Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(36)

The guy thought he could intimidate her? Yeah, she’d show him.

She reached for the empty plate and the silverware rolled in a napkin. Real cloth napkins. The kind fancy restaurants had. “Can you pass the pecan butterscotch pancakes? Please.” She made sure—just for Matt—her voice was all sweet syrup.

Matt stared at her, the unyielding, half-angry expression pinching his lips, a futile attempt to be intimidating. She smiled at him, trying for one that looked genuine, but knew it came off as a bit forced.

Without looking away from her, Matt handed her the pancakes. The power of their heavenly smell drew her vision to them. Candied pecans were sprinkled over the platter, and the smell wafted into her nose. She closed her eyes and just breathed it in. God. Heaven on a plate. She forked one pancake on her plate, her hand shaking with excitement and the expectation of that first bite.

“Eat only a few bites. Small frequent meals until your body adjusts.” Matt’s tone was friendlier than his face.

“I know,” she said and reached for the syrup. And then the eggs and bacon and fruit. She mounded her plate ridiculously full—knew she looked like a food hoarder, but couldn’t resist the delicious look of everything. She sliced off a neat triangle of pancake and brought it to her lips. Flavor—butterscotch and butter and syrup—exploded inside her mouth. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, savoring. She’d missed good food. She swallowed and finally opened her eyes.

“How’d you like it?” Row asked, handing her a fancy padded ice pack.

“Wow, Row. Best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

A delighted smile lit Row’s wrinkled face. “I’m glad you like them. I made some extras for you to take up to Xander’s after breakfast.”

Isleen nodded her head enthusiastically and shoved another bite of pancake in her mouth and then held the icepack to her forehead while she chewed. She wanted to bury her face in her plate and go at the food rabid-dog style, but the doctor had told her to eat slow, small meals. After she swallowed, she sat back, determined to wait a few minutes before her next bite.

Alex focused on his meal.

“Alex?” She used her best soothing-the-scared-child voice. Surprisingly, his head rose and he met her gaze. Triumph pumped through her. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as Row made him seem. “How’s Gran this morning?”

He looked at her as if he hadn’t seen her before. With how devoted he’d been to Gran yesterday, maybe he hadn’t.

“I see Shayla in you.” His voice was a more gravelly version of Xander’s.

“It’s in the shape of her face, isn’t it?” Row bounced in her chair like a happy ADHD kid, obviously unable to contain her excitement that Alex had spoken.

Alex set down his fork, folded his napkin, and settled it neatly across his plate. “Where is Shayla?” His eyes were like twin icicles that pinned Isleen to her seat in a way Matt’s attempts at intimidation never could.

“I-I don’t know. Gran never spoke about her or the past or any of this.”

Alex flinched as if her words had whipped him across his heart. “What happened to Gale? Why is she in the condition she is in? Don’t you know how fragile she’s always been? You should’ve protected her.”

The pancake turned into a leaden lump in Isleen’s stomach.

“Alex!” Roweena’s tone was filled with shock and anger. “Don’t you blame her. She barely made it out of there alive. Blame the person who held them captive.”

“Gale’s not the same. She should be getting better by being near me and she’s not. I want you to tell me what happened to her.” The ice in his gaze pierced Isleen’s grave of memories.

“Alex. Leave.” Row’s voice was all angry mother. The tone could shrink an adult man to little-boy size. “Leave this table. Right now.” She stood from her seat and pointed out into the house. He didn’t leave; he just stared at Isleen, accusation chilling his expression.

“I didn’t hurt her. I’d never hurt her. I tried to protect her.” Images of torment and torture flashed into Isleen’s mind—escapees from the memory grave. Things she never ever wanted to remember, things she didn’t want to speak of, things she had to keep buried. “I’m not going to talk about it.” She heard herself yelling and couldn’t lasso her volume back down. “None of it matters now. It’s done. It’s over. And I’m done being hurt by it.”

*

Xander shivered beneath the cold spray of water. Goose bumps prickled his skin, and chills racked his body, but he wasn’t getting out until the goddamned urge to chase after Isleen passed. He wasn’t going to set foot in that house, but goddamn, he was worried about her. Even under the frigid spray, his face fired with embarrassment that he’d had to call Row and ask her to check on Isleen. Row telling him that Isleen was okay, that she was just getting out of the shower, did nothing to calm him. It was like his body was primed in her direction, vigilant for a threat, ready to sprint to her rescue.

His phone on the sink vibrated loudly against the porcelain. It could be about Isleen. Naked and splashing water everywhere, he jumped out of the shower.

Kent calling lit up the display.

Fuck. He’d forgotten Kent intended to conduct his initial interview with Isleen today.

“Yeah,” he answered, reaching for a towel.