by Shandi Boyes
My quick steps falter halfway between my room and the entryway when I spot Alex standing by the table housing my satchel and the iPhone I purchased Tuesday morning. Snarling, I quicken my steps. No words spill from his mouth when I dig my iPhone out of my satchel so I can search for the bug he no doubt planted.
“I didn’t plant the bugs in your phone, Isabelle.” His admission is backed up by my phone coming out of my investigation without evidence, but I still don’t trust him. “The first time I heard about your phone being tapped was when you mentioned it at the courthouse last week.”
“Then how did you find out about Isaac’s private residence?”
Isaac said the house wasn’t in his name. No one but Hugo and I knew about it. So, unless Alex was tracking my phone, he wouldn’t have known about Isaac’s private oasis.
Alex’s eyes shift to the other side of the room. Following his gaze, I see Hugo loitering in the living area. His stance is solid, and his livid gaze is raptly planted on Alex. “I followed you there.”
My eyes snap back to his, expecting his focus to still be locked on Hugo. I take a step back when I discover his eyes are directed at me.
“Me?” Who knew one little word would take so much effort to deliver?
Alex nods. “You and Isaac. I lost your tail for nearly fifteen minutes when I followed you from his apartment one night, so you could imagine my surprise when I found his Bugatti pulled over on the side of the highway on my way home.” He looks minutes from being ill. “I put a tracker on his car when the windows got a little foggy.”
Oh my god. It is my fault. That was the night Isaac took me to his private home. I was upset about discovering we’d just left his fuck pad, so Isaac pulled over so he could comfort me. Although I didn’t lead the Bureau to him directly, I did in a way.
“If you knew about his private residence for so long, why did you take months to request a search warrant?”
A twitch impinges Alex’s top lip. “Because back then, we had nothing on Isaac.” My smile turns into a frown when he quickly adds on, “I said back then, Isabelle,” His tone reeks of arrogance. “The search we conducted on was a valid search warrant with a very valid reason.”
Before he can display anymore of his arrogance, we’re interrupted. “You were not invited into my home under the pretense of discussing matters pertaining to Isaac Holt.” The cuff of Regan’s designer shirt tickles my wrist when she moves to stand next to me. “You said you had information that would assist my client. If that statement is false, I suggest you leave my premises immediately before I file an injunction against you.”
Alex’s loud gulp sounds through the quietness, but his firm stature doesn’t falter from Regan’s whip-cracking stubbornness. “I do have credible information that will be of benefit to your client.”
“Then let’s get this over and done with.” Regan gestures for Alex to enter her living area before murmuring, “I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your valuable time.”
“So, the request for me to join your team was filed before I even graduated from the academy?” My tone relays my utter confusion. Nothing Alex is saying makes any sense.
Alex nods. “Yes. The paperwork was dated a month before I was assigned to my position.” He hands me a transfer request form that displays my name and FBI contact information in explicit detail.
“But that doesn’t make any sense. You said you brought me in as a piece of eye candy for Isaac.” Regan’s eyes snap to mine. Her livid gaze has my pulse accelerating. “I didn’t know that until after I joined Alex’s team. I also refused to become a commodity for the Bureau. My refusal got me on coffee and filing duties for seven months.”
Alex returns Regan’s glare with as much intensity as she’s hitting him with, but the remorse in his eyes makes his efforts less than stellar. They’ve met previously. I’m certain of it. And if the heat creeping across Regan’s neckline is anything to go by, I’m going to assume their meetings weren’t business-related.
“The decision to bring Isabelle onto my team as a decoy for Isaac was decided after attending a conference in San Francisco in April,” Alex informs us, his gaze not leaving Regan. “Every male agent in the vicinity kept mentioning a hot, new rookie agent who was seeking a placement. I was shocked when I discovered it was the same agent I denied a transfer request from during my first week in the Ravenshoe office as the superior officer.”
His eyes shift to me. “I wanted to see if you lived up to the hype. I was also desperate to force Isaac to make a mistake, so I used any tactic I could find. I heard from a very reliable source that a beautiful lady was his eternal weakness.”
“A beautiful blonde lady,” Regan sneers. “And the person you got that information from knew you were squeezing them for confidential facts. That’s why she led you down the garden path.”
The temperature in the room turns stifling when Regan and Alex undertake an intense stare-down. It’s so roasting, a sweat mustache forms on my top lip.
“Either tell me what information you have that’ll assist my client or get the hell out of my house.” Regan’s demand is croaky with emotions, but also full of bitterness.
Remorse flashes through Alex’s eyes. After trailing his index finger over his brow, removing a layer of sweat beading there, his hand digs into his leather satchel braced against the single sofa chair he’s sitting on. “It took a bit of convincing, but Brandon supplied me with the serial numbers from the tracking devices stored on your phone.” He hands a sheet of paper to both Regan and me. “After searching through many hidden back channels, I discovered the devices were placed in your phone by the FBI.”
When my furious eyes snap to his, he clarifies, “Not by my department. It was the same person who initially requested your transfer to Ravenshoe.”
I glare at him for several heart-thrashing seconds before scanning the document he handed me. My teeth grit when I discover who ordered the two tracking devices for my phone.
“That bitch!” Regan’s response is more reserved than the defiling ones running through my head right now. Her eyes lift and lock with Alex. “How could you let this happen to an agent on your team?” she scolds him. “I thought you said nothing like this would ever happen to a member of your crew. That you were more ethical and better than those before you. This just shows you aren’t any better than your predecessor. You’ve let Theresa hinder your investigation from the very beginning.”
“Regan… don’t. This isn’t a personal attack,” Alex interjects.
Regan abruptly stands from her seat. Her face is ashen, and her eyes are welling with tears. “No, it isn’t a personal attack.” Her stance strengthens as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. “But it was. You used me, all to climb the corporate ladder at the Bureau, then you let this happen because you became a jealous green-eyed monster.”
Alex recoils like her words slapped him across the face. He’s as shocked as Hugo, who is watching their exchange from a guarded position in the corner of the room.
After running her hands down the front of her tight, red cotton skirt successfully removing the crinkles while also drying her damp hands, Regan shimmies her shoulders. Once a professional mask has slipped over her face, she devotes her attention back to Alex. “Thank you for supplying us with these documents. I’ll be sure to pass on my commendations for your tact to your superior officers.” Her tone is professional with a hint of sternness. “Hugo will show you the way out.”
“I don’t need to be shown out. I already know my way.” Alex gathers his leather satchel from the floor and his jacket slung over the back of the chair before making his way to the entryway. He gets two paces away from the door before he stops and pivots back around. “I’m looking further into how this happened to you, Isabelle. You have my word, my department will thoroughly investigate this.”
Part of my anger dissipates from his words. He’s the most genuine and honest I’ve seen him. “Thank you.”
He accepts my comme
ndation with a dip of his chin before his focus shifts to Regan. Seeing them stand side by side is like looking at a solar eclipse. Both have dominant, strong personalities with a healthy dash of stubbornness. Both as gorgeous as the other, but just like Isaac and me, the string tethering them together has somehow snapped.
Once Alex shows himself out, Regan’s endeavors switch from a professional campaign to a personal one. “Please don’t say anything to Isaac. I… umm… met Alex before I knew who he was. The instant I found out he was working on a team assigned to investigate Isaac, I ended everything, and I haven’t seen him since.”
My heart is pained by the forlorn look straining her beautiful face. Even angry, her eyes give away her ultimate betrayal. She had deep, heartfelt feelings for Alex.
The harsh expression tainting her face fades when I nod, agreeing to keep her secret. “It would’ve taken Alex a lot to share this information with us, Regan. He’s not usually willing to impart with vital information.”
“I know,” Regan replies as her tongue delves out to moisten her top lip. “But it’s still a very small step compared to all the mistakes he has made.” She squeezes my hand, assuring me she’s not taking my comment lightheartedly before heading to her office. “I need to make a few phone calls regarding this new evidence we’ve been presented.”
“Will this help with my investigation?” I gesture my head to the document I’m grasping.
Regan nods. “Yes. It gives us a good chance of having any evidence gathered by Theresa or her team thrown out.”
My heart leaps. “That’s all the evidence in the case. Her team was the first one at the crime scene.” My words are drenched with excitement.
“I know.” Regan’s face breaks into her heaven’s-gates-being-opened smile. “It’s time to take this bitch down once and for all.”
Chapter 30
Isabelle
I yank a pair of super tight jeans over my thighs. “I can’t believe you convinced me to do this.”
Harlow’s head pops out of my walk-in wardrobe. “What is the good of best friends if they can’t convince you to get a little bit flirty?” She says ‘flirty’ like she’s trying to pry a hundred-dollar bill from the hand of an old geezer at a strip club.
I command my lungs to take their last full breath before fastening the button on my jeans. I really need to go for a run… or five. I’ve been binging on carbs the past two weeks, and my ass is suffering from my poor choices. The only exercise I’ve done is the bicep curl from the constant lifting of food to my mouth. I’m not eating because of stress. I’m eating out of boredom—and perhaps a broken heart.
Harlow convinced me to celebrate tonight because Regan finally got approval for an emergency court hearing to dispute the evidence in my case. Because of the busy Thanksgiving and Christmas season, it took two weeks to have her request approved. While waiting for approval, I’ve done nothing but lounge in her apartment, eat ice cream and chocolate, and play Xbox with Hugo while successfully hiding the wounds of a broken heart.
I miss Isaac every day, and it takes all my strength not to call him amid a terrifying nightmare. All I want is to hear his voice, so I know he’s safe, but then the hurt of his betrayal resurfaces, and my levelheadedness returns. I haven’t spoken to him since the night I left the hotel. I also haven’t shed a tear since that night because once I let them flow, I’ll never reel them back in.
I’ve overheard random conversations between Isaac and Hugo, though. They’re only brief. More Hugo updating Isaac on my situation than anything. I guess we don’t need to talk since everything was said at the hotel. I can still breathe without Isaac in my life, but I feel numb, empty, almost lifeless.
“Hey.” Harlow smacks me upside the head with a shimmery midriff shirt. “Get your head out of those clouds. No Isaac. No trial. Nothing but sweaty bodies and loud, booty-shaking music. They’re the only thoughts allowed in your head tonight.” She’s quoted the same saying since she called me earlier today convincing me that a night of dancing would get me out of the funk I’m in. “Now, put this on and get over here, so I can hide the bags your eyes are carrying.”
I place the shimmery black-sequined midriff shirt before planting my backside in the dining chair in front of the full-length mirror. I cringe when I catch my reflection. My hair is drenching wet and hanging loosely on my head. Since it’s soaked, it’s nearly as dark as the rings around my eyes. My face is pale, showing I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks, but the ghastliest aspect of my appearance is the heartbroken woman my face shouldn’t be parading.
I wonder how much makeup will be required to hide that?
“How is Cormack?”
Harlow dabs concealer under my eyes as her lips purse. “He’s okay. The record company is doing everything they can to assist Noah. Cormack is personally paying for the medical specialists working with him. It’s just a waiting game now.”
The lead singer in one of the bands Cormack’s label manages was in a horrific car accident the week we arrived back from the gala. He’s a young and extremely popular resident of Ravenshoe, but for some reason, the news of his accident has been kept under wraps. I don’t know why. Perhaps out of respect for his family?
“Is their song still number one?”
“Yep!” Harlow requests for me to close my eyes. “The remaining band members have more pressing matters on their minds right now, but once things settle down, I think they’ll be pleasantly surprised with how well their album is doing.”
My heart squeezes. I’m glad Isaac’s brother’s band is getting the recognition they deserve. I haven’t heard them perform live, but their song, “Surrender Me” is one I’ve listened to a lot the past two weeks.
They’re so talented, Cormack personally oversees their career. I wonder if they realize they have a billionaire negotiating their terms and conditions?
My eyes bulge as my mouth gapes. “Holy shit!” My glowing eyes shift to Harlow. “You’re in the wrong business!”
She bumps me with her hip. “Makeup, icing, it’s all the same thing. It helps cover up the little flaws on a scrumptiously delicious product.”
Little flaws. My God, she’s a genius. I look revamped. Happy. Hell, I look hot! The dark circles around my eyes have vanished, my lips are fire-engine red, and my face is glowing.
Squealing, I throw my arms around her tiny shoulders. “Thank you.” Her makeover has the first rays of sunshine peeking out of a dark, turmoiled cloud that’s been hovering over my head the past two weeks.
Pumping music booms out of the club we’re entering. It’s so loud, it rattles my chest as effectively as my heart. Fighting the urge to do a little jig on the spot, I shift my eyes to Harlow and Hugo. Both have huge smiles on their faces. Harlow is smiling because she’s excited about a night of dancing. Hugo’s grin is for an entirely different reason. He just spotted Cormack’s assistant, Peta, standing in the VIP section we’re strolling toward.
When Harlow told Cormack she wanted to take me out dancing, his approval came with one condition—he organized the night. Since he’s so flashy, we are the very exclusive guests at a highly overpriced VIP section of a dance club in Hopeton. Only the wealthiest and most respected guests convene here.
With the line to enter going all the way down the block and around the corner, I’m going to assume Isaac owns this club. It isn’t just its popularity leading me to my conclusion, it’s the fact Isaac is embedded in each of his nightclubs. Dark gray metals with mahogany wood features give off the ambiance of sex and sensuality, but it also makes my heart squeeze. It reminds me so much of Isaac.
“Ms. Falkner, Ms. Brahn, Hugo.” Peta’s tone is professional, yet kind, but when Harlow wraps her up in a friendly hug, she stiffens.
Peta was gorgeous the first time I saw her, but tonight she looks dazzling in a tight red spaghetti-strapped dress and black Milano pumps. Her hair is hanging loosely down her shoulders, framing her beautiful face, and her eyes have a fun sparkle to them.
A smile curls my lips when her cheeks heat from being subjected to Hugo’s glance. Hugo’s well-fitted trousers, buttoned-up shirt, and a dark jacket give him a casual look compared to the suits he wears at work, but with an edge of the dangerous bad-boy vibe girls go silly for.
“Mr. McGregor arranged for your drinks to be supplied to the booth—”
Harlow stops Peta midsentence. “Not tonight, Peta. You’re officially relieved of your duties.” When Peta’s eyes widen in fear, Harlow puts her worry to rest. “For tonight. God, I’d never fire you, Peta. I meant that you’re here as a guest of mine, not a staff member of Cormack’s.”
My heart warms when genuine admiration flares in Peta’s eyes. “Thank you.”
Even with the drinks being ridiculously high-priced, and a booth costing more than most people earn a week, the VIP dance floor is packed with partygoers eager to spend their Saturday night dancing. The atmosphere is electrifying, and when its added to my alcohol-fueled carefree attitude, all the worries that have been plaguing me the past several weeks vanish into the bass blaring out of the speakers.
While making my way back to our booth, I swipe away the sweat beading on my nape from dancing the past three hours. My eyes roll when I hear the heavy footsteps of Hugo shadowing me. Even while dancing with Peta, he’d incessantly peered over at me.
“You could have stayed dancing with Peta.” I slide across the booth seat before signaling for the waiter. I’ve been sampling a delicious array of cocktails tonight, but unlike the last time I went out, I’m ensuring my ratio of water to cocktails is more even, so I’m only now getting the pleasant buzz of alcohol prancing through my veins.