by Shandi Boyes
“Izzy is fine. She’s tougher than you think, Isaac. She scored well above all her male counterparts in weapons training at the academy.”
I’m not surprised by Ryan’s testimonial. Isabelle displayed perfect aim when she shot out Hugo’s tires.
“Besides, I didn’t leave her unattended. I passed Brandon on my way out. He said he’d stay with her until Hugo returns.”
Anger bristles through me as my fists scrunch into firm balls. If he were hoping his comment would soothe my hesitation, he’s way off the mark. If anything, I’m more frustrated now than I was earlier.
The twitch in my jaw grows more rampant when Ryan seizes my elbow in an attempt to drag me away from the police tape.
“This will be your only warning. Get your hands off me.”
Fury hazes my vision when I lift my eyes to glare at him. His eyes are as murky as mine, his jaw just as hard, but nothing deters my attention from our cut-throat stare-down.
Ryan isn’t quite so lucky. When everyone stops what they’re doing to watch our charade, his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. I’m used to gaining the attention of others, but he seems mighty uncomfortable with his new fame.
After removing his hand from my elbow, he runs it over his head, messing up his usually pristine haircut. “Unless you have a death wish, you need to leave. If they think this was you, they’ll hunt you down like a dog.”
I angle my head so I can peer into his eyes, which are now facing the taped-off crime scene. “If who thinks this was me?”
A huff of disbelief spills from his lips. “Police protect their own.”
“Just like I protect what’s mine.” I take a step closer to him, pretending I don’t have Hawke’s watchful eyes boring a hole in the side of my head. “I already told you this wasn’t me.”
“They won’t ask you like I did, Isaac. They’ll shoot first, ask questions later.”
“Who will?” I ask again. “Jimmy Travell, married father of two?” I gesture my head to Jimmy, who smiles when he notices he’s gained my attention. “Or what about Mary L. Turner, mother of four boys? Her husband is a drunk, but she puts up with him for their children’s sake because she doesn’t want them growing up in a broken family.” I turn my eyes to a group of officers on our left. “Or perhaps it will be Bob, or Robert, depending on what mood he’s in? Or what about Carter, Peter, Lionel, or Sophia?” I point to each of the officers I’m referencing, undoubtedly proving I have some type of connection with over half the officers here. “Who’s going to prosecute me without first hearing my side of the story, Ryan? From what I’m seeing, the only person doing that is you, although your eyes are telling an entirely different story.”
“They’re not your friends, Isaac. At the first sniff of money, they’ll pretend they’ve never heard of you.”
“No, they’re not friends of mine, but they have benefited from what my empire has given this community. Furthermore, a lot of cops in Ravenshoe are corrupt, but not all of them are like that. There’s a decent number who are just like you, Ryan. Ask them if they think I did this. They’ll give you the same answer your eyes are revealing.” I tilt closer to him, ensuring he’s the only one to hear my next set of words. “I’ve never hidden my ruthlessness, so why would I hide it now? If this were me, I’d parade their worthless carcasses for the entire community to see. That way, any time a resident of Ravenshoe considers putting their hands on any woman, much less mine, they’d think twice.”
With that, I turn on my heels and stride back to my car. All the questions I came here to have answered was done by absorbing the crime scene during my squabble with Ryan. The missing officers weren’t kidnapped by Col Petretti or anyone in his crew, but if the signature left as clear as day in the middle of the crime scene is an indication to their identity, I know who is responsible, and let me say, it isn’t who I was anticipating.
Chapter 17
Isaac
When a shot of whiskey hits the back of my throat, I bask in its familiar burn as it slides down my esophagus and past my icy heart before landing in my stomach. Whiskey is a wonderful entity. If I consume enough of it, I can forget, wipe the slate clean, overlook everything I’m precariously juggling right now. It can even take away the throb of my busted knuckles from my run-in with Hawke earlier today.
But no matter how much alcohol I consume, nothing can dampen my insatiable need to have Isabelle beneath me. I love the way her pupils dilate, and her breathing becomes panted when she teeters on the edge of ecstasy. The desire to encounter that’s irrepressible. I’ll never get enough of her.
After slamming down my shot glass onto the mahogany countertop, I signal to Tina, requesting another refill. She removed the bottle from my grasp thirty minutes ago with the explicit instruction that I needed to “slow down” on the amount of alcohol I was consuming.
I’m not drowning my sorrows. I’m fighting the urge to drive to Regan’s apartment and sneak into Isabelle’s room. My fingerprint is the only tool I need to gain access to the floor Regan’s apartment is on as it’s the same floor as my fuck pad. We have side-by-side penthouses. Regan’s is just more adeptly decorated with furniture, paintings, and ornaments. I never felt the need to fancy up my apartment for the guests I took there. They were only there for one reason, and it wasn’t to look at the furnishings.
A vibrating sensation steals my attention away from a group of men creating havoc for some of my female patrons on the dance floor. While shifting my gaze to my head bouncer, Travis, I pull my phone out of my pocket. With a simple lift of my chin, I instruct him to remove the Neanderthals from my premises before they disrupt the higher-paying, more valuable guests.
My heart thumps against my chest when my caller’s number identifies as known. It’s coming from the unregistered cell I gave Isabelle early this morning.
I hit the connect button before pushing my phone in close to my ear. “Isabelle, are you okay?” My tone is stern but riddled with anxiety. It’s a little after one in the morning, so I’m somewhat perplexed as to why she’s calling me so late.
When the loud thump of the bass streaming out of the speakers hung around my nightclub absorbs Isabelle’s reply, I head into my office. I want to say the quiet conditions appease my worry, but that would be a lie. Thick, angry blood surges through my veins when her silent sobs barrel down the line.
“Isabelle, what’s wrong?”
When my question arrives with more gut-wrenching sobs, I throw open the drawers of my desk, frantically searching for my car keys. When my hunt comes up empty, I thrust my hands into the pockets of my trousers with a sense of urgency. Suddenly, clarity forms. Tina. She removed them from the countertop after I’d consumed half a bottle of whiskey.
“Nightmare,” Isabelle hiccups through sobs.
The weight on my chest turns crippling. “It’s okay, baby, you’re safe. It’s just a dream, remember?” My voice alters from trembling with unbridled panic to a soothing purr.
While yanking my sleek black iPhone out of my pocket, I attempt to calm her down with words instead of my body. “Talk to me, Isabelle. Tell me what you did today, what you ate, what you watched. Anything.”
I hit the speed dial for Hugo’s number on my iPhone, then squash it to my opposite ear before rushing out of my office. This is the very reason I was adamant about not leaving her alone. The ghastly scene she witnessed in the barn was mere days ago. She shouldn’t be left alone, day or night.
My teeth grit when my call to Hugo’s cell phone goes to his voicemail. I revert my attention to my cell. “Talk to me, baby. I’ve missed your voice so much tonight.”
When she fails to respond, I race toward the bar, prepared to hustle through the hundreds of patrons milling around the vast floor space. Mercifully, when the crowd sees me coming, they part like the red sea, giving me an unobscured path. When I snag my keys from the container Tina puts the drunken patrons’ keys in, she shoots me a wry look. I cut her off any words preparing to spill from her mouth with a
stern glare. I don’t have time for her shit today. Isabelle needs me, and no one is more important than her.
“I’m on my way. You’re okay. You’re safe,” I assure Isabelle while sprinting to my car parked in the lot at the back of my club.
I’ve just reached the driver’s side door when a deep voice sounds down the line. “I’ve got her, Isaac.” Hugo’s deep timbre is breathless like he’s just woken up. “It took me so long to get in here as she had the door locked.”
I suck in many big breaths while struggling to quell my panic. It would be a shit-ton easier if Isabelle’s quiet sniffles weren’t still resonating down the line.
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” My snapped command should advise Hugo that my decision isn’t up for negotiating, but just in case it doesn’t, I disconnect our call.
I slide in the driver’s seat of my Bugatti, forgoing my seat belt before throwing the gearstick into reverse. My sweaty palms clench the steering wheel as forcefully as my tires grip the gravel beneath them. In no time at all, I rocket out of the lot, harrowingly missing patrons heading to their vehicles after a night of dancing. My excessive speed as I race through the streets of Ravenshoe does little to ease the shake that has invaded my hands. Knowing Isabelle is upset is more alarming than I could have ever perceived. Even though she has Hugo, I won’t be satisfied that she’s safe until I see it with my own eyes.
Due to the early hour, the roads are deserted, void of the usual traffic that plagues Ravenshoe during daylight hours, so I make it to Regan’s apartment in record time. That probably has something to do with the manic speed I was driving.
Tires skidding along the polished concrete floor bounces off the concrete walls of the underground parking lot when I slam my foot on the brake. Since I no longer need my fuck pad, the parking space that came with the apartment is now occupied by a white BMW convertible.
With my back molars crunching together, I shift the gearstick into reverse, so I can park in the only spare space in the entire lot, Apartment 3A. After throwing open my door with more force than needed, I quickly stride toward the elevator banks. My lengthened steps falter when Regan darts to stand in front of me. She was hiding in the only dark corner of the garage, and that’s not the worst of the travesty.
Barely a strand of her platinum blonde locks are visible under the shockingly repulsive peaked beanie she’s wearing, but even its not as hideous as the words she speaks next. “You cannot go in there.”
She folds her arms in front of her chest, angering me more. “She had a nightmare.”
My jaw tenses when my attempt to skirt past her is impeded by her stepping back into my path. I grit my teeth before returning her glare with a fiercer one. It warns that I’m not in the mood for her alpha dominant games tonight. Isabelle needs me, but more than anything, I need her. I need to ensure she’s safe and protected, and that no tears are staining her beautiful face. But more than anything, I need to make sure the last time we talk isn’t while she’s crying. I made that mistake once. I won’t make it again.
The more Regan’s green eyes float between mine, the less stern her mask becomes. “Hugo has her, Isaac. Let him do the job you pay him to do.”
“That’s not his job!” My angry sneer reverberates around the empty parking lot as I bang my fist on my chest. “That’s my job! It’s my job to keep her safe!”
Regan shakes her head. “That’s no longer your position until Isabelle’s trial is over, or the charges against her are dropped.”
Although she’s said the same thing numerous times the past thirty-six hours, the sting of her words hasn’t lessened.
“Like fucking hell it isn’t!”
I skim past her to stride into the elevator, only stopping when she shouts, “Scanning your fingerprint will be useless.”
My head ricochets back quicker than a bullet fired from a gun. She’s barely visible in the shadows of the overhead lighting, but I can see the condescending smirk etched on her ruthless face.
“What did you do?”
She pops out her hip, strengthening her stance. “I stopped you from making a costly mistake. I had Hunter remove your prints from the security database.”
I growl like a bear about to begin hibernation. Regan has no clue how lucky she is to have female parts between her legs because if she didn’t, she would have taken her last breath by now.
With my mood as dangerous as my blood pressure, I pace back toward her. My steps are so furious and efficient, I reach her in less than a heartbeat. After seizing her wrist, I yank her toward the elevator banks. My thumbprint may not work anymore, but hers sure will.
Regan tries to tuck away the flinch my sudden movement caused, but she doesn’t fully suffocate before I see it. As the weight on my chest grows heavy, I release her wrist from my hold, mortified I caused her to show fear. When she catches my apologetic gaze, dread fades from her face, and her take-no-shit-from-anyone composure reins back over her features.
After exhaling a deep breath, she yanks me into the dark corner she was hiding in when I arrived. She’s so close, her breaths flutter my lips when she speaks. “You’re letting your feelings cloud your judgment. You need to step back and properly assess the situation.” Even though her tone is stern, the remorse reflecting out of her eyes is anything but. “They’re watching you.”
My shoulders square as my brows furrow. “Who?”
She’s barely whispering now, but she lowers her voice a few more decibels before replying, “A pizza delivery van has been parked at the front of the garage since I arrived home this morning. No one eats that much pizza, Isaac. Not even Hugo.”
When my head pops out of the shadowed darkness, I spot the delivery van she’s referencing. From this angle, I can’t see the entire van, but I can see the back quarter-panel window that most likely has a surveillance camera positioned behind it. Its location gives it a clear view of the elevator banks at the front of the building.
After returning my eyes to Regan, I ask, “I lost my tail on the way here, so whose surveillance team is that? IA or Ravenshoe PD?”
She shrugs. “I think it’s IA. Their case against Isabelle has been thrown out, but I have a feeling Theresa hasn’t gotten the memo. But in saying that, Hugo ensured no one followed them here this morning, so they’re either here waiting for you or hoping you’ll lead them to Isabelle.”
“Theresa knows all about the women I bring here. She was one of them, so she’d also know I’d never bring Isabelle here.”
Theresa is bitter because I use to treat women more like a commodity than a person. In my defense, I didn’t know Isabelle existed back then. If I did, I would have never stopped looking for her.
“That’s my point, Isaac. It would be highly suspicious if you arrived at your fuck pad without a busty blonde draped on your arm like you did every second day until a few measly months ago,” Regan replies, her tone surprisingly catty.
My jaw spasms as a growl emits from my lips. I’m used to Regan giving as good as she is getting, but that was a hit below the belt, and she knows it.
“Sorry, that was uncalled for.” Her sigh rustles my badly-in-need-of-a-trim hair. “It’s been a draining couple of weeks.”
She’s preaching to the wrong person.
As her gaze floats back outside, a mask I don’t recognize slips over her face. “If it’s Theresa’s team, she’ll be slapped with an injunction the instant the courts open tomorrow morning. Her obsession with you was already bordering on stalker territory, but I’m worried saving you from her trap thrust Isabelle straight into it.” Her regular, I’m queen-of-the-world fire gleams in her eyes when she says, “When I hit Theresa with another injunction, I’ll make sure it hits her horrid face this time around.”
A smirk curves my mouth, but it barely lifts an ounce of the weight on my chest. Surveillance or not, I need to see Isabelle. The desire is uncontrollable. I’m beyond exhausted, but I won’t sleep a wink until I see Isabelle isn’t upset.
“
I need to see her, Regan. I need to make sure she’s okay.” This time, my statement comes out as a plea instead of a demand.
While she ponders my request, Regan’s gaze shifts between me and the van. She knows what happened with Ophelia, so she understands where my appeal stems from. Hearing Isabelle cry as she did without being there to support her is gutting me.
“All right,” she breathes out slowly a short time later. “But there’s only one way I can get you into the building without raising suspicion.” Confusion engulfs me when she fists my jacket. “Don’t worry, this will be as weird for me as it is for you.”
When her lips brush mine, I freeze, utterly shocked by her boldness. It’s been clear from day one that we have no sexual interest in each other whatsoever.
“If you want to see Isabelle, you need to make this look believable, Isaac,” Regan mumbles over my snap-shut lips.
Just hearing Isabelle’s name sparks a reaction out of me. I grasp Regan’s jean-covered backside to haul her body against mine. When I cup her thighs, she wraps her legs around my waist. To an outsider, we look like an intimate couple who can’t keep our hands off each other, only we know it is for show. For one, Regan is sitting so high on my waist, she’s practically on my chest, and two, neither of our tongues have attempted to leave the comfort of our mouths.
With our lips locked, I pace toward the elevator. When I inch back to place her thumb on the elevator dashboard security panel, she keeps the show alight by nibbles on the stubble on my chin. Once the elevator arrives at our floor, and we’re safely inside, we repel away from each other like we’re seconds from catching something.
While Regan runs her hand over her mouth to remove all traces of our kiss, I drag the back of my hand over mine to ensure none of her cherry-flavored lip gloss is smeared on my mouth.
“Yuck!” Regan’s dramatic voice echoes in the elevator. “That was literally like kissing my brother.”
I cock my brow. Call me conceited, but this is the first time I’ve ever been insulted for my usually stellar bedroom antics. Even though I wasn’t putting in any effort, my ego still got bitch-slapped by her comment.