Chained by REBECCA YORK

 
    CHAPTER ONE
    Isabella Flores pulled open the kitchen door and stopped in
her tracks. The house felt wrong. Come to that, it smelled wrong. The familiar
scents of the empanadas she’d cooked the night before and the cleaning solution
she used on the floor still hung in the air. But they were overlaid by the
smell of sweat and stealth.
    Moments ago she’d been prepared to fall into bed and sleep
for the next eight hours, after an exhausting shift on the surgical floor at
Phoenix General Hospital.
    Instead, she backed out the door and started running, not
toward the car she’d just left in the driveway but into the alley.
    A blast of noise followed her, and she felt a bullet whiz
past her head.
    “Cristo. Don’t let her get away,” a harsh voice shouted.
    Two hombres . Waiting in the dark for her.
    She’d hoped she was safe living in this quiet, middle-class
neighborhood, but she’d always been prepared for the worst. She kept two bags
packed, one in the trunk of her car and the other in an SUV, hidden down the
block.
    She leaped the waist-high chain link fence of a neighbor’s
yard on the other side of the alley, rolled into a flower bed, and lay with her
heart pounding, praying that the men hadn’t seen her vanish into the shadows.
    As two sets of heavy footsteps pounded toward her, then
sprinted past, she let out the breath she’d been holding.
     But she couldn’t stay here. When they didn’t find her,
they’d double back. Which meant she had only minutes to make her escape.
    Staying low, she ran toward the front of the property where
she’d taken refuge, then crossed five front yards, keeping as close to the
buildings as possible.
    When she ducked into the passage between two houses, frantic
barking stopped her. She turned to face a large German shepherd that bared
enormous teeth in warning.
    Ignoring the show of aggression, she spoke in a low,
soothing voice. “Herman. It’s just me. Isabella. You know me. Come on, boy.
Give me a break.”
    To her relief, the dog licked the hand she held out.
    “Good boy. That’s a good boy,” she praised him as she opened
the gate and eased inside, where she crossed the yard and headed for the alley
again.
    If the dog’s barking brought the men who were hunting her,
maybe his fangs would slow them down.
    With a sigh of relief, she slipped inside the garage she’d
rented on a cash only, no questions asked basis.
    In the darkness, she raised the main door, wincing when the
mechanism squeaked.
    “Almost there,” she whispered to herself as she slipped
behind the wheel of the SUV.
    As she pulled into the alley, she thought she was in the
clear, but one of the gunmen leaped into her path, his dark features
illuminated by a street lamp. She didn’t recognize him, but she knew who he
must be. One of the hired thugs who worked for General Lopez, El Jefe, who held
the Central American country of San Marcos in his iron grip.
    Eight years ago, her father had dared to write exposés about
the general and circulate them secretly. When Lopez had found out who was
behind them, Papa had been forced to flee the country with Isabella.
    They hadn’t even been safe in the U.S. After an assassination
attempt, her father had hired a highly recommended company, Decorah Security,
to protect them and help them establish new identities. Her last name wasn’t
even the same as her father’s. She’d used Flores since college. And she hadn’t
even seen Papa in two years.
    But the general’s men had tracked her down.
    She’d heard Lopez was in trouble back in San Marcos. Was he
making a last-ditch attempt to silence any enemies?
    Ducking low, she pressed on the accelerator, heading
straight toward the gunman.
    At the last second, he leaped out of the way. But after her
car barreled past, she saw him in the rearview mirror, raising his gun.
    Before he could fire, Herman charged through the gate that
she hadn’t locked—taking the thug to the ground, his savage snarling and