by Shandi Boyes
I won’t lie, when Hugo pulled onto the street this building is located on, my eyes got a little misty. After everything Isaac and I have been through, it’s hard to believe I only ‘visited’ his apartment seven weeks ago. When we’re together, we become so lost in each other. Time has no meaning. We wouldn’t know if a week or a month passed. It’s just us. Nobody else exists or matters.
I never knew this type of raw passion existed, but now that I’ve experienced it, it will be impossible to give up. No man will ever ignite my senses as Isaac can. My body is numb without him.
The cuff of Regan’s silky blouse brushes against my arm, breaking me away from my thoughts. “Which room is yours?”
Smiling, she points to a door at the end of the hall. “But you don’t want to go in there.” Her nose screwing up like a teacher reprimanded a student for being naughty. “There are things in there that will scare blushers like you.”
As I poke out my tongue, Hugo’s brows shoot up into his hairline. His dilated eyes bounce between Regan and me for a whole two seconds before he bolts for the door Regan pointed to. She’s on his heels in under a nanosecond, demanding he stop immediately. Her dangerously high stilettos assure she’ll never catch him.
He swings open her bedroom door before she’s halfway down the hall. “Damn, Regan, you’re my type of girl.”
Regan tugs on her skirt, raising it high on her thigh before curtsying, pleased by his compliment. “I know how to keep them keen.”
Eager to join the conversation, I join them at the end of the elegant hallway. I pout like a child when Regan closes the door before I can pry into her personal space. Party pooper.
Smirking like she heard my private thought, Regan gives Hugo and me an impromptu tour of her residence. After showing us the remaining sleeping quarters, a den big enough to hold a poker tournament, and three bathrooms, we arrive in her adeptly decorated kitchen. Just like the kitchen in Isaac’s apartment, her fridge is bare. Excluding bottles of water, there’s nothing nutritious inside.
Her pantry is just as scarce of food. Other than numerous tins of vanilla frosting, it’s bare. Her food supplies give credit as to why she smells sugary, but it has my suspicion peaked.
“Is this your fuck pad or your home?”
I spin around to face Regan, who is wiggling her brows. “A little bit of column A and a little bit of column B.” She pads closer to me with her hips swinging like they’ll seduce me as well as they will Hugo. “I only reside in Ravenshoe when Isaac’s cases require a physical presence. Thankfully, that’s not very often. I do most of my work from my home in Texas.”
My eyes bulge. Out of all the states, I would have never guessed she’s a Texan.
Her eye roll is way too sophisticated for my liking. “Don’t act surprised. Haven’t you heard everything is bigger in Texas? I live there to ensure the quote is accurate for all regions below the belt.” A playful wink ends her tease.
Confident she has me right where she wants me, she digs a stack of pamphlets from a drawer under the island. They’re from catering companies that specialize in in-home delivery. “Is there anything particular you feel like eating?” When she peers at me, I shake my head. “Anything you’re allergic to? Or dislike?”
My head shaking is interrupted when Hugo pipes up. “Pumpkin. Izzy hates pumpkin.” My eyes shoot to him so quickly, I become dizzy from their swift movement. “What?” He gives me the same wink Regan just did. “You wasted a perfectly good slice of pumpkin pie in Harlow’s bakery last week.” He salivates at the mouth while rubbing his stomach in a circular motion. “Such a waste of a good pie.”
His hand falls from his tummy when Regan socks him in the arm. “Do we have to put up with him the entire time? Or can he just shadow you once you leave my apartment?”
I can’t tell if she’s being witty or serious, but Hugo doesn’t seem fazed. He has a megawatt smile stretched across his ruggedly handsome face, and his elbows are propped on the granite countertop. He’s tilting so close to Regan, his lips brush the shell of her ear when he murmurs, “You’ll want me here when you’ve got an itch you need scratched, but it’s just out of your reach.” His words are so hot, even I get scorned by them. “You can’t have special guests over when the king of your realm bans them.”
Their lips almost touch when Regan cranks her neck to Hugo. They would have if she didn’t inch back to authentic the honesty in Hugo’s eyes. “What do you mean banned?”
Hugo braces his back on the kitchen counter before folding his arms in front of his chest. “Come on, Regan, you know Isaac. There’s no way he’d let you entertain guests while Izzy is here.”
“But that doesn’t mean he’d demand me to…” Her brow arches higher and higher until it is hidden by her long side bangs. “He knows what I’m like.”
They must have had discussions like this before as I’m lost on what she means, but Hugo has no trouble deciphering her coded statement.
“He knows all right, but that doesn’t lessen the issues he has with her.” Hugo nudges his head to me, his smile the biggest it’s been today. “Until she goes, that apparatus you have in your room is a no-go zone.”
Regan scoffs, her face disgusted. “Order whatever you want! I have a case to be dismissed.”
She tosses the pamphlets to my side of the countertop before hot-footing it out of the kitchen.
An hour later, I’m on the verge of a carbohydrate coma. My sloth-like walk to gather my Kindle out of my bag is my punishment for allowing Hugo to choose what we were to consume for lunch. He went the very bachelor route, meaning I gobbled more than my share of pizza, garlic bread, and spicy wings the past half hour. I could feel my ass getting wider with every bite, but it was so good, I couldn’t stop eating.
I pout when I dig out my Kindle from my satchel. Since it hasn’t been used in months, it’s flat dead. After plugging it in, I pad down the long hallway, my strides guided by the numerous sighs and groans bellowing down the elegantly decorated space. Regan is so determined to have my case overturned, she refused Hugo’s multiple requests to join us for lunch.
When I round the corner, I spot Regan’s concerned face. Wrinkles are indenting her forehead, and she’s tapping her index finger on her lips. Her hair has been yanked up into a messy bun, and her jacket is flung over the back of her chair. She’s super casual but also prepped for business if that makes any sense?
“Can I help with anything?”
She peers at me over the report she’s reading for a mere second before she diverts her focus back to the task at hand.
“I’m not the damsel in distress Isaac and Hugo make me out to be. I have at least half a brain.” My comment is surprisingly playful considering how bruised my ego is, and it has the effect I was hoping for.
After gesturing for me to sit in the chair across from her, Regan hands me a stack of photos. “I’ve never worked a murder case before, but that won’t stop me from saying the scientific evidence they have against you is compelling.”
When she nudges her head to the photos, I drop my eyes to study them. The first dozen are of a vast pool of blood that covers a carpeted surface. A pillow sits to the side, and a copper bullet is to its left. It’s marked as evidence one, two, and three. The remaining photos are of a trashed motel room. Nearly every surface is littered with shredded pillows, broken lamps, and pieces of the quilt Megan had on her bed.
“Was there any surveillance in the motel parking lot or hallways?”
When Regan shakes her head, I sigh. In a way, a lack of security is a godsend. Otherwise, they would have seen me illegally entering Megan’s room two weeks ago when I attempted to jimmy the lock before shoulder-barging it open, but it’s frustrating we didn’t catch the real culprit on camera.
“Was there any brain…” I cough to clear my throat. “… or organ matter found in the pool of blood?”
After gagging, Regan digs her hand into the large stack of reports she’s been tackling the past hour. Thirty seconds
later, with twisted lips and a deep sigh, she shakes her head.
“So, Megan’s death wasn’t caused by a bullet. There would be some type of matter in the blood pool if it were the murder weapon.”
Regan hands me a blown-up picture of the bullet I’m referencing. “The bullet they recovered from Megan’s motel room has blood on it. It’s a match for Megan’s blood type.”
I shrug, not the least bit confronted. “That could be residue blood from a contaminated crime scene.”
After snagging Regan’s reading glasses off her desk, I use them as a magnifying glass so I can study the photo more closely. There’s barely anything to see but grooves scoured on a recently-fired bullet and some fibers caught in its wounds.
“What color was the carpet in Megan’s motel room?”
Regan checks a report before replying, “Stained cream if that’s its original color. Why?”
“There’s an inflexible dark fiber caught in the wounds surrounding the bullet.” I point out the fiber I’m mentioning. “When a bullet is fired, wounds to the bullet usually occur. If it were fired through a skull, fragments of bone would embed in its wounds. Even if it only grazed someone’s skin, skin tags would still be found. Although this bullet does have blood on it, there’s no other damage that would occur if it had been fired through someone. Wounds are indicating it was fired, but other than that, its wounds appear more as if they were shot through somethi—” I stop talking as my heart skyrockets.
Regan’s eyes track me when I leap out of my seat and rush into the living room. When Hugo senses my presence, his head lifts from a magazine he’s perusing. Obviously, the channel surfing he was doing the past hour became too draining for him.
“What happened to the car you were driving on the weekend?”
As his lips quirk, his expression ruffles.
“The car I shot the tires out, what happened to that car?”
Now he’s clued in. “Roger took it to a repair shop for new tires. Why?”
I twist the photo Regan showed me his way like he’ll see what I’m referencing from a distance. “The bullet recovered from the crime scene at Megan’s motel room has a material embedded in its wounds. It’s a dark material, and due to its inflexibility, it could be a vulcanized fiber. Like a material you’d get from shooting a bullet through a tire.”
Hugo’s mouth is opened wide, and his eyes are flicking, but not a word seeps from his lips. It’s for the best. I don’t need him to speak to know the next steps we need to take to have my charges expunged.
“Call Roger and find out where the tires were repaired. I think whoever is framing me for murder removed the bullets from your tires to plant them at the crime scene.”
His throat works hard to swallow. “If that’s true, that means there’s another bullet still out there.”
“I know.” My eyes bounce between Hugo and Regan, who just joined us in the living room. “That’s why we need to find out who’s doing this before they frame me for another murder.”
Chapter 15
Isabelle
Regina stiffens when I greet her with a hug. With my busy work schedule and everything going on with Isaac, I feel like I haven’t seen her in months. As usual, she’s taken aback by my friendliness, but her dark eyes relay it isn’t as bad as she’s making it out to be. After shooting her eyes around the foyer of Regan’s apartment, she returns them to my face. “A little fancier than my humble shack, kiddo.”
My heart warms from her comment. ‘Kiddo’ and ‘rabbit’ were my Uncle Tobias’s chosen terms of endearment anytime he referenced me.
I bump her with my hip before backing up my cuddle with my own analogy of times bygone. “But it’s nowhere near as homey, Ge Ge.” Ge Ge was what my uncle called her when they were a couple.
When moisture fills Regina’s eyes, I tug her into the opulent foyer before greeting Ryan with a smile. Dark rings are still circling his glacier-blue eyes, and his stubble is thicker than it was twenty-four plus hours ago, but he still has a face that belongs on a GQ magazine cover.
After returning my greeting with a lift of his chin, Ryan’s focus shifts to Hugo. He acknowledges Ryan and Regina’s presence with a head bob and turns his back on us so he can continue his conversation on his cell phone, no doubt talking to either Isaac or someone on his team as he has many times the past hour.
With Hugo’s manners nonexistent, I’m left with the task of introducing Ryan and Regina to Regan, who is seated on one of her large, plush sofas. The cushions are so luxurious, their plumpness nearly conceals her tiny frame. When she realizes we have company, she finalizes her call, places her cell phone onto the glass coffee table, then stands to greet her guests. It’s interesting watching her and Ryan interact. They’re both equally beautiful creatures, but neither seems fond of the other. Maybe it has something to do with the double alpha thing Regan mentioned yesterday?
“Regan, is that a family name?” Regina questions, her dark eyes assessing Regan.
Regan smiles at Regina’s question before nodding. “Yes, it’s my grandmother’s maiden name.”
With a reserved grin, Regan offers for Ryan and Regina to sit at one of the three sofas in her massive living room. Just as Ryan steps into the sunken space, Hugo ends his call before requesting a word with him. When Ryan approves his request without a second thought, I try to keep my focus on Regan and Regina, but my essential need to know everything has my eyes continuously moving over to Hugo and Ryan’s half of the living area. I can’t hear anything they’re saying, but Hugo’s stance is off. He’s the most rigid I’ve seen him, and the groove between his brow is so large, you could hide the Golden Gate Bridge in there.
The crater between Hugo’s brows jumps onto my face when Hugo shakes Ryan’s hand before making a beeline for the door. He’s so eager to get out of here, he’s practically running.
When Ryan fills the spare seat next to me, my inquisitiveness gets the better of me. “Where’s Hugo going?”
“He has a family emergency—”
“What type of family emergency?”
He shrugs, his face not giving anything away. “Nope.”
He’s lying. Don’t ask me how I know. I just know he is.
“Liar.” I glare at him for several long seconds before shifting my focus back to the conversation across from me. He chuckles at my comment but doesn’t attempt to refute it. You can’t deny the truth.
“We filed a subpoena request with the judge requesting that all the evidence in Megan’s case be assessed by our precinct instead of the internal affairs division of the FBI,” Regina informs Regan, her voice professional yet full of worry. “Theresa argued that the case she had compiled between Isabelle and Isaac was directly associated with Megan’s case, but since you had her investigation into Isabelle squashed, the judge denied the connection before ordering for her to hand over all evidence to our department.”
Sweet relief washes through me. If Regina can prove the bullet found on the scene wasn’t shot through anything of a human matter, the DA will have no incriminatory evidence against me. The bullet is the only leg the DA has to stand on. They arrested me solely on evidence that is as corrupt as the woman who gathered it.
Ryan chimes in by handing Regan a one-page document. “FBI Special Agent Alex Rogers supplied me with a report this morning regarding Isabelle entering Megan’s motel room. He advised that he requested for her to investigate Megan after an incident at Isaac’s nightclub earlier that day. That report will aide in having Izzy’s fingerprints and hair fiber in Megan’s bathroom thrown out.”
Moisture floods my eyes. Although I’m still annoyed at the tactics Alex undertook to force me to go undercover, I’m grateful he’s assisting in my acquittal.
“We’re going to the mechanic where Isaac’s car was taken to once we leave here. If the second bullet is still in the tire, we’ll collect it and send it to a CSI officer I trust in Hopeton. His findings will be more credible than the Ravenshoe department. Theresa has t
oo many connections with the staff at Ravenshoe.” Ryan’s comment forms a knot in my stomach because it’s proof this witch-hunt is more about who you know than credible evidence. “But even if we get the bullet thrown out as evidence, don’t become complacent, Izzy. You still have a battlefield to walk through.”
My brows knit as I nod. “I understand, but it’s still a step in the right direction.”
“I agree, but this also a murder investigation. The amount of blood in Megan’s room can’t be overlooked. Combine that with your fingerprints found in her family residence, and you’re the DA’s number one suspect.”
My eyes snap to Ryan’s. “I didn’t touch anything at Megan’s house. Brandon and I wiped down all the door handles and surfaces we touched before we left her property Saturday night.”
Ryan cringes, his head juddering side to side. “Your fingerprints were recovered on a vanity tap in the main bathroom.”
My heart plunges into my gut when the night in question rolls back in my head. With my mind on the fritz, I completely forgot about turning off the vanity tap.
How could I have been so stupid?
After exhaling a big breath to rid my body of nerves, I lock my eyes with Ryan. “So that one lot of fingerprints links me to Megan’s case?”
When he nods, I curse under my breath. I don’t usually swear, but with everything happening, nothing is close to ordinary.
“So, staying away from Isaac is utterly useless. I’m already linked to Megan’s case—”
“No.” Regina swipes her hand through the air, cutting me off. “I agree with Regan. You can’t have the DA or the jury knowing you’re in a relationship with Isaac. There are many arguments you can use as to why your fingerprints were found in Megan’s home.” Regina shifts her gaze to Regan, who is watching her in anticipation. “For decades, researchers have been trying to find a way to age fingerprints, but to date, no credible method has been discovered. So, you could argue Isabelle’s fingerprints were left during the FBI’s investigation into Megan as part of Isaac’s case.”