Isla's Eyes

Isla Fray is a detective. She is very young, but very aware of her surroundings. She often gets put down by other people as no one thinks she will be any good. She has one weakness. Men. She has had many summer romances with her clients, but none of them last.

Could it be that her dark past is linked to it? So what will happen when one guy seems to reach Isla more than anyone else has ever managed to?


2. When We Met

"I can do it, my record is perfect. I have never failed-"

"Listen, Miss Biscoe," I cut in hastily, "When I was told my detective was young, I prepared myself for someone amybe late twenties, a couple of years younger at most... But you? Pardon me, but you barely look out of school."

"I know." As simply as that. "I know. It may surprise you to realise that I have been told that numerous times - too many to count - and each time it's a compliment." That threw me for a second, and I lost my train of thought for a moment. Then, "By the way? Call me Isla"


Her long, lacey dress slowly detatched itself from the window frame and glided over towards me. Her blue bead necklace hung to her waist, level with the cascade of ebony waves behind the corset. The corset itself was a work of art. Pulling her waist in, and made of a gorgeous silky material, with black lace threaded through, curling and twisting up to her heart where a jewelled flower burst, reflecting light in every direction. The dress was amazing, but was put to shame by the person inside.


She had reached me now. Swathes of lace and underskirts tickled my ankles as she walked round me, examining me as if I was an exhibit in a museum. Ripples of inky lace slithered along behind her, somehow looking like they were meant to be there, even though it was obvious they had been torn from the skirt. My breath quickened irrationally as she drew her pale hand across my back. I could feel it, my cheeks were flaring red, blood rushing to colour them - I was blushing.


Finally, having completed her circuit, she glided round her desk and planted her hands firmly on the wooden top. The dark lace cuffs blooming from the small wristbands and the mahogany wood only served to show what the contrast her skin was, even more.

"I can do it. I promise." She whispered.

You may think that, but have you..." The high arch of her nose distracted me, "have you got proof?"

"Oh yes, I have proof. But I have a feeling you may be a little," she stared up at me with big doe eyes, "...distracted. Am I right?" Oh boy was she right. I was losing myself in in the intricate design of her face already, losing my thoughts. She knew she was beautiful, and she used it like a whip. "So? Am I right?"

"Well... umm..." I stuttered for words.

"Anyway, what was her name?" That was the last thing I expected to come out of her mouth. I couldn't cover my shock for a second, then regained control and neutralised my expression.

"Who?" My voice was unsteady.

"Your sister's. What was your sister called?"

"How did you guess?"

"It was just a matter of elimination. You come to me, and the first thing I notice is the worry splayed across your face. You've lost a family member. A close family member. But your face shows hope. Therefore not dead, but stolen, kidnapped. Otherwise, why would you come to me?


"Sister? Because of the way you stand. You want to protect you sister, but have had many sibling fights over they years: small disputes, easily fixed. If it was your brother, you would not show it as much. But your sister? She's younger than you, needs protecting. So. You come to me. What was her name?"

"You're amazing. Beautiful an-" I cut myself off before I go too far. "Alice," a tiny voice whispers from inside me. My heart contracts as I think of her tiny frame; she got my small mother's genes, and I got my tall father's. I winced at the name.

"Well, now. That wasn't so hard was it?" her voice was hypnotising me now. My words stuck in my throat. I couldn't remember what I was going to say. "I promise," a pause, "I can find her." I can't remember when, but Isla has floated round the table again, to my side. My arms hang loosely at my side. A perfect hand rests on my chest. I stare at it, like it's from a foreign country. "I really can find Alice," she breathes, barely audible, "But surely we have a bit of time, don't we?" Her voice has gone low and husky.


The door is shut.


The curtains are pulled.


A naughty twinkle comes to her unfathomably dark eyes. They grow almost black in the half-light.

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