by Shandi Boyes
Huh? Is he talking in riddles? I’ve searched high and low the past four months to find a way of taking Isaac down without the ripple effect being passed on to Regan. I’ve yet to discover a viable path.
“More times than not, it isn’t the evidence you find that unlocks a case. . .”
“It’s the person at the helm responsible for the crew’s success,” I fill in, remembering a quote our dad has often said.
“That’s right.” Grayson moves to a bulky computer in the middle of the room. “You’ve said since day one that Theresa wasn’t right for this case, that she hinders it more than she helps it.”
I halfheartedly shrug. Sometimes my gripes were more out of frustration than Theresa’s lack of skills, but I’ve always believed people are more honest when they’re placed in a hostile situation, so perhaps my accusations were honest.
“Theresa isn’t the right woman for this case because she can’t be objective.”
I want to cut in, but my interest in the documents Grayson is bringing up on the monitor is too high to force an interruption. There are court transcripts, requests for paternity tests, and affidavits marked as private. I scan these types of documents day in and day out, but the names across these capture my imagination. They all contain the same two names: Isaac Holt and Theresa Veneto.
“They have a child together?”
Grayson shakes his head before he nods then shakes it again. “No one knows. Isaac refuses to take a paternity test.”
His reply doesn’t shock me. Isaac would never give DNA willingly.
“Is this him?” I ask, holding up a photo of a boy I’d guess to be approximately three years old. “He has the same cleft chin as Isaac.”
“Yeah, he does. Back in the day, that would have been all the proof needed.”
I’d laugh if he wasn’t being honest.
I lay the photo of the little boy down before shifting on my feet to face Grayson. “How could the Bureau put Theresa in charge of this case knowing the circumstances? This is a clear case of conflict of interest. If Theresa wants to pin Isaac by the nuts for a personal matter, she can’t be objective.”
Grayson gives me a look. Thankfully he saves his lecture on double standards for another day. I want to pin Isaac’s nuts to the wall for a personal reason as well, but my desires are different than Theresa’s. Isaac committed a crime, so I’m simply holding him responsible for his actions. Theresa slept with him; now she has to pick off each flea he infested her with. That makes them utterly incomparable.
I stop seeking other reasons my goals are different from Theresa’s when Grayson discloses, “The Bureau let her work his case because they’re unaware of their connection. These files were so deeply buried, they only surfaced today.”
I’d call him out as a liar if I couldn’t hear the honesty in his tone.
“This morning?” When he nods, I add on, “Who found them?”
Grayson laughs. It isn’t his standard chuckle. “That’s the stupid thing. They weren’t really found; they kinda popped up.”
“Out of nowhere?”
A pfft noise escapes my lips when he nods. “No fucking way. Why would they just suddenly appear?”
Grayson pops his hip onto the desk. “Maybe someone has your back?”
“Maybe someone’s trying to stab a knife into my back.” I scrub my hand across my hairy chin. “Something isn’t sitting right with this, Grayson. Info like this doesn’t just magically appear. If it was buried as deep as you say it was, someone had to go digging for it.”
He glares at me like I’m a fucking idiot. “So you’re not going to use it to get Theresa pulled off the case?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m not a dumbass. With the right leader steering the helm, this case could be closed by the end of the month.”
Grayson’s you’re a fucking idiot glare ramps up.
“But that doesn’t mean I’m suddenly a believer in magic lamps with wish-granting genies inside.”
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Alex. Sometimes shit is just on your side.”
I want to believe him, but things never work out like that for me. If I want something, I have to work for it. It’s never handed to me.
“Third phone I’ve owned in under a week, can you believe it?”
Regan stops peering out the window to shift her eyes my way. She drops them to the new cell in my hand before raising them to my face. Just as she was the hours prior to our take off, she’s extremely quiet. She didn’t even bat an eye when I paid for us to fly home first class. I don’t care about the unlimited drinks and fancy meal the airline clerk tried to sell us with. I just wanted Regan to be comfortable.
The dam sitting in her eyes the last two hours nearly breaks when I ask, “Are you okay?”
I know it’s corny, but those three little words seem more important to Regan than the ones I blurted out this morning. It’s our thing, our way of checking that the other is okay without overloading them with a trillion questions.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m coming down with something. I’m not feeling real good.” She unlatches her belt before scooting past me. “I might go splash some water on my face to see if it helps.”
“Okay. . .” I stop talking when she darts down the aisle like her ass is on fire.
Needing to squelch my instinct to take off after her, I use the plane’s Wi-Fi to log into my emails. As promised, Grayson printed, photographed, then emailed me the information he discovered this morning. I smile, confident Theresa won’t know what hit her when I arrive back on deck this afternoon. After a grilling by the top man in Grayson’s team, Jay came clean that Theresa was the facilitator of his campaign. She had intel on him, stuff he never wanted his brand new wife to find out about.
Although pissed he didn’t man up sooner, I am grateful it eventually happened. Without him and his confession, I’d still be worried about Regan’s safety. I’m still cautious; it’s just not as dire as it has been. I have eyes on Theresa, many of them, so she won’t make a single move without me knowing. Even though I’d like to see her face prosecution for what she did to Regan immediately, I know there is a long, drawn-out process that must occur before that can happen. If I can get her to step away from her position first, then the rest will come—eventually.
Not trusting my internet provider not to screw me over, I screenshot each document and save them to the photo album in my phone. Because Theresa has taken Isaac to court many times, it is a tediously long task—although not as long as Regan is taking in the bathroom.
Suddenly conscious I may have misread Regan’s bathroom trip as inspired by anguish rather than lust, I check the location of the first class stewardess. Upon spotting her station empty, my heart rate quickens. Between Grayson’s discovery, packing, then traveling to the airport in rush hour traffic, I’ve barely had a moment to put my hands on Regan. I should be ashamed to admit it’s killing me, even more so after what she went through this morning, but I’m not.
Furthermore, if I’ve learned anything the past week, it’s that Regan has no qualms telling me what she needs and how she needs it. Clearly, she needs me as much as I need her.
After unlatching my belt, I track the steps Regan took twenty minutes ago. I’m about to rack my knuckles on the gray door when it suddenly pops open. Spotting the stewardess making her way back down the aisle, I dash inside the tiny cubicle, locking the door behind me.
“That was close,” I growl under my breath, pretending I’m afraid of getting busted. It adds extra heat to the energy that forever bristles between us, taking it from a simmer to a full boil.
The little vein in Regan’s neck works overtime when I cup her jaw and lower my lips to hers. I’ve barely gotten in half a lick of her succulent mouth when she mutters, “I’m on my period.”
“Oh.”
My fingers fall from her hair when I take a step back. It’s an asshole move on my behalf, but understandable since I’ve never handled stuff like this before.
Regan screws up her face in apology. “Yeah, it’s why I’m a little off. The joys of womanhood.” She shrugs before adding on. “Sorry.”
“What have you got to be sorry about?” I prep my stomach when I take a step closer to her, fairly certain of how she’ll react to my next comment. “Our time doesn’t need to be wasted, though. Your mouth is still in working order, isn’t it?”
She socks me in the stomach as I anticipated before skirting past me and dashing out of the washroom. I wait a few seconds before taking off after her, more to hide my smile than my worry about being busted following her out.
I fucking love Regan’s feistiness, but since I’m treading in foreign waters, and she’s combatting a shit load of hormones, it will be best for me to downplay my happiness at the return of her sass.
The last half of our trip isn’t silent like the first half. Regan talks—a lot. I feel like I’m under the lights, being drilled left, right and center about my life before her. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she is interrogating me. She wants to know where Maxx, my cat, was and why I didn’t introduce him to her when we were at The Manor, if The Manor is owned by my parents or do they rent it, and the birthdate of each member of my family.
She made an excuse that her last question was because she wants to add them to her planner to ensure she doesn’t miss their special day.
Our exchange is odd—a little sweet—but mainly odd.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come up?”
The purr of Regan’s words shock me. They are as deep as a pussy cat cuddling up to her owner and as sexual as a tigress in heat.
“I’ve got wine, tins of frosting, and a few other edible items we can test out.” She loosens the top button of her blouse to ensure I can’t miss what the “other” items on her list pertain to.
I swivel my tongue around my mouth to loosen the dryness there before asking, “I thought you’re. . . ah. . . indisposed?”
Regan’s brows furl for the quickest second before they smooth back to their original position. “Yeah, so? That just means we have to be more inventive.”
I smile, grateful the frisky, fun-loving Regan is back. Although, I will admit, I like seeing her timid side as well. It gave me a chance to show her I can take care of her when needed. She doesn’t need to hold the reins all the time.
“I’d love to come up, baby, but I’ve got a really important meeting I have to attend.”
The smell of burning skin lingers in my nose when she glares at me. My ego absorbs her anger as disappointment, but my brain shouts at me to stop being such an idiot.
“I’ll drop by tonight, hopefully with some good news.”
Regan’s slit eyes return to their normal width. “Good news?”
I nod. “Hopefully.”
I’m confident I’ve got enough to take Theresa down, but I’m just as confident she won’t go down without a fight. Theresa didn’t get to her position by playing nice. She is more ruthless than any male supervisor I’ve worked under. I used to respect that about her. Now . . . I wouldn’t piss on her if she was on fire.
“What type of news?” Nothing but inquisitiveness rings in Regan’s tone.
“It won’t be a surprise if you spoil it for yourself,” I jest, running my finger down the crinkle in her nose.
She folds her arms in front of her chest before drawing away from me with a huff. “I don’t like surprises.”
“I don’t like that you don’t like surprises.” Or the way you’re looking at me.
I see Regan’s anger work up from her stomach to her throat before she squeals, throws open the cab door we’re sitting in, then hightails it to her apartment building. When she enters the idling elevator without a backward glance in my direction, I make a mental note to return with ice cream or chocolate. Perhaps even both.
I want to stay with her, but I need to slay one dragon before returning to soothe another.
21
Ugh! The gall of that man.
I practically throw myself at him, and he rejects me! ME! I had no intention of getting him naked—again; I just wanted to keep him talking like I did in the plane. It took me a little longer than I care to admit to get over my shock after discovering what secret Alex was hiding, but once the fog cleared, brilliant idea after brilliant idea steamrolled into me.
The one I had in the bathroom in the seconds leading to Alex accosting me there was my most brilliant one yet. Alex can’t take me or Isaac down if he’s buried beneath a pile of dirt. I don’t mean death. Although I’m mad as hell at the way he deceived me, I don’t wish him ill harm—unfortunately.
Hard time behind bars, on the other hand, I have no qualms with that.
There is no way what he did to me is legal, so I’m confident this isn’t the first time he’s done it. I’ve never had an interest in prosecution, but I did study it in law school in case things with Isaac didn’t pan out. All I need to do is unearth Alex’s innermost secrets, then I’ll expose them for the world to see. He’ll be stripped from his position, dragged through the mud, and then he can become extremely friendly with some of the men he’s placed behind bars. . . and I won’t feel an ounce of guilt.
Maybe.
Somewhat.
Not even.
Argh!
I wish I were a vindictive person. It would be a shit ton easier if Alex didn’t look at me the way he did. I’m aware people are trained for this; they’re taught how to walk, speak, and act to ensure their cover isn’t blown, but nothing he did seemed like a ruse. I truly believed he cared about me.
I growl when I catch sight of the hopeful woman in the mirror hanging in the entranceway of my apartment. What a pathetic loser she is. He lied to you, repeatedly, yet you’re still seeking a way to excuse him. You’re better than this.
With sheer determination fueling my steps, I dump my overnight bag, charge into the office Isaac had fitted for me when I agreed to relocate to Ravenshoe, then I fire up the software program I had Hunter install while I flew home. I have a lot of evidence to process. Names, dates of birth, and the numerous pictures of Alex’s family I snapped on my way from the dungeon-like room he was hiding out in when he discovered me spying on him to his bedroom.
In a moment of anger, I tried to convince myself that Alex’s family members were agents brought in to fool me. But the longer I stared at his family portraits, the more I realized I was wrong. They don’t just have similarities; they have a connection that can’t be forced. Their dynamic matches the one I have with my family, so I’m confident they’re the one lie Alex didn’t attempt to pull over my eyes.
The rest, I’m set to uncover now.
22
Watching Theresa walk out of our office for the final time doesn’t feel as relieving as it should. She took my demand for her resignation like a real champ, like it wasn’t the first time she’s been forced to resign due to a conflict of interest. I thought she’d put up a protest and accuse me of falsifying documents to step over her on the invisible ladder every agent in the Bureau strives to climb. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s accused a member of her team of doing this, but she didn’t sling a single accusation my way. Not one.
I’m fucking shocked.
Perhaps she figures going willingly will lessen the severity of her punishment? In a way, she’s not far off the mark. She didn’t lose her position at the Bureau today; she is simply not the supervisor of this team anymore. From what I overheard when the head of our region arrived a little over an hour ago, a new interim leader will be decided by tomorrow morning. I really fucking hope she or he has their head more in the game than Theresa ever did, because if they even so much as attempt to pull a stunt like she did with Regan and me, I won’t just have them fired, I’ll have them arrested and charged.
I don’t care what Grayson says, what Theresa did wasn’t just wrong, it was illegal. When I have a little more time, I’ll look into her scheming, meddling ways with more diligence. But for now, my focus
must remain on safeguarding Regan from the backlash of both Isaac and Theresa’s injustices. Theresa knows I’m watching, so she won’t so much as blink an eye in Regan’s direction. Jay is assisting authorities with their enquiries, and Brandon is seeking a more solid match between Isaac and Theresa. It will be only a matter of time before all the pieces slot together. Once we get a full view of the entire picture, then our focus can return to where it should have been all along: on Isaac.
Seeing it is a little after 10 PM, I stand from my chair to gather my coat. It’s not cold outside, but I’m a little chilly since it’s been over six hours since I’ve felt Regan’s skin under mine.
I dip my chin in farewell to my fellow agents still confused about what occurred this afternoon before heading for the door. I’m not a tattler. I handled Theresa’s stupidity; now the Bureau will manage the legal side of her error. As far as I am concerned, my lips will remain shut on this case until it goes to court. If my colleagues want to be updated on what happened, they can read the report once the Bureau uploads it. If that never happens, it’s not my problem. I’ve got enough shit to sort through without adding more.
I make it halfway across the stark, bland office I call HQ before a pair of steel blue eyes stops my steps midstride. I do a double take, certain I’m mistaken. As far as I was aware, he was on the other side of the country. He should not be walking into this office, much less when I’m here.
“Dad?”
He stops talking to a bunch of bureaucrats at his side still seeking a way to excuse their mishap to crank his neck my way. His lips curl up, revealing his wonky smile when he spots me frozen halfway across the room. Although he is hitting close to sixty, I don’t miss the numerous female agents eyeballing him when he spans the distance between us.
“What the hell are you doing here?”