at how she had grown into her skin over the last few days.
“Okay,” she said. “But first we go and let off some steam in the ring with René. It will help you recover. And we have a meeting with Kate. Then we can go to the diner.”
Isabelle nodded in agreement. “And maybe then you can tell me what’s been bugging you. You didn’t tell me everything that happened last night. Something has upset you.”
“What’s new?” Andy deflected the question.
Isabelle was right. Something was eating away at her—something new. She just didn’t know if she wanted to put it into words.
* * *
“Ouch, Bouchard. Lady’s got a beautiful left hook. Do you want my glasses? How did you not see that one coming?”
René was leaning over the boxing ring, watching as Andy and Isabelle sparred, both of them slick with sweat. Andy’s hair was plastered to her neck, Isabelle’s tied back in a ponytail that swung from right to left as she moved in to punch Andy’s midriff.
Andy danced back just in time. Isabelle was fit, and she was trying to tire her out with pure staying power, darting away every time Andy wanted to tackle her to the ground, forcing them to box rather than wrestle. Andy had always tried to end any fight as soon as she could, rather than waste her energy on big shows of endurance.
She stopped all of a sudden, dropping her hands and speeding up her breathing to a notch under exhausted.
“I give up.”
Isabelle frowned and turned to René. René shrugged, suspicion on her face.
Andy dashed forward, grabbing Isabelle around the waist and slamming her to the floor. She lay on top of her, knees on either side of Isabelle’s torso, holding Isabelle’s right wrist in her left hand and pushing down on her throat and her left bicep with her right forearm.
“Yield,” she demanded.
Isabelle’s surprise transformed into anger. She tried to lift her lower body with her legs in an attempt to throw Andy off, but Andy’s bulk kept her there, solid and unmoving.
“Hmm-hmm,” said Andy. “Got you. Yield.” She applied more pressure to Isabelle’s throat. “No more Ms. Nice Guy.”
Isabelle’s body relaxed. She smiled up at Andy. “But you were such a nice guy last night. Making me come like that, inside me. Anyone ever told you you’re an excellent lover?”
Andy leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Every time. I’ve never left a woman unsatisfied. Not one of the hundreds of women I’ve taken to bed.”
Isabelle swore with white-hot anger. She wriggled and kicked under Andy, but with little success.
Andy laughed at her. “Two can play this game.”
“Are you ladies going to move it along, or should I give you the room?” René called from the side of the ring. “Isabelle, do you know how to get out from under Andy?”
Isabelle squirmed again, then threw her head back on the floor. “No. And she’s getting frigging heavy.”
René jumped into the ring. “I’ll show you what to do.”
She touched Andy’s shoulder, indicating to her to move to the side. The smile she gave Andy was pleased.
Andy shook her head. “It’s not what you think.”
Rene laughed. “Oh, it’s exactly what I think.”
* * *
Isabelle packed up her training gear, watching as Andy threw her gloves into her sports bag and zipped it closed. Apart from being gorgeous, stripped down to her exercise gear, her body looked pleased and satisfied. Confident.
No. Damn cocky, almost like the Andy Bouchard Isabelle had dreamed about weeks ago.
She liked it. The idea that she’d sparked that swagger in Andy, that Andy was returning to herself, to the woman of her dreams.
She took off her training gloves, reached out, and gently touched the scar on Andy’s side. “Where did you get that?”
Andy’s muscles contracted, but she didn’t retreat from her touch. “A stubborn Fijian who almost stabbed his girlfriend to death.”
“But you were in time?”
“Yes. We got lucky. It happened at the restaurant where she worked as a sous-chef and I pretended to storm into the kitchen to complain about the soup.” Andy lifted her bag over her shoulder. “Make no mistake, a lot of this is luck.”
Isabelle nodded but said nothing.
“You don’t believe me.”
“No.”
“Let me ask you something else then. Do you think we cause any harm?”
Isabelle considered her answer. “No,” she said eventually. “Where you—we—get it right, it helps. I think.” She frowned. “You said we. You’ve never said that before. Does that mean you’ll stay when this is done?”
“Probably not. Don’t know. And you? Made any decisions on your future yet?”
“I know that I won’t stay without you. I don’t think I can trust anyone else with my body,” she answered as honestly as she could.
“You’ll learn,” said Andy, not looking her in the eye.
“I’ve not dreamt of anyone but you, ever, so no, I’m not going to learn.”
“The pay is good. You’ll see. You can continue your studies and live a good life. It’s not always this hectic.”
Isabelle didn’t answer. She didn’t want to blackmail Andy into staying. If she was going to remain at Ma Soeur, she would have to do so of her own accord. She wiped down her face and shoulders with a fresh towel she fished from her bag, then waved René down as she walked past.
“I wondered if I could also learn to throw knives, like Andy. Just for fun.”
René looked at Andy.
Andy shrugged. “I have a spare set. I’ll give it to her. We can see if we can fit in some training tomorrow.” She weighed Isabelle’s hands and body. “You should be fairly good at it.”
René nodded. “Okay then.” She looked at Andy. “I know you have a meeting with Kate, but do you have five minutes for a bit of sparring?”
Andy sighed. “Nobody else left to kill in the entire building?”
“Nobody willing to fight as hard and dirty as you are.”
Andy looked at Isabelle. “You go ahead and shower if you want. I’ll be there in ten minutes. The knives are on the first shelf, under my T-shirts, if you want to take a look at them.”
“Okay.” Isabelle hiked her bag over her shoulder.
“Leave some hot water for me.”
Isabelle laughed. “Only if you win, sweetheart.”
* * *
René knew all her tricks. Apart from her army training she’d mastered Krav Maga, judo, and a variety of other fighting forms. She was ruthless in the ring and her first contact showed it. She forced Andy into a corner, pumping her fists into Andy’s upper body, leaving her blocking as best she could, struggling to absorb the blows that slipped past her arms.
“Don’t want to spoil that pretty face for the missus,” René joked, her breathing steady.
Andy didn’t respond, just ducked and stormed into René’s body, taking a blow to the head, instantly feeling blood trickling down her face.
She slammed René onto the floor, trying to sneak in behind her to execute a choke hold. René swiveled, then lifted her feet—her body—in one swift movement and summersaulted backward, over Andy’s body, breaking the grip.
Andy scrambled forward to avoid René taking her down from behind.
“Not bad for an old woman,” Andy teased her.
René waved her closer. “Let me show you who’s the old woman in the ring.”
Andy was taller than René, so her reach was better. She danced in, faking a blow to René’s side. As René drew her body away she exposed her head, and Andy jetted forward, grabbing her behind the neck with her left hand, pushing her backward, holding her close as she hit her body with a number of short, sharp punches with her right fist.
René returned the embrace and tried to push her back, repeatedly slamming her right knee into Andy’s ribs.
Neither of them let go.
René was putting everything into her kicks. Andy could feel her ribs taking a hell of a bruising.
She let go of René’s neck, then caught her leg as she brought it up for another kick. She dove forward and landed on top of her, both of them squirming and grappling for the upper hand.
“Yield,” Andy said as she finally had a grip on René’s head and torso, the blood dripping down her right eye, blurring her vision.
“Only if you stay,” René heaved.
“Is that what this is all about?”
“Maybe. But I also want to make sure you’re sharp. That you don’t get killed out there.” René’s voice was rasping, her throat struggling against Andy’s arm.
“I’m okay.”
“You won’t be if you leave and you know it. Don’t be so stubborn. Go see Victoria. Get some peace. Move on with your life.”
Andy shot to her feet. “Fuck it, René. What do you know?”
René coughed, sat up. “I know you better than you know yourself. We’ve been friends since you were sixteen. If you let this go, if you let Isabelle go, you’re going to regret it. And you’d be monumentally stupid.” René smiled wanly. “And I’d kind of miss you, you know. Again.”
“I’m okay with being stupid.” Andy climbed through the ropes of the ring and snatched her bag from the ground.
“And regrets? You okay with those too?” René called after her.
Andy wiped the blood from her face and walked out of the gym without answering.