Chains of Fire (29 page)

McKenna hustled back to the door, opened it.

Charisma raced out, yelling, “Isabelle! Wait up!”

McKenna shut the door. Glared at Samuel again. And started toward the kitchen.

Samuel stood there. Just stood there. He didn’t know what to do.

He’d thought they were making progress, but Isabelle had hit him. Smacked him right across the head with the full strength of her arm behind it. He had a knot on his head!

Walking into the library, he poured himself a stiff drink. Turning, he found himself facing two pairs of eyes.

Caleb. And Aaron.

“Pussy-whipped?” Caleb asked Aaron.

“Oh, yeah. He is so whipped,” Aaron agreed.

They knew. They knew Samuel and Isabelle had been getting it on, and now they were laughing.

Samuel gave in, flopped down in an easy chair, and said, “I’m sorry. You’re right. What do I do now?”

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter what time it is; you have to believe it’s five o’clock somewhere.” Charisma bumped her lightly.

“No.” Isabelle’s inescapable manners forced her to add, “Thank you.”

“So where are we going?”

“To Saks. I need a new dress for tonight’s party.” Isabelle didn’t look at Charisma. She didn’t want her to see the tears that pressed at the back of her eyes.

But of course Charisma knew. She was a difficult person to hide anything from; she and her stones always seemed to know what was going on.

“There’s a party tonight?” Charisma asked.

“At my mother’s. Her annual Valentine’s Day party. She gives it every year.”

“Thus the annual part.”

Isabelle whipped her head around and glared.

Charisma got the unspoken message. “Yeah, that was unnecessary.”

They turned onto Fifth Avenue.

“Want to get a cab?” Charisma started to raise her arm.

“No.” Isabelle picked up her pace. “I want to walk.”

“But it’s a long way to Saks and . . . I want to walk, too. It’s a great day for it.” By which Charisma meant snow had started to drift down, a few flakes at a time, and a raw, brisk wind was blowing.

It didn’t matter. Nothing could cool Isabelle’s hot cheeks.

“I guess Samuel isn’t taking you to the party?” Charisma asked.

“I didn’t ask.”

“Why would you have to? If it’s an annual event, he knows it’s happening. He should have asked you.”

“I thought that, too. But he didn’t. So I was going to be a modern woman. And ask him. Luckily for me”—Isabelle’s fists clenched—“he was a jerk first, so I don’t have to put up with him tonight.”

“Samuel was a jerk? This is a change
how
?”

“Shut up, Charisma.” They walked on in silence until Isabelle said, “I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I got involved with Samuel again.”

“Oh.” The one word hung on the frosty air.

“I guess we were obvious?”

Charisma coughed to cover her smile. “We, the rest of us, noticed you two had come back from Switzerland and spent a lot of time talking in closets and whatnot.”

“You’d think I’d know better.”

“Because you two were involved before?”

Isabelle had never discussed Samuel with anyone. Now she admitted, “Twice. We were involved twice before.”

“Wow.” Charisma’s green eyes rounded with surprise. “I mean, we all suspected once. But twice!”

“Obviously, I never learn.” That was the bitterest pill to swallow. Isabelle had done it to herself. Again. “Did I really need to see again that he is without honor or morals or kindness and has not a civilized bone in his body?”

“I agree with you about him not being civilized, and he is way too blunt, kind of crude, and he can really be offensive. And honestly, the man cannot figure out how to change a roll of toilet paper.” That had been a bone of contention between Samuel and Charisma the whole time they’d known each other. “But I’ve known him for almost three years now, and I can’t complain about his morals; he seems pretty grounded. I’ve seen him be really kind to the kids we rescue, and frankly, I’d trust him with my life.”

Isabelle could hardly contain her irritation. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours! Really! I simply thought there were more realistic reasons to complain about Samuel....” Charisma’s voice trailed off. She pointed into one of the small stores that lined Fifth Avenue. “I love that hat, and my ears are freezing. Do you mind if we go in?”

Isabelle did mind. She wanted to walk fast enough and far enough to escape her own thoughts. But Charisma was her friend, she had come after her, and she didn’t deserve to lose an ear for her kindness. “Of course not.”

They ducked inside, and Charisma said, “You might find something you like!”

Isabelle looked around the shop, lined with studded leather jackets, jeweled dog collars (for humans), and boots covered with chains and zippers. “Not today.”

Charisma tried on half a dozen knit caps before settling on one that looked like a Halloween fright wig. She bought matching gloves that made her hands look like the Wolf Man’s, and out they went onto the street again.

The snow had picked up. Charisma tried to catch flakes on her tongue before asking, “What did Samuel say this time?”

So in his exact words, Isabelle told her.

She was able to use his exact words because they were burned like acid into her brain.

“Samuel actually said that?” Charisma pursed her lips.

“He is an . . . an asshole. A . . . a fucking—”

Charisma put her hand over Isabelle’s mouth. “Don’t even try. Swearing is organically foreign to you.”

Isabelle pushed Charisma’s hand away. “I need to practice.”

“If you’ve lived with and loved Samuel twice and haven’t learned, it’s never going to happen.”

Isabelle sighed. She supposed Charisma was right.

“We’ve known Samuel was an asshole for years. But what you told me he said . . . it was kind of sweet.”

Isabelle stopped midstride. “I beg your pardon?”

People walked around them, grumbling.

“No, really. Think about it. He says everything wrong all the time, so you have to put this through a Samuel filter, which is clogged with heaven knows what kind of disgusting gunk, but when you clean it up a little bit, he was declaring he wants to take care of you no matter what the circumstances.”

“You are absolutely insane.”

“Really.” Charisma seemed very certain. “Think about it.”

“No. I want to think about something else.” They stopped on the street corner and waited for the light. “Like the party tonight. Do you know what I’m going to get? I’m going to get the tightest, reddest, sluttiest dress you’ve ever seen, and I will make Samuel sorry he didn’t ask me out.”

“If he’s not taking you, how will he know?”

Isabelle smirked. “Honey, in the right circumstances, I’m someone the paparazzi would love to stalk.”

“Man.” Charisma blinked at her. “I never realized it, but you can be scary.”

“Yes. And listen—”

Without warning, Charisma slammed into Isabelle, knocking her to the concrete behind a parked car. “Stone!”

“What the—” Isabelle half rose.

Charisma pushed her down again.

Shots sounded.

People screamed.

Tires squealed.

Charisma yanked Isabelle to her feet. “Okay?”

“Good.” Isabelle’s knees were skinned and her wrist was swollen. Hurt like the dickens, but when bullets were flying, that was minor damage—and she healed quickly. It was
the
benefit of her job.

The two stayed low, running, keeping the parked cars between them and the street. When they’d covered a block, they ducked inside a store and stood, white faced and shaking.

The store owner hustled forward, as pale as they were. “Did you hear the gunshots? My sister’s shop is there, and she texted me. She says it’s a gang-related violence. Here! On Fifth Ave!”

“We definitely heard the shots,” Charisma said. “We were out there.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Isabelle asked.

“Six guys from a rival gang, but no one seriously. A couple limped away. The rest are stretched out on the street. Cops and ambulances are everywhere.” She waved her phone. “Here, my sister took a picture!”

Isabelle and Charisma exchanged glances, sighed, and relaxed.

The bullets hadn’t been meant for them. Which they knew, because the Others didn’t work that way, but it was good to be certain.

The shop owner looked worried. “You look a little shaken up. Could I get you something? Tea? Champagne?”

Isabelle looked around, recognized the clothes, realized she was in a small exclusive dress shop. “Aren’t these Asiah Miller’s designs?”

The owner’s eyes lit up. “You know her?”

“I wear her.”

“This was lucky.” Charisma put her arm around Isabelle. “She needs a dress. Cocktail length. Red. Tight. Slutty. Have you got one?”

“Yes. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” The owner disappeared into the back.

As soon as she disappeared, Isabelle asked Charisma, “How did you
know
the shooting was about to occur?”

“I hear the stones sing. It turns out that in the right circumstances, bullets are stones, too.”

He backed up, headed in to meet her.

Charisma was lounging in the recliner in front of the fire, e-reader in hand. And she was smiling at him, the kind of shit-eating grin he had hated to see from a rival lawyer, much less from Isabelle’s friend.

“Where is she?”

“She’s in Boston, at her mother’s, getting ready for the Valentine’s Day party.”

“Valentine’s Day party.”

“Yeah. You know—the one you didn’t invite her to?”

“I didn’t know she wanted to go.”

Charisma sat up straight and gave him the evil eye. “What a crappy excuse.”

Even he had to admit it was.

He glanced at his watch. “I can catch the train and be there in five hours.” He threw Charisma the flowers and started out the door.

In a taunting tone, Charisma said, “Give me the jewelry and I’ll tell you the rest.”

Turning back, he paced toward her, leaned down, his hands on the arms of the chair. “I picked out the jewelry for
her
.”

“In that case ...” She mocked him with her smile.

“What’s the rest?”

“She’s bringing a date.”