The Mystery Unmasked: Enigma, #3

by Shandi Boyes

  I stare into Ryan’s glacier blue eyes. “We’ll flip the coin. I’ll owe you a favor.”

  A huff rustles his hard-lined lips. “Unlike my colleagues, I don’t accept bribery.”

  “This isn’t for me. It’s for Isabelle.”

  His brows pull together as his bewildered eyes shift between Hugo and me. “What does she need?”

  His lack of empathy now makes sense. He is as in the dark about Isabelle’s arrest as I am.

  I step closer to him, hoping the dozen pairs of eyes gawking at us can’t lip read. “Isabelle was arrested this afternoon. A reliable source has informed me that she’s being held in your interrogation room.”

  Ryan’s pupils dilate more with every word I speak, but I hear his brain ticking over as he works through the facts.

  After a few more seconds of silent deliberations, he strays his eyes to Hugo, who’s standing behind my left shoulder. “Is he carrying a weapon?”

  My neck cranks back in just enough time to witness Hugo shaking his head. I smirk, pleased he remembered to remove his semi-automatic pistol before entering a police station.

  Happy to take Hugo’s non-verbal reply as factual, Ryan unlatches the half-partition door between us. “I can only give you fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s all I need,” I reply while following him into the heart of the Ravenshoe PD with an apprehensive Hugo trailing closely behind.

  Chapter 2

  Isaac

  Isabelle’s pale face lifts from the stainless-steel table I was sitting at mere weeks ago when she hears the door creak open. Her big chocolate eyes are clouded with distrust, and her pupils are massive. When our eyes collide, her breath traps in her throat, stifling the sob rumbling in her heaving chest. Horror shreds through me as the weight on my chest turns crippling. Not even the curtain of hair hanging in front of her face can conceal the defeated look tainting her beautiful face.

  The tears glistening in her eyes threaten to spill when her attempts to stand from her chair are thwarted by the shackles circling her delicate wrists and feet. Blood surges through my veins, heating my body with fiery warmth. They have her detained as if she’s a wild animal.

  With my jaw clenched as firmly as my fist, I swing my eyes to Ryan. His jaw muscle spasms when he too notices they have Isabelle shackled to the table like a deranged criminal. After silently requesting for me to remain calm, he shifts his focus to the young male officer commanding in the room. He’s standing tall with his arms clamped to his side, and his gaze fixated on a microdot on the wall across from him.

  His stance replicates a toy soldier about to go into battle, but the unrelenting quiver of his thighs weakens his impressive stance. He hasn’t stopped shaking since I entered the room. I’m not surprised. I can smell the fear vaping off him. Rightfully so. He should be petrified because if Ryan weren’t here, he’d discover the hard way of what I think about him shackling any woman to a table, much less my woman.

  “Get those cuffs off her immediately.” Ryan’s surly tone rumbles through the room like a loud crack of thunder.

  The young officer’s wide eyes float to Ryan. “T-t-they said she had to stay shackled. She’s an FBI agent, she’s dangerous—”

  “She’s a fucking human being!” Ryan steps closer to the officer. Because they’re similar heights, Ryan can stare straight into the eyes while growling, “Get them off her now before I shackle you in her place.”

  The officer’s head bobs up and down like a bobble-head toy. He fumbles his way to Isabelle, removing steel keys latched to his belt on the way. When his shakes cause him to drop the keys next to her shoeless feet, he unshackles her ankles first. They come away without too much force, but the indentations on Isabelle’s ankles reveal the fit was snug.

  When he moves to open the cuff encasing her delicate wrists, I shift to the right, so we maintain eye contact. It will expose the anger clouding my face, but I’ll deal with that later. Right now, nothing but Isabelle’s well-being matters.

  Once the final cuff is removed, Isabelle darts my way. Her beautiful scent permeates the air when I draw her into my chest before pressing a kiss to her sweat-slicked temple. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

  “You have fifteen minutes.” After jerking his head to the rookie officer, giving him his marching orders, Ryan shadows him out of the room.

  I wait for the red light flashing above my head to switch off before moving to the only chair in the room. It’s the one Isabelle was shackled to. Once I sit, I remove the hairs stuck to her face before lifting her head via her chin. The wind knocks from my lungs when the first thing my eyes zoom in on is a large bruise on her cheek. It’s around the size of a baseball, and small red scratches are embedded in it.

  After sucking in some big breaths to cool the fire burning me inside out, I drop my eyes to Isabelle’s. Hers are bloodshot and brimming with tears. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” she murmurs, her three words cracking out of her plump lips like gunfire.

  When a blob of moisture careens down her cheek, my heart stops beating. I scrub it away with my thumb, genuinely terrorized by her tears. Color rushes back into my cheeks in a hurry when she nuzzles into my palm. Even during a crisis, she still yearns my touch.

  I get comfort in that—more than I’d care to admit.

  As my thumb swipes at the cupid bow in her top lip, I ask, “Have you talked to anyone yet? Have they officially questioned you?”

  Fresh tears nearly roll when she shakes her head. “No, they arrested me before shackling me to the table.”

  When her eyes flick to the shackles sprawled on the floor, I grip her chin to return her focus to me. “You can’t talk to anyone without my lawyer present. Do you understand?”

  The urgency in my tone adds to her confusion, but she nods her head all the same.

  “Not anyone, Isabelle. Not Brandon, not Theresa, not even Ryan.”

  My eyes drift to the two-way mirror during the last half of my statement. I don’t need to see Ryan to know he’s watching. I can feel it in my bones.

  After following my squinted gaze, Isabelle nods. She knows there’s more to this than either of us realize. “Is Megan dead?” she questions in a hushed whisper.

  “I don’t know.”

  I wish I could give her more confirmation, but I’m in the dark as much as she is.

  Unease pummels into me when she returns her eyes to mine. They’re still filled with moisture, but it is the apprehension behind them causing my greatest worry.

  I discover what has her all twisted up in knots when she asks, “Did you do this?” She balances her forehead on mine, ensuring Ryan will neither hear nor see her words. “Because if you did, I’ll accept the plea they’re offering. I’ll do anything to save you—”

  I cut her off by swiping my hand through the air. What she’s saying doesn’t make any sense. Why would she offer to admit guilt for a crime she supposedly committed? Unless…

  “Did you go to Megan’s motel this afternoon?”

  The shock in my tone reverberates through her but not enough to stop her from shaking her head.

  “Did you see Megan at all today?”

  She once again shakes her head. “I was arrested in the alleyway of my apartment building.” She stares at me in shocked silence for a minute. “I assumed you organized for Henry’s assistance with Megan when you spoke to him earlier today.” She chokes on the word ‘assistance.’

  “No, Isabelle.” I rub my chest, relieved by how less pained it is. “I didn’t arrange anything.” Yet.

  I thought she had beat me to the punch. I did contact Henry for a matter pertaining to Megan, but it wasn’t in regard to having her killed. I was seeking her current location. Henry Gottle is the mob boss of New York City, so if Megan were in his stomping ground, his men would be the best crew to find her.

  Henry assured me I’d be the first to know when Megan was found, but now I’m wondering if he took my request for assistance further than deman
ded. His offer of retribution has been dangling between us for over seven years. Perhaps he thought the length of time that passed between favors required more diligence.

  “When I left your building, I drove straight to my office. I only left when Brandon informed me of your arrest.”

  The apprehension tainting her beautiful face relaxes. “Then, why am I here—?”

  Before all of her question leaves her mouth, the interrogation room door swings open. Ryan stands just outside of it, his face deadpan. “You need to leave now.” His deep tone relays the urgency of his request.

  I return my focus to Isabelle, saving her lower lip from being gnawed by her teeth in the process. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I will find out. Just remember what I said. Don’t talk to anyone until my lawyer, Regan, arrives.”

  Her lips purse. They’re extra plump since she was grazing her teeth over them. “Is Regan a man or a woman?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Her head shake is unconvincing, much less her murmured, “It does to me.”

  I lose the chance to reply to her babbling when Ryan walks two paces into the room. “If you want to help Izzy, Isaac, you need to move now.”

  Incapable of ignoring the anxiety in his voice, I cup Isabelle’s cheeks with my hands, being extra attentive not to touch her bruise, before pressing my mouth to hers. Even though her lips are dry and quivering, intimacy still passes through us from our embrace. I kiss her with everything I have, tasting her tears and her worry while also assuring her I’ll be by her side throughout this. I won’t stop until she walks out of this station at my side.

  When her eyes pop back open, the harshness tainting them has softened. My kiss did what I had intended. It calmed her as only I can.

  “I’m not going anywhere without you.” I point to the mirror Ryan was standing behind earlier. “I’ll be right behind that mirror. Okay?”

  When she nods, fresh tears almost spring down her cheeks, but she manages to reel them back in—just. “Okay.”

  It feels like a knife is stabbed into my chest when I rise from the chair, taking her with me. Then I’m almost certain an artery has been nicked when I place her back into the chair alone. After a final swipe of her moisture-free cheeks, I spin on my heels and stride to the other side of the room. My heart thrashes against my chest more with every apprehensive step I take. This is almost as hard as when I left Ophelia crying over her unconscious brother on the blood-soiled boxing mat. I can only pray the results today will be starkly contradicting.

  When I enter the corridor, I turn back to face Isabelle. Her teeth have once again caught her bottom lip, but she’s giving it the fight of her life to maintain her dignity. I keep my eyes locked on hers until the reinforced door slams shut, trapping her in a nightmare as violent as the storm brewing inside of me.

  “This way.” Ryan nudges his head to a door next to the interrogation room. “We need to move quickly.”

  When he pivots on his heels and stalks toward the door, I closely shadow him. The anger I’m struggling to maintain roars to the forefront of my mind when we enter the room. Speakers hanging from the ceiling amplify Isabelle’s barely audible sniffles. The volume control on the panel near the two-way glass cranked to the highest setting is to blame for this.

  After cocking my head to the side, I glare at Ryan. He coughs to clear his throat of annoying nerves before trying to downplay his snooping. “I was merely doing the job I am paid to do.” He foolishly steps closer to me, unaware I’m seconds from blowing my top. “From what I heard, Isabelle needs the best lawyer money can buy.”

  “If you heard her right, you’d know she didn’t do anything wrong!” My tone is as dangerous as my anger. I’m mere seconds from going on a rampage. Usually, I keep a cool, rational head. That’s not the case when Isabelle is involved. If you endanger her, you endanger yourself. I can’t say it any simpler than that.

  “It wasn’t what I heard Isabelle say.” Ryan’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder, his tone surprising even for how tense things are between us. “It was what I heard them say.”

  When he nods his head to the two-way mirror across the room, a growl emits from my lips. Standing across from Isabelle is Theresa Veneto and her unnamed male partner. Theresa’s stance is hostile with her arms folded in front of her chest, and her blazer removed to show Isabelle she’s carrying a weapon. The male agent is more laid-back. He’s too busy staring at Isabelle’s tits to authenticate Theresa’s good-cop-bad-cop ruse.

  If Theresa is aiming to scare Isabelle, she needs to devise a new tactic. Without the slightest quiver to her words, Isabelle strengthens her stance before looking Theresa dead-set in the eyes to snarl, “I’m not speaking to you without my lawyer present.”

  My breath hitches halfway to my lungs when she swings her eyes my way. She appears to be staring straight at me. I shouldn’t be surprised. Not even a Mack truck could come between us, let alone a flimsy piece of glass.

  Our connection is lost when Theresa demands Isabelle to take a seat at the same time Ryan suggests for me to get her the best lawyer I can afford. While yanking my cell out of the breast pocket of my suit, Isabelle retakes the chair she was sitting in earlier. Her lips are furled into an angry snarl, and her tears are long forgotten since the anger searing through her body has dried them.

  I hit the speed dial for Regan. She answers on the very first ring. “The IA’s case against Isabelle is being squashed as we speak. They had not a leg to stand on,” she informs me, not bothering to issue a greeting.

  Although she can’t see me, I nod. I knew she wouldn’t have any problems getting the IA’s investigation into Isabelle dropped. She’s the best lawyer in the country, but even better than that is the fact she works solely for me.

  “I need you at Ravenshoe Police Station now.”

  Her sigh makes me smirk. “What did you do this time?”

  “For once, it isn’t me.” When my eyes float back to Isabelle, all the humor in my voice vanishes. “But I need you to treat this case as if it were me, Regan. I need you at your very best. This case is more imperative than any you’ve worked before.”

  “Come on, Isaac, you know me. I always bring my bat to the game.” She tries to keep her tone pompous and conceited despite her uneased breaths. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  The weight on my chest slackens from her confidence. She does always bring her bat to the game. She’s saved my ass on numerous occasions, but this is an entirely new ball game we’re playing, one filled with corrupt cops who won’t stop until someone strikes out, and all their curveballs are aimed at Isabelle.

  Chapter 3

  Isabelle

  “What part of ‘I’m not talking to you without my lawyer present’ did you have a hard time understanding?”

  When my slit eyes drift from Theresa to the direction the soulful voice came from, my jaw drops. Standing just inside the door of the interrogation room is a beautiful blonde wearing a pricy outfit and gravity-defying stilettos. I’m not known for perving on girls, but she’s so stunningly beautiful, I can’t tear my eyes away. It’s like looking at an eclipse. You risk damage if you stare too long, but you can’t help it.

  The intruder’s wavy platinum-blonde locks fall in front of her petite shoulders when she tilts her head so the daggers her steel-green eyes are shooting at Theresa can hit their mark. Even with only a slight amount of sheen on her lips, her face is flawless. She seems familiar, although I’m reasonably sure we’ve never met. I’d remember someone with the face of an angel.

  As I absorb her tight, black-pleated pencil skirt, silk blouse, and a well-tailored black jacket, horrible notion after horrible notion fills my head. I really hope this isn’t Regan, Isaac’s lawyer. Compared to her expensive designer clothing, my jeans and beige jacket are stained with oily soot from the two male officers arresting me in the alley of my apartment building. The bruise on my cheek is a result of them rough handling me during my arrest.

  I had
just rounded the corner of my building, rushing to Brandon’s car parked in the alleyway, when my elbow was seized in a tight grip. Since I was cautious of Col’s vendetta against Isaac and being tailed the prior week, my first instinct was to protect myself. It was only after striking the gentleman who was roughly gripping my arm did I realize he was a police officer.

  I instantly halted my resistance before raising my hands into the air to signal I meant no harm. When two male officers, who were easily double my weight, threw me onto the ground, Brandon lunged for them. His fist connected with one of the officer’s nose, knocking him to the ground with a loud thud, before he restrained another one in a headlock.

  His attack only slackened when a third officer drew his gun on him. Every knee and elbow inflicted on my body during my arrest fueled Brandon’s anger, but with a gun pinching his temple, there wasn’t anything he could do.

  When a female officer read me my rights, revealing I was under arrest for the murder of Megan Shroud, my stomach lurched into my throat. “Get Isaac,” was the last thing I said to Brandon before I was ushered to Ravenshoe PD in the back of a police cruiser.

  For the past hour, while shackled to the stainless-steel table, my hazy mind worked through each event that had happened the past forty-eight hours. Discovering Megan’s secret room, her plot to steal Nick and Jenni’s newborn son from the womb he was safely nestled in, and the murder of her dad, it all came rushing back to the forefront of my mind. Then I recalled Isaac talking to Henry Gottle, Sr. on the satellite phone earlier this morning. Aware the whole Megan incident could be the very thing to push him into doing something unlawful was the reason I hesitated when Hugo requested I let Isaac’s security team into Megan’s bedroom before local authorities.

  It’s also why I was planning to plead guilty to my charges.

  Any decisions made in haste can conjure poor results, but I’d do anything to protect Isaac—anything at all. Even going to jail for a crime I didn’t commit. If Isaac were responsible for Megan’s death, I would have taken the blame. I would have falsely testified to protect him, but I believe him when he said he had nothing to do with harming Megan. His eyes are a gateway to his soul. They tell his true story. Although he’s frustrated by the entire Megan incident, he didn’t have her killed. I should have known better. He’s not that type of person. He isn’t a monster like Col and Vladimir. He’s just misunderstood like all good enigmas are.