Chapter 242
Wesley
I knew that voice.
My head snapped to the left, and I found myself staring into a pair of striking blue eyes set in a face that was equal parts beautiful and imperious. Flushed cheeks. A slight smile playing at lips that looked like they'd had a bit too much wine. Dark hair falling in artful waves around her shoulders.
Isabella Lloyd.
"You—" I started, but she cut me off with a wave of her hand.
"Save it. I'm not interested in your explanations right now. I'm more interested in why you were playing chicken with a semi-truck on Route 3. That was quite the performance, by the way. Very dramatic. Very stupid."
The driver—a man built like a brick wall in a suit that barely contained his shoulders—glanced at me in the rearview mirror. His expression suggested he'd rather throw me out of the moving vehicle than share air with me.
"Miss Lloyd," he said, his voice flat and professional despite the obvious disapproval. "The vehicle pursuing Mr. Lawson appears to be affiliated with organized crime. Are you certain you wish to involve yourself in this situation?"
Isabella stretched languidly in her seat, the movement somehow both elegant and careless. "Well, Jimmy, what choice do I have? I can't very well leave him to be murdered in the middle of the highway. That would absolutely ruin my buzz, and you know how hard I had to work to achieve this particular state of pleasant intoxication. Do you know how many glasses of Châteauneuf-du-Pape it takes to make a corporate merger negotiation bearable? Six. Six whole glasses. And I have another god-awful deposition tomorrow morning that I absolutely refuse to face sober."
She turned those blue eyes back to me, and I realized she was studying me with the same clinical precision she probably used in court. Despite the alcohol in her system, there was a sharp intelligence behind that gaze.
"Do you have any idea how many traffic violations you committed back there?" she continued, not waiting for an answer. "Reckless endangerment. Obstruction of traffic. Illegal lane usage. Failure to yield. And that's just the ones I can list off the top of my head. If I were to add the charges your friends in the SUV racked up while chasing you—vehicular assault, criminal recklessness, conspiracy to commit murder—we're looking at enough jail time to make your head spin."
I stared at her, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Isabella, I—are you drunk?"
She waved her hand dismissively. "Tipsy. There's a difference. And don't change the subject. If I'd let that chase continue for another five minutes, you'd have caused a multi-vehicle pileup that would've shut down this entire corridor. The paperwork alone would be a nightmare."
Through the rear window, I caught a glimpse of the Syndicate's SUV passing in the opposite direction. They hadn't seen us. Relief washed over me so intensely I almost laughed.
Isabella noticed, of course. She noticed everything.
"So," she said, that slight smile widening into something more genuine. "I suppose I didn't just prevent a series of misdemeanor charges. I actually saved your life, didn't I?"
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. "I can't lie to you. They were definitely trying to kill me. So... thank you. Thank you, Miss Lloyd."
"Well." She settled back into her seat, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "I thought as much. Your life really is one crisis after another, isn't it? Though I have to say, I didn't think this through at all. Pulling you into my car was pure impulse. Not illegal, mind you—Good Samaritan laws and all that—but definitely outside my usual risk tolerance."
I couldn't help the bitter smile that crossed my face. "I'll handle it. Whatever trouble comes from this, I'll deal with it. You won't be dragged into my mess."
Those blue eyes studied me for a long moment, something like surprise flickering in their depths. "You know, you're much more forthcoming than the rumors suggest. I'd heard you were an arrogant trust fund baby who thought the world owed you everything. But here you are, being almost... sincere."
"You're also not quite what the rumors say," I countered, finding my footing in this strange conversation. "I expected a uptight lawyer who lived and breathed case law. You're more... human than that."
Jimmy made a sound in the front seat that might have been a cough or might have been a laugh. "Mr. Lawson," he said, his tone making it clear he thought very little of me. "Where would you like us to drop you off? I assume you'd prefer somewhere... discreet."
My mind immediately went to Marcello. The Brotherhood. My people scattered across the city, probably thinking I was dead. The boss himself captured, fate unknown. Miles—Christ, Miles had taken a bullet for me. I owed him. I owed all of them.
I looked at Isabella, really looked at her. In the soft glow of the dashboard lights, she seemed almost ethereal. Her blue eyes held mine, and for a moment, I forgot about the chaos, the violence, the impossible odds stacked against me.
"Just drop me anywhere in the city," I said quietly. "I still have things I need to handle. But this debt—" I held her gaze. "I'll repay it. However long it takes."
Her expression shifted, something unreadable passing across her features. "We'll see about that, Wesley Lawson. We'll see."