The Wedding: Enigma, #17

by Shandi Boyes

  When I tell him that, his lips curve into a halfhearted grin. “I wasn’t dreaming about Gemma this time around. I was dreaming about Roberto and how Col would have reacted if I had returned home while he was alive.”

  “You felt guilt. That’s a natural reaction for a healer, Hugo.”

  He nods, agreeing with me. “But I wasn’t feeling sorry for Col. It was for Roberto’s mother, sisters, and aunts… the people who were left wondering what happened to him. I wondered if they were looking for him as my family was searching for me.” The shame in his eyes doubles when he admits, “They weren’t. They didn’t even lodge a missing person report.”

  His reply isn’t a shock. “That’s why Col never left a body. He didn’t want a paper trail.”

  While huffing about the abhorrent man Col was, Hugo scoots to the edge of his chair. “During my investigations, I unearthed some evidence the DA conveniently misplaced in Jorgie’s case.”

  He doesn’t need to spell out why they ‘lost evidence.’ The torment on his face exposes the truth. They sacrificed justice for his sister with the hope a plea-bargain would have Roberto ratting out Col and his entity. It’s not uncommon—regrettably.

  “Roberto was three times over the legal limit when he struck Jorgie, but even if he weren’t, she still would have died.” Hugo’s lips quiver as he struggles to keep his emotions in check. “Jorgie was the worst military wife. She covered Hawke’s house with knitted dollies and dick-shrinking novelties anytime he was deployed. She also couldn’t sleep.”

  He swivels my laptop around to face me. It’s frozen on a grainy video showing a heavily pregnant woman just about to step off the sidewalk—right into oncoming traffic. She’s glancing down at her cell phone, unaware of the danger she’s about to place herself in.

  “If she had been one second later, she’d still be here.”

  I don’t need Hugo to play the video to understand what he’s saying. Every despicable detail is unearthed by his eyes. He’s watched the video—more than once—so he knows even if Roberto were in the right mind frame to apply the brakes, the outcome wouldn’t have altered.

  “How long have you known her death was an accident?”

  The shame in Hugo’s eyes switches to guilt. “Almost a month.”

  My jaw ticks. Don’t ask if it is in anger or relief as I wouldn’t be able to give you a truthful answer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “And have my guilt shifted to you?” He makes a face like he’s in the process of eating a lemon. “You had enough on your plate, Isaac. I wasn’t going to add to it.”

  “The truth could have eased some of the weight on my chest. I’ve been keeping this from you for years.”

  Hugo shoots me a sardonic glare. “I didn’t know that at the time, did I? I thought you had killed him.”

  His tone is playful, but his words still have a whip of edginess to them. “Are you disappointed I didn’t?”

  He takes a second to consider a response. After a beat, he shakes his head. “My perspective on things has changed since I became a father.”

  I smirk, all too familiar with how being a parent changes you.

  “Even with Jorgie’s death being an accident, I still want to seek justice for her.” Hugo’s smirk is rueful. Some of my quirks must have rubbed off on him the past five years. “Just not on Roberto.”

  I hear the words he doesn’t speak the loudest. “You want the DA responsible for Roberto’s plea bargain?”

  He nods without a snippet of hesitation. My office is a safe place. Roger scans it for bugs a minimum of three times a day to ensure it is. Hugo also trusts me as I do him. “He caused my family years of suffering. The grief of losing someone is bad enough, let alone hiding evidence that proves it was an accident. The pain is still there, but it’s nowhere near as crippling knowing she wasn’t taken from us.”

  His reply shocks me, but it also clears some of the confusion in my head the past seven months. I could never fathom why I was acting as if Ophelia was still dead until now. Her ‘death’ was an accident, yet I still felt guilty for it. Upon discovering she didn’t die and instead chose to leave me, the grief shifted to something else. I thought it was anger, but only now am I realizing that wasn’t it. It was deception.

  Ophelia lied to me for years, and the circumstances surrounding her ‘death’ caused an avalanche of events I can’t undo. Mercifully, it also gave me Isabelle. If I didn’t have Isabelle in my life at that time, I truly don’t know how I would have responded to the news Ophelia was still alive. I doubt it would have replicated the life I’ve lived the past seven months, the one where I pretend she still doesn’t exist.

  Don’t misinterpret what I’m saying. Excluding the memories we once shared, I have no feelings for Ophelia whatsoever. I’m just disappointed a false event siphoned my ability to express myself. Isabelle is slowly coaxing the skill out of me, but it’s a long, drawn-out process.

  Hugo is now facing the same challenges. He missed the first four years of his son’s life all because the DA who was supposed to be prosecuting the person responsible for Jorgie’s demise was more interested in hunting bigger game. If he had been honest from the start, Hugo wouldn’t have felt the need to seek his own form of justice, and I wouldn’t have been forced to intervene.

  Confident I know Hugo as well as I do, I arch a brow before straying my eyes to his. “What have you discovered so far?”

  He smiles, pleased by my unspoken offer of assistance.

  Almost two hours later, we’ve discovered the DA’s motives were more politically stimulated than wanting Col to face justice. He had his eye on a top position, one he couldn’t get without the help of key members of the mafia underworld.

  Roberto was his one and only chip, and he planned to extort it for all it was worth. Regrettably for him, Hugo snatched Roberto before he had the chance, then I hid him not just from his old life but the entire world. Alas, corrupt men don’t stop when the stakes are against them. They immerse themselves deeper, doing unethical thing after unethical thing until they’re no longer conscious of the vile, heinous men they have become.

  I don’t know Vincent McGee, however, I can guarantee that’s the type of man he is. He had already taken Hugo down once, yet he still didn’t hesitate to use him for the second time for personal gain. He stomped on anyone to get to his prestigious role of governor, even his own family.

  “Is Brandon aware his father was the district attorney assigned to your sister’s case?”

  Hugo’s growl is silent, but I don’t need to hear it to know of its existence. I can see it rumbling in his heavy chest. “I don’t know. His ex-girlfriend assisted the ADA, but Vincent’s name wasn’t on any documentation.”

  For a short reply, it opens a truckload of questions. I start with the most important. “If Vincent isn’t cited on any forms, how do you know he was the DA assigned to Jorgie’s case?”

  Hugo points to a single paragraph in a witness statement that would usually be blacked out. If he hadn’t sought Hunter’s help, it would still be blacked out. “My records are sealed. No one but those involved knew I was charged with rape.” His blue eyes lift to mine. They’re not the least bit suspicious. “Besides you.”

  He reads out the section of the statement he’s referring to. It mentions the victim’s brother has a criminal record with aggravated assault and first-degree rape cited as convictions.

  “After reading that, I dug a little deeper.” Hugo spins my laptop around to face me. It has an article on the recently appointed district attorney for New York. “He jumped ship so it would better his chances of becoming an elected government official. It worked. Six months after Jorgie’s death, he announced he was running for governor. His campaign was funded by corporations no one has ever heard of, foreign entities who should have no interest in American politics.”

  This isn’t the first time I’ve heard of this happening. That was Lucas Marco’s plan. He worked with criminals long enough as a lead prosecutor i
n Las Vegas to know there was more money on the right side of the law—if you’re willing to dabble in corruption.

  Lucas learned the errors of his ways when he tried to prosecute Isabelle for murder.

  No one has yet to teach Vincent the same lesson.

  Recalling the first half of Hugo’s admission, I ask, “Could Brandon’s ex have shared this information with him?”

  “Melody…” Hugo takes a moment to think. “I don’t know. Before Izzy asked Brandon to reach out to Melody to gain access to Jorgie’s files, we didn’t unearth any contact between Brandon and Melody for years. They knew each other well in high school, but have lived separate lives since.”

  “Back then, but what about now?”

  Hugo’s eyes reveal he’s confused as to where I’m going with this. I cure his idiotism. “Brandon was a key witness for the prosecution in his brother’s latest rape charge. Melody was also a witness for the prosecution.”

  Hugo sits a little straighter in his chair. “Madden McGee was charged with rape again?” When I nod, he gasps in a sharp breath. “Then why wasn’t it splashed across the media? He’s the governor’s son, surely that’s front-page news!” He sounds frustrated. Justly so. Madden is the reason his record is sullied with a heinous act.

  “That’s my point. The McGees have sidestepped prosecution many times and used the justice system for personal gain, but they’ve yet to face the wrath of the media. Someone is keeping their stuff private.”

  Hugo finally clicks on. “Like Brandon did for Izzy.” He leans back in his chair, his hand coming up to scrub the thick, dark stubble on his chin. “I thought he did that to protect her. I should have trusted my gut. I didn’t like him from day one. Now I know why.” His brows pop up when I move to my coat rack. “Where are you going?”

  “We’re going to unearth the real Brandon.”

  The shock on his face doubles. “Then why are you leaving? You have servers capable of doing the job here.”

  “But I don’t have the man I need.”

  My lips curve into a smirk when the man I’m referencing enters my office. My smile doesn’t linger for long. Hunter looks rattled. Not even his thick beard can hide the sweat beading on his top lip, and his plaid shirt is as askew as it always gets when he lets Paige behind the wheel of his Hellcat.

  I realize my intuition is still on-point when Paige enters my office on his heel looking just as ruffled. “Did you tell him?”

  “Tell me what, exactly?” My accelerated pulse is heard in my question.

  Hunter’s throat works hard to swallow before he says, “Enrique is in Ravenshoe. He’s with Izzy.”

  20

  Isabelle

  Family is anyone who loves you unconditionally.

  * * *

  I stare at the two-way mirror, certain the person I think I’m seeing isn’t really sitting cuffed to a table with his lips sealed and his eyes narrowed. Enrique’s persona is the same dark, tormented one I faced in a hospital room months ago. His eyes don’t hold an ounce of hope, and his arrogance can be felt through the bulletproof glass separating us. He’s dark and dangerous, but all I’m seeing is a dirty-faced little boy playing with rusted toy cars on a filthy floor.

  Benny and Nate thought they had hit the jackpot when they pulled over a car for a broken taillight to discover one of the country’s most wanted criminals behind the wheel. Enrique didn’t attempt to hide his identity. He put up no protest during his arrest. Bar exerting his right to remain silent, he’s acted like an upstanding member of society.

  “He wasn’t arrested for no reason. Men like Enrique wouldn’t drive around with broken taillights.”

  I jerk up my chin, agreeing with Ryan, who’s standing at my side, eyeballing Enrique with as much interest as me. “There’s more going on here than either of us realize. We’ve just got to work out what it is.”

  Ignoring Ryan’s silent warning for me to stay out of a case we’ve yet to be assigned, I rack my knuckles on the door of the interrogation room—the same room Isaac and I have both been holed up in previously.

  “We’re detectives, Ryan, so isn’t it our job to uncover people’s real motives?”

  He loses the chance to reply when Nate opens the door. He’s the rookie cop I mentioned last week. He always has a cheeky smile on his face, like he’s forever causing trouble, but it droops when I say, “We’ll take things from here.”

  Acting as arrogant as Alex did anytime he wanted to boost superiority, I nudge my head to the door, giving Nate and a stunned-silent Benny their marching orders. It’s bigheaded for me to do, but they’re not seeing a frightened boy who never had the chance to grow into a moral, upstanding citizen sitting across from them. They’re seeing a criminal mastermind they want to take down no matter how much blood is shed. I’ve seen enough bloodshed in my life. I don’t want any more.

  Once Benny and Nate leave, I gesture for Ryan to join me before shutting the door and spinning around to face Enrique. His eyes track me when I make my way across the room. Even with him shackled like a criminal, my knees knock with every step I take. I’m not scared of him. I’m just scared about what could happen to him if he doesn’t expose the real reason he’s here. And no, I’m not solely referring to the Bureau or Ravenshoe PD. I’m also referencing Isaac’s response to Enrique’s return. I don’t see it being pleasant.

  “Я привык думать, что полицейские были крысами в дорогих костюмах. Я полагаю, что теперь я оставлю свою теорию агентам.”

  I cringe, having no clue what Enrique just said. “You need to speak English. My Russian is still poor.”

  When Enrique strays his eyes to Ryan, standing awkwardly at the side of the room, I smile. “You can trust him. Он хороший человек.”

  Enrique’s smile reveals we didn’t just get our eyes from our father. We also got our toothy grins from him as well. “It seems as if your Russian has improved since we last spoke.”

  I apprehensively nod. “Somewhat.”

  After taking a seat across from him, I hit the button under the stainless-steel table. Enrique appears as surprised as Ryan when the shackles around his wrists and ankles disengage. Ravenshoe PD has had a massive uptick in security since I was arrested, compliments to the kind generosity of one of its biggest benefactors, the incredibly alluring Mr. Isaac Holt, but it isn’t needed today. Enrique is not a threat to me.

  While Enrique circles his wrist, encouraging new blood flow, he asks, “Did you get my note?”

  “I did. Both of them.”

  His eyes dart up to mine during the last half of my comment. I don’t need to mention Callie’s bunny for him to know what I’m talking about. The glimmer his eyes were missing earlier reveals he knows what I’m referencing.

  As much as I’d love to pretend this is a personal visit, I’m not so daft to pull that off. “What are you doing here, Enrique? You have to know it isn’t safe.”

  “I have matters I need to take care of. Personal matters.” If I needed any more indication his visit to Ravenshoe wasn’t friendly, his tone leaves no doubt.

  Enrique works his jaw side to side when I murmur, “Blaire?”

  I only say one word, but the flare it detonates in his eyes makes it seem as if I said so much more. “No.”

  His denial is a lie. Don’t ask me how I know, but I’m certain he’s lying.

  “I’m here for Kirill Bobrov.” His Russian accent rings true in his tone when he mentions Kirill.

  It also gains him Ryan’s utmost devotion.

  After joining us at the table in the middle of the bomb-proof room, Ryan pulls his notepad out of his pocket before securing a printout in his hand. “This man?”

  He slides a crinkled photograph across the table for Enrique to see. He either had his own photographs of Kirill printed, or he borrowed one of the many Grayson has tacked to the conference room walls in the hub of Ravenshoe PD.

  “Yes.
” Enrique’s reply is for Ryan, but his eyes are on me. “He has something I need.”

  Not missing the flare his nostrils got when he glanced at the redhead attached to Kirill’s side, I ask, “Something… or someone?”

  Enrique smirks, either impressed by my skills or amused by them. I really hope it isn’t the latter. “I can’t take him down by myself. Kirill is paranoid. He’s making costly mistakes.”

  A chill rolls down my spine when I recall him saying a similar thing during our altercation with Col. He said Col was making uncalculated mistakes that were putting his crew in jeopardy.

  I try to weave through the coded messages he’s relaying. “What are you saying? You got arrested as you need Ravenshoe PD’s help?”

  If he is, that makes no sense whatsoever. Police officers are bound by ethics entities like the Popov clan isn’t required to follow. If he really needed help with this, he wouldn’t have sought legal help. He would have gone in guns blazing like all criminal entities always do.

  Like most people in my life, Enrique underestimates me. “Yes.”

  “You’re lying.” My chair scrapes against the floor when I stand from my seat. After placing my hands on each side of the photograph Ryan placed down earlier, I peer down at my brother, wordlessly telling him I’m not a daft wallflower. “You have access to resources we can’t use and weaponry we’ll never see. If you merely wanted to take down a competitor, you would do it. This has nothing to do with a Russian setting up shop in Ravenshoe, and everything to do with you upholding a promise you made to Blaire.”

  I realize I hit the motherlode when Enrique’s jaw gains an involuntary tick. I thought his eyes were darkened with the protectiveness Isaac’s get any time my safety is on the rocks. Now I know without a doubt.

  “Who is she?” I tap my finger on the redhead in the photograph. Other than Grayson’s assurance she’s pregnant, no other details about her have been unearthed. It is as if she is a ghost—much like Hugo once was.