The Mystery Unmasked: Enigma, #3

by Shandi Boyes

  When Regan notices I’ve noticed her uneasy gaze, her lips curve into an anxious smirk. Her unnerving composure sets me on edge, increasing the pressure on my chest.

  “Where’s Isabelle?”

  She steps closer to me. Not even her strides are as cocky. “They’re taking her to a holding cell so they can free up the interrogation room for another suspect being brought in.” Excitement bristles the fine hairs on my body. The sensation doesn’t linger for long. “No, it doesn’t relate to Megan’s case.”

  “Are there any other prisoners in her holding cell?”

  Regan spreads her hands across her cocked hip. “Give me some credit, Isaac. She wouldn’t have lasted an hour in a holding cell with other prisoners if they discovered she’s an FBI agent.”

  “I know. That’s why she shouldn’t be in there.” Ignoring the massive knot in my stomach, I lock my eyes with Regan before spelling out my demands. “I want to take her home.”

  Apprehension flashes through her usually expressionless eyes. “I’m sorry, you can’t. The courts are closed until nine tomorrow morning, but even if they were open, Isabelle won’t be summoned for at least three days. With the evidence they have—”

  “What evidence?” My angry snarl echoes off the paint-peeled gray walls. “They can’t have any fucking evidence because she didn’t do anything wrong!”

  Her lips thin into a straight line. “You need to calm down. You won’t help anyone by acting all gung ho.” Her demeanor is surprisingly calm for how hard-lined her face is.

  I suck in many big breaths, praying it will dampen the anger surging through my body so fast. My veins feel like they’re about to explode.

  “I’m only going to ask this once.” Regan’s tone is flat and reserved, nearly as bleak as my mood is becoming. “Do you believe Isabelle killed Megan?”

  Fury burns through my body like an out-of-control fire, my anger so paramount, my face reddens from its furious burn.

  “I’m only asking because of the evidence they have on her, Isaac. I’m worried she doesn’t fully recall the events that happened today. That would be understandable after the dramatic events she’s encountered the past week. She may have post-traumatic stress disorder, so she’s unable to comprehend what is happening.”

  I glare at Regan, my chest thrusting up and down with every breath I take. “Look into her eyes while asking her that same question you just asked me. She’s telling the truth, Regan. I can see it in her eyes.”

  Regan nods, believing me. “Okay. Then I’ll defend her to the best of my ability, but this will be a tough case to win. They have a lot of evidence against her.”

  “What do they have?” I ask, unable to grasp how they could gain any evidence against her for a crime she didn’t commit.

  “A bullet that’s a match to the bullets in Isabelle’s gun was found at the crime scene. It has blood on it. They’re testing the DNA to see if it’s a match to Megan.” Her face is paler than I’ve seen it before, more gaunt too. “They also found Isabelle’s fingerprints and a strand of her hair in Megan’s motel room.”

  Fuck! Before I can articulate a better response, my narrowed gaze shifts to the door Ryan is walking through. His eyes gleam when he scans Regan’s body, but the interested sparkle in them isn’t as bright as it was when he arrived at the restaurant with Isabelle on his arm for our combined date.

  Once he finishes his avid assessment of Regan’s body, which is remarkably minus the tongue- hanging-out-of-their-mouths response most men give her, his blue eyes drift to mine. I nod at his silent question. He is cautious about speaking in front of Regan. He doesn’t need to be. She never discloses anything she isn’t first permitted to divulge.

  “I’m on the case.” He moves deeper into the room, his stride as unsteady as his facial expression. “The evidence they have on Isabelle has me a little concerned.”

  “Regan was just filling me in. You need to dig deeper into where this evidence surfaced from because you know as well as I do that Isabelle didn’t do this. Someone is framing her for Megan’s murder.” And when I find out who it is, they’ll pay harshly for their error.

  Ryan nods. “I’ve always trusted my gut, and it’s warning me that something about this case isn’t right. The evidence was gathered too quickly, and it has the FBI’s murky fingerprints all over it.”

  Regan’s eyes snap to Ryan’s faster than a bullet fired out of a gun. “Then pull rank. Get the FBI off this car. If there are too many hands in the cookie jar, things will get messy.”

  Ryan’s lips thin. “Thanks for the suggestion, but one, I don’t work for you. And two, I don’t work for you.” Ignoring Regan’s scolding glare burning a hole in his head, Ryan shifts on his feet to face me. “I had a run-in with the head of the FBI division in Ravenshoe when you called me about Megan weeks ago, so it’ll be my pleasure to ‘piss on his turf’ again as he quoted numerous times during our meeting.”

  A smirk carves on my mouth, grateful Ryan is bringing his bat to the game, but I can’t get ahead of myself. There are still many matters we need to work through before I can celebrate. Such as “Did they find Megan’s body?”

  A pang of hesitation crosses over his face before he shakes his head. As he scrubs at the day-old stubble on his chin, his glacier-blue eyes lock with mine. “Did you call in any… favors?”

  A growl emits from my lips. What’s it with everyone asking me that today? “If I did, Isabelle wouldn’t be sitting in a holding cell right now. This isn’t me. And it also wasn’t her.”

  Ryan lifts his hands in defeat. “All right. I get it, but I had to ask. I know you’ve tried to stay out of that lifestyle, Isaac, but…” He stops talking as his shoulders lift into a questioning hunch.

  I let his underhanded snipe at my reputation roll off my back. I’ve become accustomed to the false accusations that plague my empire and me. Don’t get me wrong, some of the gossip circulating is accurate. I’m well-known for my infamous connections with certain members of the public, but I run my empire differently than my counterparts. I don’t launder money, hire prostitutes, or run drugs and guns for the cartel. None of those business ventures have or will ever run through my empire, but I also don’t lie down and take life’s punches like a coward.

  Does that make me a mobster? No, it doesn’t. It makes me a smart businessman. I fought to get my empire off the ground, and I fight every day to maintain its success. I just have more people supporting my battle than I did when it started. I also have a shit ton more money.

  “I need you to release Isabelle into my custody.”

  Ryan glares at me as if I’m crazy. “You know I can’t do that. That’s not how it works.”

  “I don’t care how it works. She can’t stay here. She’s having nightmares. She wakes up crying in her sleep. She can’t be left alone. You need to release her.” My tone indicates this is not a request. I’m demanding he does this.

  Ryan’s brows draw together as remorse settles on his face, but he remains quiet. He’s not convinced. I’m sure I can get him over the fence.

  “You know that suicide Hunter updated you on from Parkerville?”

  He nods, his face screwing up. “Just the photos from the case gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

  He stops shuddering when I say, “Isabelle discovered the body. She was the one who found him hanging.”

  His pupils widen as he mumbles a curse word under his breath, but my disclosure doesn’t drag him fully over the fence. “With the evidence they have on her, I can’t release her. I wish I could, but I can’t.” His words are smothered with remorse, but it does little to ease my agitation, even more so when he adds on, “But I can stay with her.” Now my jaw is the tightest it’s ever been. “It’s the only option you have, Isaac. Isabelle is remanded in custody overnight, so you either have me watch her or let her face incarceration alone. Which would you prefer?”

  “I’d prefer to take her home!”

  Ryan doesn’t flinch at my outburst. Stupid bast
ard. “That’s not going to happen. I understand you’re frustrated, and I get that you’re pissed, but nothing will alter the facts. Isabelle is here until tomorrow morning, at the very least.”

  “Only tomorrow morning?” Nothing can douse the hope in my tone.

  “Yes.” Ryan slaps my shoulder, a gesture usual for two entities on opposite sides of the law. It reminds me of how we met, except he’s no longer a scrawny kid pining over a girl he couldn’t have. “Isabelle may not be a police officer, but she is a member of law enforcement, so a handful of officers from this precinct called in some courtesies, meaning Izzy will stand in front of a judge first thing tomorrow morning.” His confident smirk falters as his voice lowers a few decibels. “But from what I’m hearing, you’ll need to bring a substantial checkbook because if she gets bail, the amount will be sizable.”

  I nod without hesitation. They can have it all. I’ll give them every fucking cent I have if it guarantees Isabelle’s safety—both mentally and physically.

  Chapter 5

  Isabelle

  “It isn’t as fancy as the last restaurant we dined at, but you take what you can get.”

  A grin curls my lips when I swing my eyes in the direction the voice came from. Ryan is standing in the doorway of the holding cell I’m restrained in. He’s wearing a similar suit to the one he wore when we went on our combined date with Isaac two months ago. Actually, on closer inspection, I think it’s the suit he wore that night.

  His smile competes with the moonlight when he notices my prolonged gawk of his fitted trousers, dress shirt, and tailored jacket combination. “I only just finished working on a case when I picked you up. I didn’t have time to change.”

  So, it is the same suit!

  Once the officer guarding the door unlocks it, Ryan enters to hand me the packaged sandwich and bottle of water he’s grasping instead of shoving it through the slot. While undoing the top button on his jacket, his eyes dart around at the bare confines I’m calling home for the night. Ravenshoe PD remand chambers remind me of padded cells, except there’s no padding on the white brick walls. A half-wall partially blocks the stainless toilet from the bustling corridor. The toilet has no seat, and the vanity hangs directly above it, meaning I’ll never use the cup chained to the wall to replenish my parched mouth. I’d rather go thirsty than drink from anything housed next to an exposed toilet bowl.

  It could be worse. Holding cells are designed to house two dozen inmates. Mercifully, unlike the bustling one across from me, this one only has one occupant—me. I’m huddled in the corner of a bench that stretches three walls. Since the blanket the arresting officer gave me is as thin as my hope, I’ve wrapped my arms around my legs and have my non-bruised cheek resting on my knees.

  Once Ryan has finished his brief assessment of the unhomely conditions, he plants his backside on the bench next to me. When bottled cologne and pine trees filter through my nose, I angle my body closer to him, preferring his fresh scent over the nauseating one I’ve been sniffing the past few hours. Ravenshoe PD’s holding cells smell like urinals.

  With furrowed brows, Ryan tracks his index finger down my cheek. His touch is so gentle, it can barely be classified as a touch. “What happened to your cheek?”

  I screw my face up like a witch about to boil some children. Although I could place the blame for my bruise on the arresting officers’ brutality, at the end of the day, I’m partially to blame for it as well. I was resisting arrest, but only because I was unaware that I was under arrest.

  Undeterred by his one-sided conversation, Ryan removes the sandwich from my grasp to remove one half of a cheese and tomato sandwich inside. When he hands it to me, my mouth salivates in anticipation, but it has nothing on the growl my stomach does when he digs a super-size Snickers bar out of his trouser pocket.

  “Isaac said it was your favorite chocolate bar.”

  I nod, praying the quick bob of my head doesn’t release any of the moisture brimming in my eyes. Even though it isn’t a grand gesture, it shows thoughtfulness on Isaac’s behalf.

  “Go on.” Ryan nudges his head to the sandwich, encouraging me to eat it.

  I swallow down one-half of the portion with a few swigs of water, but since my stomach is swirling, my usually robust appetite is lacking. When I place the uneaten half back into its packaging, Ryan adjusts his position while grumbling about the bench seat already giving him a dead ass. I can’t help but giggle over his comment. I shoved the rock-hard pillow the arresting officer gave me under my bottom within the first two minutes. Even being as hard as a stone, it has more padding than the bench.

  “Ah… the banana split led me astray. I thought the way to your heart was via your stomach. I’m an idiot. I should have dusted off my funny bone instead of scrounging for loose coins at the bottom of my briefcase for a day-old sandwich.”

  Ryan’s comment makes me smile, but it doesn’t loosen my lips. He’s not deterred, though. Not in the slightest. He seems like a man who enjoys a challenge—hence, our extremely dangerous one two months ago.

  After scratching his chin, his eyes shift to me. “I’m going to be frank. I know Isaac instructed you not to speak to anyone without a lawyer present, but you need to trust me. Isaac requested for me to be placed on this case, but I didn’t do it because he asked. I did it because I don’t believe you’re capable of doing what you’ve been accused of.”

  I wait, knowing there’s more.

  My intuition is proven right when he says, “But… if you don’t help me, we’re never going to get any further than we are.”

  The expression on his face appears neutral, but it’s the concern reflecting in his eyes that causes my greatest concern. He either genuinely needs my help or he’s panicked he went on a date with a cold-blooded killer.

  “Are you prosecuting me or defending me?”

  “Neither,” he replies immediately. “I’m trying to unearth what happened to Megan. Regardless of her background or what charges may have been brought against her if she hadn’t been killed, she’s still a victim, so she deserves a voice.”

  “I agree. I also want to know what happened to her.”

  “Then help me, Izzy. Answer some basic questions any regular Joe could answer without a lawyer present. I swear, I’m not here to railroad you. I’m just seeking answers to questions no one is asking.”

  I return his prudent stare while contemplating. Although we’ve only interacted once, Regina’s fondness when she divulged his life history before our date assures me he’s a good man. My Uncle Tobias’s knack for spotting trustworthy people a mile away was passed onto Regina, so if she thinks Ryan is a good man, I have no hesitation believing the same thing.

  “What do you want to know?”

  Ryan looks two seconds from kissing me—again. Instead, he squeezes my shoulder before standing from his seat to yank a notepad out of his jacket. A smile curves my lips high when the removal of his notepad is quickly followed by the removal of his jacket. I peer up at him with shock all over my face when he drapes his jacket around my shoulders.

  “You look cold,” he replies to my surprised expression like it’s perfectly normal for him to read me like a book.

  Although uneased, I tug his jacket in closer. I’m not just relishing in the unique scent seeping from his coat, I’m loving his body heat. It’s freezing in here.

  Once his backside is reattached to the rock-hard bench seat, his gaze lifts from the notepad to me. “When did you last fire your gun?”

  I give him a look, one that says it isn’t a standard question a detective would ask an everyday perp. Ryan tries to act innocent. It isn’t an act he can pull off. Although our interview jumped from the gates in the wrong manner, I’ll still answer his question because I have nothing to hide, so I have no reason to fear prosecution.

  “Two days ago. I had a tail following me, so I took what I thought at the time was a necessary action to protect myself.” When Ryan’s brows rocket up his face, I slap his arm. “Not t
hat type of action. I wanted them to stop following me. When I shot out their back tires, the chances of that happening greatly increased.” I lower my voice a few decibels, halving my conceitedness running rife in my tone. “I wasn’t aware Isaac had Hugo following me. If I did, I would have chosen a different set of actions.”

  Ryan’s grin is so bright, I’m tempted to protect my eyes from its blinding rays. “Does Isaac know you fired at Hugo?”

  “I didn’t fire at Hugo. I fired at his tires. That’s different.”

  When Ryan throws his head back and laughs, I’m two seconds away from adding additional charges to the long list I’m already facing. These charges will include assaulting an unarmed detective.

  I’m saved from further prosecution when he settles his laughter by getting back to the task at hand. “Initial forensics on the pistol they recovered from your possession this afternoon indicated that it had recently been fired. This gives credit to the CSI findings.” After checking hand-scribbled notes in his notepad, he asks, “Can you explain how they discovered your fingerprints in Megan’s motel room?”

  “I followed Megan after an incident at Isaac’s nightclub two weeks ago. It was before I was placed on suspension. I did a full write-up about my findings and issued my report to my superior officer the same day. It should all be in my record.”

  Ryan appears surprised by my admission. I assume it’s because of my attempts to keep our conversation on a professional playing field, but he proves me wrong when he asks, “Why are you on suspension?”

  I exhale a shaky breath, still peeved that Theresa’s unfounded evidence was enough to get me ousted. “IA is investigating me for colluding with Isaac. They’re scrutinizing my position on the belief that I gave him confidential documents in exchange for beneficial gain.”

  Ryan shifts his position until his handsome face is a mere inch from mine. “Is the IA agent investigating you the same lady who came into the interrogation room after Isaac and I left?” His breaths flutter my cheeks when I nod. “Did Isaac tell you about his involvement with Theresa?” My sandwich threatens to resurface from the way he says ‘involvement.’