STILETTO SISTERHOOD - Book Two

Isobel | If he's Frankenstein, then I'm Aquaman

Isobel shoved a collection of Soduku puzzles into her travel bag, and did a quick mental scroll through her list. T-shirts, and new socks. Enough chocolate covered raisins to induce a diabetic coma, several large bags of Salt n' Vinegar chips—which her Da loved to eat with the chocolate covered raisins.

A nauseating combination, but one she was happy to indulge for this long overdue visit. The latest John Grisham novel and, lastly the puzzles.

Sealing the zipper on her tote, Isobel's phone rattled on her dresser. Recognizing Teresa's number, she plucked it up and swiped her thumb across the screen. "Hel—"

"Isobel, thank god!" Teresa cut her off, her tone rich with frustration. "I need you to pick up Marco from his specialist appointment in twenty minutes."

Isobel's mouth tumbled open. "What? I can't, I'm—"

"Please, it's an emergency. The press are tailing me hard, I can't lead them to Marco. The press slapping his face across the news right now is the last thing he needs."

No, he certainly didn't. The specialist was outside of the city, and on route to her father, but to go all the way out there, turn around to drop him off, by the time she got back on the road the highway would be a mess of traffic that would back her up for hours.

"Isobel?"

"Yes, okay. Sure." Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, she blinked away frustrated tears. "Give me the address."

Despite getting off at the wrong exit, Isobel reached the medical care center in under twenty. On the outside it looked like a gorgeous, modern home. The sign was subtle, and street facing, but once she rolled into the driveway, she gazed up at the three-storey mansion made of sleek dark grey blocks and red cedar and large glass windows.

The massive red cedar doors swung open, smooth as a whisper at the slightest touch.

Inside the waiting room was empty and a mature woman sat behind a stately reception desk behind a glass partition.

"Hi," Isobel adjusted the weight of her purse on her shoulder. "I'm here to pick up Marco."

The woman smiled. "ID please."

"Right." Removing her drivers license from her wallet, Isobel slid it through the envelope sized notch and waited as the woman carefully scrutinized it.

"Wonderful. He's just finishing up with Dr. Saltzman. Examine room 4b."

Isobel stammered but the receptionist was already on the phone. Dismissed, Isobel pushed steel into her spine and walked through. The corridor split into two, with metal plaques telling her which way to go. Outside of 4b, she gathered the rest of her composure and knocked before entering.

Marco stood, shirt in his hands and torso bear. His bandages were off—revealing the slick scaled tilapia skins layered overtop the healing burns. Covering his neck and down the left side of his body to his waist. His eyes snapped up, the blue darkened at the sight of her surprise.

"Oh, I'm sorry. The nurse told me to—"

"Please, come in." Dr. Saltzman appeared from behind Marco. A tiny little man with a crown of black hair hugging the side of his head, the top bald and shaped like an egg. "You must be Isobel." He ripped open a fresh packet of gauze and went to work, wrapping up Marco like a mummy.

Slowly.

Isobel tried not to pay attention to each passing minute as they piled up, one after the other, like each layer of gauze over his skin.