by Shandi Boyes
“You and me both,” she agrees, sounding exhausted.
After putting down a patient’s file she was in the process of reading, she gestures for me to sit in the seat across from her. I’m not as big as my fighters or the men who guard the doors of my clubs, but I feel like a giant sitting across from Jae. With her height coming from her mother, she’s both petite and short.
“Did you commence the vitamin regime as I suggested?”
I jerk up my chin.
Her thin brow quirks in defiance. “Then why do you look so tired?”
I shoot her a wry look as if to say anything I do in my personal life is none of her business.
She doesn’t scare easily. “Good sleeping habits are essential, Isaac. Otherwise, nothing we do will make any difference.” She throws my medical file onto the table between us. When I attempt to snatch it up, she beats me to it. “Nuh-uh. That’s confidential.” She holds it against her chest like it’s a precious gem. “Did you speak with Avery as suggested?”
My brow arches scathingly. “Avery’s chances of getting me in her shrink chair are about as good as you getting me in your everyday office.”
“Yet, you’re here, aren’t you?” Jae fires back, her eyes firing with attitude.
Her pompousness is nipped in the bud when I murmur, “I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for Isabelle.”
In an instant, her friendly, playful mask is replaced with one owned by a woman responsible for over fifty-eight staff and four surgical interns—including Raquel, Regan’s baby sister who sailed through her final year of med school with honors. That’s outstanding considering she had a baby a year ago.
Eager to move this along, I ask, “Are the results in?”
Jae nods a mere second before her lips twist. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t look good.”
“What are the odds?”
The uncomfortableness of our conversation is heard in my voice. I’m not a fan of talking as it is, let alone circumstances out of my control. Exercising control and discipline is all I know, but I’m learning quickly not everything is controllable—especially Isabelle.
“In a standard case, the percentages aren’t too bad, but your odds are lower since you’ve had Hodgkin’s Lymphoma before.” She pulls open her drawer to retrieve a business card from inside. “I’d like you to speak with Dr. Merritt. I tried to contact him on your behalf, but since he handled your stem-cell transplant all those years ago, he’s citing doctor-patient confidentiality. His decades of experience will give us more of an indication of your odds.”
“Can I not sign a waiver and have my file handed over to you?”
Fine lines indent Jae’s forehead when she squints. “You could, but it might take a month or two since Dr. Merritt retired late last year. Considering you like everything done at the speed of lightning, I doubt you’d want the delay.”
She’s right. I wouldn’t. I’m anything but patient.
“All right. I’ll see what I can organize.”
I stand, ready to pay a visit to Dr. Merritt now, but before I get halfway out the door, Jae calls my name. “Before you go.”
I peer back at her in shock, stunned by the sheer panic in her tone. Usually, nothing rattles her. She’s a stickler for her nonchalant demeanor as she is about following the rules.
“I… ah… have something I need to tell you. It’s rather urgent.”
“More urgent than that?” I nudge my head to my partially open file sitting on her desk.
Her throat works hard to swallow before she hesitantly nods. “Quite possibly.”
When I jerk up my chin, demanding her to put me out of my misery, she lowers her eyes to the seat I just stood from. “You’ll want to be sitting for this. You may even need a stiff drink.”
6
Isabelle
Friendships are as frail as glass.
Don’t crack them.
* * *
“Did Alex give them any indication about who we’re watching out for?”
Ryan tugs down the wrapper on the loaded kebab he’s in the process of mauling before shaking his head. “No, you know what Alex is like?” I scoff. He has no idea. “He just asked for Ravenshoe PD’s help to monitor this site. Other than that, we’re being kept in the dark.”
“Then why did Elise agree?”
Elise is our supervisor. His name is Castro Elise. He’s as tall and bulky as my previous supervisor, but a menace in every meaning of the word. I thought Alex knew how to ride the asses of those beneath him. He seems like a pussycat compared to Elise.
With his smile beaming, and his eyes glistening, Ryan replies, “Because he figures if he gets right up the FBI’s ass, he’ll become one of them.”
It’s lucky I can decipher gibberish spoken through a mouthful of lettuce, tomato, lamb, and mint yogurt sauce. I understand Ryan’s hunger. I’m beyond starving. We’ve been camped out the front of a pristine residence in a gated community of Ravenshoe for the last five hours of our shift. We’re only eating now because the crew replacing us brought enough food to feed an army. They’re obviously smarter than us.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Ryan nudges his head to the artery blocker he forced into my hand ten minutes ago.
“Because I told Callie I’d be home in time for dinner.” I check my watch, grimacing when I notice it’s five fifteen. “Which I won’t make if we don’t get out of here soon.” When Ryan commences rolling up his late lunch-early dinner, I stop him. “You finish while I debrief the crew overtaking our watch.”
He smiles in gratitude before he recommences chowing down. Laughing at the squirt of sauce dribbling down his chin, I snag the long-range camera off his lap before pacing toward the blacked-out sedan several spots in front of us. Ravenshoe PD must have learned a thing or two from the FBI’s surveillance team’s poor skills on blending in with the community.
They don’t have any pizza vans in their fleet. Their range of cars and four-wheel drives span from pristine top-of-the-line Escalades to a piece-of-shit Honda that matches the car I learned to drive in. Tonight, we’re seated it the classier of the two since this neighborhood is almost as swanky as the area Isaac resides in.
Benny, a thirty-year veteran at Ravenshoe PD, rolls down the passenger side window when I tap on it. His sidekick is a rookie just like me, but we’ve not officially met yet. He looks mischievous like he’ll keep Benny on his toes even more than the delinquents who like to pretend they run Ravenshoe.
“We’ve been here the past five hours. The only person seen coming and going was a maid.” I fire up my camera to show them images I captured at approximately three this afternoon. “A parcel was delivered at twelve past two, but it was left on the front porch. The maid took it in with her when she entered, indicating the homeowner may not be in residence.”
“Okay, great.” Benny jots down the information on his notepad. “Were you given a description of the person we’re meant to keep an eye on?”
I shake my head. “Not even his height. Elise instructed us only to capture anyone coming and going, but Ryan ran a search on this address when we first arrived.” I gather my notepad from my pocket. Its papers are crinkled from the amount of water in the air today. It’s so humid, it is almost unbearable. “The house is owned by a Mr. Leonardi, but it was recently leased to Kirill Bobrov. He has a list of priors a mile long.”
When Benny commences punching in Kirill’s details into his mainframe, I spell out his first and last name. “He’s Russian?”
I nod. “From what Ryan and I gathered from his bank records, he relocated to the U.S. approximately a month ago. No ESTA or visa forms were completed. If he’s our target, he didn’t arrive here legally.”
“A Russian in Ravenshoe. This is the last thing we need.” Benny pulls a face, unaware he’s interacting with one of those so-called Russians.
“Well, now that I’ve passed on everything I have, I’m clocking off. Have a pleasant evening.”
I hate my brash tone, but it can’t be
helped. I was honest about my heritage with certain members of the Russian mob during my interview process at Ravenshoe PD. Although they said it wouldn’t affect my position, they did suggest I keep it on the down-low. Other than Ryan and Elise, no one at Ravenshoe PD knows I share the same blood with Vladimir Popov—kingpin of the Russian Mafia in Las Vegas.
Halfway back to Ryan’s unmarked cruiser, I spot a familiar car parked several spots down. It’s memorable because I know its backseat as intimately as the back of my hand. It was Isaac’s and my playground many times during his daily commutes home at the commencement of our relationship, and it became our new play area when Callie’s entrance in our lives had us getting adventurous with our hook-up locations.
I’m about to wave to Roger when I realize he has his newspaper up. That’s code meaning he’s on duty. He only ever reads the paper when he’s conducting surveillance. Curious, I move toward the thick trees lining the footpath before taking in the ginormous houses surrounding Isaac’s town car. They’re all similar in size to Isaac’s private residence, but in a commercially manufactured way that screams, ‘I make a lot of money.’
If the inkling in my stomach is anything to go by, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover Isaac owns at least one or two of the houses on this street. He loves investing in property as much as I love sucking his cock.
My heart rate jumps a notch when Isaac’s deliriously intoxicating voice shrills through my ears. He’s bidding farewell to a gray-haired gentleman on a porch two houses down from me. I can’t hear much of what they’re saying, but Isaac seems cool, calm, and collected. His businessman aura is beaming out of him, assuring me the gentleman is most likely one of his residents. Isaac has always had a hands-on approach with his empire. If he can do it himself, why send one of his staff to fix it, is one of his favorite mottos.
I’m about to skip down the footpath and book myself in for a thrilling ride home, but the removal of Isaac’s cell phone from his pocket stops me. He’s not using his standard cell phone. He’s using the one he only uses when he needs to be discreet.
After stepping back behind a massive tree trunk, I eavesdrop on Isaac’s conversation. “I finally tracked down Dr. Merritt. It took longer than predicted since he just returned from Belize. He will forward my medical records to your office in the morning.”
He pauses to give his caller time to respond. It’s for the best. I need time to settle my queasy stomach before I can continue spying on him like he’s still my target.
“He agrees with your assessment that things don’t look good, but believes there’s no harm in trying surgery if I’m willing to take the risk. It can’t make matters any worse.” My world commences circling the drain when Isaac snaps, “No, Jae. I don’t want to put Isabelle through that.”
It triples the brutal swirls of my stomach. We swore to no more secrets only months ago, so the fact he wants to keep this a secret from me exposes its importance.
“Once the timing is right, I’ll talk to her, but until then—”
His words fade away by him sliding into the back of his town car. Roger pulls away from the curb not even two seconds later. I remain staring at the taillights of his car, only snapping from my trance when Ryan calls my name.
“Everything all right?”
He’s standing just outside his driver’s side door, hesitant as to why I’ve suddenly stopped. I nod, truly unsure. With how dense the confusion in my head is, I’m surprised I instinctively snap two photographs of the man Isaac was speaking with before he closes his front door.
After returning to the passenger seat of Ryan’s car, I pull the mobile data terminal computer to my side of the cabin. As I punch in the details of the man Isaac was talking to, Ryan watches me with wide, cautious eyes. I shouldn’t be using police equipment for my personal use, but curiosity killed the cat, and you don’t find answers if you wait for them to come to you.
The details brought up match the name Isaac said to Jae. The sole resident at 32 St. Peter’s Lane is Dr. Reginald Merritt, a former oncologist at Jacksonville Private Hospital.
“What’s the angle your chasing, Izzy? Do you think Reginald is connected to the perp were watching?”
Ryan’s question reveals he missed my exchange with Isaac. I’m not surprised, his vehicle is facing the opposite direction, and we technically clocked-off over forty minutes ago.
“No, ah… it has nothing to do with our case. I’m just curious as to where I’ve seen him before.” Bar my initial stutter, my performance deserves a B+ for deliverance and conviction.
Ryan is a much tougher grader than me. “Is he from your childhood? Should we call in a second unit? Have number 32 watched as well?”
“No! God, no. I wasn’t referencing my childhood. I barely remember a second of my time in Vegas. I’m referencing my time with the Bureau.” I realize I’m doing a terrible job of explaining myself when the worry in Ryan’s eyes triples. “He wasn’t a suspect. He was in some photos I scanned of a target at the time.”
Because my reply isn’t a total lie, it sounds honest. Although Dr. Merritt appears older than he did in the surveillance images I scanned from my uncle’s files, I’m reasonably sure he’s the doctor Isaac visited on rare occasions during his adolescent years.
I stop staring at Dr. Merritt’s driver’s license photo when Ryan asks, “He was Isaac’s oncologist, wasn’t he?”
Even though maintaining Isaac’s privacy should be more important than unscrambling the confusion in my head, I nod. I’m so puzzled, the hallucinogenic way Isaac and I sought a date for our wedding last week feels like it was months ago.
Isaac rarely talks about his past. I thought his reluctance to share was because of Ophelia. Only now, months after discovering Ophelia never died, do I realize that isn’t the case. His childhood is also responsible for some of the invisible scars on his heart and body.
He grew up like an everyday American, except he had an extremely aggressive form of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. His diagnosis was the commencement of his fighting spirit. It also caused the demise of his parents’ relationship. It wasn’t just his illness that fueled their rift, it was the secrets it unearthed.
I’ll be forever grateful Harrison and Camila looked past their indifferences to save Isaac, but I wish it could have been done without a five-year-old knowing what they were sacrificing for him. From the stories I’ve heard from Nick, Harrison didn’t remind Isaac daily as to what he gave up to save his life. It was his mom, Camila.
I guess that’s why we’ve yet to meet. She knows of my existence and is aware I live with Isaac, but excluding a two-line text message on Christmas Day, it’s as if she doesn’t exist. That’s why I’m so confused. Isaac surrounds himself with the people he cares about the most. If you are invited into his inner circle, you’re there for life. I had no clue his olive branch extended this far.
I stray my eyes to Ryan, who’s watching me intently. “What do you think the chances are of a five-year-old maintaining an amicable relationship with the doctor who distributed him aggressive, problematic procedures multiple times a month?”
While grabbing for his seat belt, Ryan replies, “About as unlikely as Isaac not noticing your ogling eyes.”
“You saw him?” The funky beat of my heart is heard in my high tone.
He nods before clicking his belt into place, then cranking the ignition. “Of course, I did. I’m not just good at my job. I’m the best detective Ravenshoe has ever seen.”
His pompousness calms my worry enough I can suck in my first full breath in what feels like minutes. When I exhale it with an edgy smile, Ryan nudges his head in the direction Isaac’s town car just went. “Give him a chance to explain before you get yourself twisted in knots.”
Since he’s aware of my worry, I express it out loud instead of letting it stew. “What if he’s sick again?”
Ryan shakes his head as if it’s not even a possibility. “It may not be as bad as it seems. Take Isaac’s FBI file as an example.”
The knot he referenced earlier unties even more. “I can’t believe we ever kissed—”
His smile flashes the dimples in his top lip. “Why? Because you can’t help but recall how scrumptious my mouth is every time Isaac arrows his toward yours.”
I was going to say because we’re too much alike, but that would be weird now. Instead, I latch my belt into place before giving him my best stink eye.
“Oh, Isabelle. Your silence speaks volumes.” He articulates his comment way too high-strung for a straight man. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell Isaac you’re infatuated with me. It’ll be our little secret.”
I huff at his gall, but secretly, I love the shake-up in our dynamic. It’s been a long first month on the job, so I’m relishing getting rid of some of my funk forty minutes earlier than I anticipated.
“Isaac would kill you just for insinuating I like you in any sense of the word. Why do you think he asked for you to be my supervisor?” When Ryan looks stumped, I ask, “Name one rookie cop who’s been accused of liking their superior?”
He lets out a cocky laugh. “Clearly, Isaac didn’t speak with my previous undergrads.” I never thought a man could compete with Isaac’s confidence, but Ryan gives it his best shot. “And as I’ve said previously, Isaac Holt doesn’t scare me. I can take care of myself.”
I poke him in his midsection. “I’ll remind you of that the next time you get caught between a three hundred pound hooker and her equally busty friend.”
With his smile blinding, he pulls his cruiser away from the curb. “That was a once-off welcome-to-Ravenshoe PD experience for you. I had everything handled.”
Our playful banter frees the weight sitting heavily on my chest, but nothing slows the theories running rampant through my head on our drive back to Ravenshoe PD headquarters. The thought of losing Isaac to another woman scares me so much, but I’ve never considered the possibility of losing him to something as uncontrollable as the blood cancer he had when he was a child. If I lose him, I won’t be able to live. It’s that simple.