Page 93 of Reaper's Desire

And then the assassin goes limp. Julian holds him for a few more seconds, making sure, then lets him drop to the floor. The man doesn't move or breathe.

The apartment is suddenly, devastatingly quiet. I'm still holding the gun, my hands trembling so badly I can barely keepmy grip. Julian crosses to me, gently taking it from my hands and setting it aside. His hands are warm and steady as they cup my face, forcing me to look at him. "Are you hurt?" His voice is urgent.

I shake my head. I don't trust my voice.

"Isabelle. Are you hurt?"

"No." The word comes out as barely a whisper. "I'm—I'm okay."

He pulls me against his chest, and I can feel his heart pounding as hard as mine. We stand there for a moment, both of us breathing hard.

Vivienne is still screaming. Incoherent now, just raw panic and terror. I turn to look at her, and the hatred in her eyes when she sees me alive is so pure and absolute that it takes my breath away.

She wanted me dead. Even now, even after everything, she still wants me dead.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway makes us both tense. But this time, I recognize them. I know that stride.

The door—what's left of it—swings open, and my father steps through.

26

ISABELLE:

He's wearing an expensive coat over his suit, his hair slightly disheveled, like he rushed to get here. His face registers shock as he takes in the scene: the destroyed living room, furniture overturned, glass everywhere, blood on the floor. His daughter standing in the middle of it all, a man in black lying motionless nearby. His wife bound to a chair, her face streaked with tears and rage.

For a long moment, no one speaks. No one moves.

Then my father's eyes find mine, and something in his expression shifts. The shock gives way to concern. "Isabelle." His voice is carefully controlled. "What happened here?"

I open my mouth to answer, but I don't know where to start. How do I explain weeks of running, of assassins hunting me, of discovering that his wife—the woman he married, the woman he trusted—tried to have me killed?

Julian steps forward. "Mr. Montague. My name is Julian Carros. Your daughter is alive because I've been protecting her from multiple assassination attempts. Attempts that were ordered by your wife."

My father's eyes move to Vivienne. She's stopped screaming now, but she's still crying, her body shaking with sobs. "Jacques," she gasps. "Jacques, please, you have to listen to me?—"

"Is this true?" My father's voice is colder than I've ever heard it.

Vivienne opens her mouth, closes it. "I—I can explain?—"

"Is. This. True."

The silence stretches out. Then, finally, Vivienne nods.

My father's face goes completely blank. It's the expression he wears during business negotiations, but underneath it, I can see the beginnings of grief he's struggling to hold back.

He turns back to me. "Are you hurt?"

"No." My voice is steadier now. "I'm okay. We're okay."

His eyes move to the man on the floor. "And him?"

"The assassin," Julian says quietly. "He broke in while we were waiting for you. We had no choice."

My father nods slowly. And then, without a word, he steps forward and gathers me into his arms.

He holds me for a long moment, his arms solid and reassuring around my shoulders, and I can feel the tremor in his hands—the barely controlled emotion that he's trying to keep locked down. Jacques Montague doesn't show weakness. He doesn't show fear or vulnerability or regret. Even when my mother died, I remember him holding it all back. But right now, standing in the wreckage of his apartment with his daughter alive and his wife bound to a chair, I can feel all of it.

When he finally releases me, he turns to look at the room again. His expression hardens into something cold and terrible.