The Final Chapter: Enigma, #4

by Shandi Boyes

  “Thank you.”

  She smiles before running her hand down Isaac’s arm in a comforting manner. Surprisingly, I don’t feel the slightest bit of jealousy from her gesture. I can see her fondness for Isaac is just like Regan’s. They're friends, nothing more.

  When she exits the door, Isaac’s focus returns to me. My thighs quake when he stealthily prowls to me. “I'll explain everything that happened…” A glint in his eyes stimulates my core. “… after I kiss you. It’s been too darn long since I’ve tasted your lips.”

  Before I can protest—not that I was going to—his lips seal over mine. His kiss is soft and sweet but laced with the promise of something greater to come. Even in my concussed state, I know we have a lot of unresolved issues we need to discuss, but after everything we’ve been through this weekend, I no longer have the energy to fight a war bigger than us both.

  I cup his jaw so I can kiss him with just as much tenderness as he's bestowing on me. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer as his tongue delves into my mouth, sampling and savoring every inch like he's starved for my taste. My breathing deepens when he adjusts my position, so his thickened rod braces along my stomach.

  Our kiss grows more passionate when I weave my fingers through his thick, luxurious hair. I pull him nearer, deepening our kiss. The playful, tantalizing embrace has my womb coiling with every nip and stroke inflicted.

  A shameful whimper rumbles from my tingling lips when he inches back from our embrace. His heavy-lidded eyes shift between mine as he caresses my left cheek. “You scared me, Isabelle. I’ve never been scared before, but when Col pulled out his gun and aimed it at you, for the first time in my life, I was truly scared.”

  Warm tears slide down my cheeks from the genuine fear relayed in his beautiful eyes, but I remain quiet, exulted that a man as guarded as Isaac is opening up to me.

  “Fury raged through my body hot and fast when I saw you bound and gagged to that rickety wooden chair. Your hair was damp and clinging to your neck. Your eyes were open wide with pupils dilated, and your beautiful face was stained with tears.”

  He stops talking to wipe away my tears with his thumbs. “Your concussion is my fault, but I had to protect you. I didn’t mean to hit you so hard, but I had to beat the bullet. I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

  His words come out strong, but his gaze remains fixed on the wall behind me. I want to speak and offer him comfort, but I can’t. My words are congested in my throat, refusing to be relinquished.

  “The instant Col pulled the gun out, I charged at you. We hit the ground with a sickening thud. I sheltered you with my body as bullets, screaming demands, and wounded cries broke through the shrill in my ears. The smell was sickening. Nearly as ghastly as the scent that invaded my nostrils when I entered the barn weeks ago. It was the smell of death.”

  My brain struggles to unscramble the muddled mess clustered in it. I recall the argument with Hugo, being pulled into the white Range Rover, and swinging a bat at someone, but other than that, it’s a hazy blur of confusion.

  “Was anyone injured?”

  My breathing stills when Isaac nods. “When an unnerving quietness filled the air around us, I cranked my neck back to look behind me. Col lay dead on the dirty concrete floor with Ryan standing over him. Alex had your kidnapper kneeling in front of him with his hands twined behind his head, and one of Alex’s agents had Col’s right-hand man cuffed and lying on the floor at his feet near the entrance of the warehouse. Seeing that all potential threats had been secured, I unwrapped you from my cocoon.”

  My brows stitch. I’m truly shocked that the FBI and Ravenshoe Police Department worked with Isaac to find me.

  “I'd do anything to protect you, Isabelle, even asking my arch-nemesis for help,” he explains, reading my thoughts. “We made a deal to put our differences aside until you were returned safely.”

  My heart squeezes as the most inappropriately-timed smile tugs on my lips. Alex has never hidden his animosity of Isaac, so I'm surprised and somewhat pleased that they worked together. Maybe now Alex will realize Isaac isn’t quite the man his FBI file makes him out to be.

  Isaac’s brows lower. “My heart plummeted into my stomach when I noticed your eyes were closed and your mouth was ajar. I removed the restraints from your ankles and wrists before laying you flat on the ground next to the splintered chair you were bound to. My hands were shaking, petrified I'd killed you. Thankfully, even though it was faint, you had a pulse.”

  I reach for him, wanting to erase the lines of worry marring his handsome face. He draws in a sharp breath when my fingertips brush his cheek. “Thank you.”

  His brows furrow, seemingly confused by my praise.

  “For saving my life,” I explain to his puzzled expression.

  Stealing his chance to refute my accurate statement, I press my mouth to his. My heart warms when his lips move sweetly beneath mine.

  After giving me a heart-stopping kiss, he murmurs over my lips, “You can thank me by never leaving my sight again.”

  Smiling, I stare into his eyes, which don’t look as pained as they did a few minutes ago.

  “I’m not joking.”

  Our heated reunion is interrupted when three brisk taps sound at my hospital room door. I smile when I see the boyishly handsome face of Brandon. Ignoring the screaming protests of my thumping head, I scamper off the bed then wrap my arms around his neck to greet him. Brandon returns my embrace before pulling me back to arm’s length so that he can assess me for injuries. His plump lips curl before his eyes shift to Isaac sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, looking sexy as sin with his hair mussed from my fingers running through it.

  My pulse quickens when I notice a touch of panic in Isaac’s glistening eyes. Usually, jealousy is the only thing relayed when Brandon is around, so his fretful gaze has my nerves sitting on the edge.

  “What’s going on?”

  The dark, stormy cloud hampering Isaac’s eyes before we kissed returns full force. He stands from the bed and moves to stand next to me. I can feel the frenzied rush of his pulse when he encloses his hand over mine. “Hugo was shot by one of your attackers.”

  The air in my body is evicted as tears well in my eyes. “Is he okay? Where is he?”

  “He’s been wheeled into recovery. They said he should be in his room in around an hour.” Brandon’s voice is scratchy with emotions. “They won’t give me information on his condition as I'm not a member of his family.”

  Two hours later, Isaac ushers me into Hugo’s private wing. Everything slows when my eyes zoom in on his massive frame lying motionless in a double bed. My pulse, my breathing, my heart—it all stops. Nothing but guilt is felt when I see the machines and monitors attached to him.

  I can barely breathe through the tears flooding my face as I pace to his bedside. I’ve spent so much time with Hugo the last two months, he's become like a brother to me. He's my family. The only reason I haven’t collapsed in a heap on the floor is because of Isaac’s firm hold around my waist.

  I choke back a sob when Hugo’s eyes flutter open. “Hey, Isabelle.” His greeting doesn’t come with the familiar drawl I’ve become accustomed to.

  I rush to him, wrapping my arms around his torso the best I can while being cautious not to cause him any pain. A grin tugs my mouth when he mutters, “Are you trying to get me fucking fired… again?”

  His normal woodsy scent has been overtaken by the antiseptic smell all hospitals seem to have, but he’s alive so that’s all that matters. I pull away and stare into his clouded eyes, issuing my regret for the cruel words I said to him during our fight.

  “It’s all good, Izzy. We’re all good, aren’t we?”

  “Yeah, we’re good,” I reply as the doctor who assessed me earlier enters the room.

  I move off Hugo’s bed to join Isaac at the side. He slings his arm around my waist, then tugs me in close, so the material of his shirt can catch my tears before they roll down my face. The doctor check
s Hugo’s vital signs before peeling the hospital gown off his chest. More tears spill from my eyes when I see the stitched and cleaned, but still obvious, bullet wound in the top half of his chest.

  “You must have a guardian angel looking out for you,” the doctor remarks, lowering the dressing. “Do you remember anything that happened?”

  Hugo’s lips purse before he shakes his head. “I only remember chasing after the car and suddenly being sprawled onto my ass like I was hit in the chest by a bull… or Isaac’s right-swung fist.”

  A smile curls my lips. Even being shot can’t dampen his cheeky demeanor. I’m not the only one laughing. Isaac tries to conceal his smile with a stern glare, but his lips curve high, giving away his deceit.

  “What’s Hugo’s condition, and how long until he can be discharged?”

  The doctor moves to the end of Hugo’s bed so she can address us all together. “The bullet entered Hugo in the front upper left chest cavity and exited through his left shoulder region at the back. The bullet was a through and through, so astonishingly, no significant bone damage was caused since it entered and exited in between Hugo’s ribs.”

  Hugo weakly winks, seemingly pleased with himself.

  “You're not out of the woods just yet, Hugo. We need to make sure the wound doesn’t become infected and that the damage to your lung remains stable.”

  My gaze shifts from Hugo to the doctor. “What damage to his lung?”

  “When the bullet entered Hugo’s chest, it slightly veered and nicked the top of his left lung, causing it to deflate. When he arrived, the surgeon noticed the wound was sucking, and the skin had a bubble- wrap appearance. They inserted a tube to drain the blood and air pooling in his chest around the wound site. The tube will also assist in re-inflating his lung. This type of injury isn’t uncommon for someone with a gunshot wound. It is called a hemopneumothorax. Since it was treated adequately and quickly, Hugo shouldn’t suffer any long-term side effects.”

  “So how long will I be subjected to sponge baths by sexy nurses in tight white uniforms?” Hugo asks with a frail waggle of his brows. Even though his voice is laced with cheekiness, the spark in his eyes isn’t as prominent as normal, and his jaw is set in a tight line, showing he's in pain. “A bullet deserves a much more worthy reward than a bunch of stinky flowers.”

  When Isaac snickers over his comment, I elbow him in the ribs. All snickering stops when a nurse with perfect timing enters the room. She’s young and cute with long platinum blonde hair with a streak of pink down one side.

  In silence, she checks Hugo’s blood pressure, temperature, and his wound site before handing him the remote control that was resting near his hand. She advises him that he can self-administer his pain relief by pushing a button on the remote and shows him how to operate the television hanging from the ceiling.

  “If you need me for anything, anything at all, press the big green nurse button in the middle.”

  When she leaves the room, my wary eyes shoot up to Isaac. He shrugs, pretending he didn’t organize for the sexy little kitten to be Hugo’s nurse. He kisses the crinkles on my nose when I squint my eyes even more, calling bullshit.

  “We better let Hugo get some rest.” The doctor gestures her head to the door. “If you behave, I may get you out of here before Christmas.”

  After farewelling Hugo with a kiss on his cheek, I exit the room huddled in the crook of Isaac’s shoulder, grateful Hugo wasn’t more injured than he is but hating that he was injured at all while protecting me.

  “It’s his job, Isabelle, so don’t carry an unnecessary burden on your shoulders.” Isaac’s mutter is only audible to me. “Hugo wouldn’t blame you for being shot any more than you’d blame him for being kidnapped.”

  I pop my head off his chest to peer at him. “It wasn’t Hugo’s fault they took me.” That was my own stupidity.

  “Exactly.” Isaac glances into my eyes. “Just like Hugo being shot isn’t your fault. Some circumstances in life are beyond our control.”

  Yes, they are. Like the death of Ophelia was beyond his control. Only now do I realize everything I said to Hugo about only getting half a man was an extremely inaccurate assessment. A man with an aura like Isaac’s could never be half a man. Even if I only got five percent of him, I'd still be getting more of a man than any of the previous men I’ve dated.

  Chapter 6

  Isaac

  I jerk up my chin in thanks to Raquel when Isabelle and I stroll past the nurses’ station located outside of Hugo’s room. Raquel isn’t a registered nurse. She's a qualified trauma surgeon—nearly. She's in her final year of medical school and works as a waitress at Kiki’s to pay for her tuition. By agreeing to be Hugo’s nurse until he recovers, she’ll have her outstanding student fees paid in full.

  She was given this opportunity years ago, but just like me, she has difficulties accepting assistance when required. Jae was apprehensive about allowing a non-qualified nurse into her unit until Hunter supplied her with the last two years of Raquel’s transcripts. She was grateful to accept Raquel on her team with the hope she’ll consider becoming a full-time trauma surgeon at Ravenshoe Private Hospital once she's qualified.

  Raquel returns my greeting with a playful pucker of her lips. I snicker and shake my head. Raquel is beautiful, and just like her big sister, Regan, she knows it.

  Isabelle stifles a yawn before burrowing her head in deeper to my chest. I increase my strides, wanting to get her back to her hospital room so Jae can complete a final set of observations and hopefully permit me to take her home. My efficient steps falter when Isabelle tightens her grip around my waist. I stop walking to glance down at her. Her breathing is quick, propelling her chest up and down, and her eyes are wide as she peers at something down the hall.

  Following her gaze, my blood thickens, my knuckles popping when I clench my fists. Isabelle’s kidnapper is being ushered down the corridor by a nurse and four plain-clothed officers. The shackles encasing his ankles hitting the tiled floor, bellow over the paging of nurses and doctors.

  When his eyes float up from the ground, they lock with Isabelle, his head tilting to take her all in. Fury courses through my veins when he has the audacity to smile at her. Blinded by rage, I charge at him. My stealth movements catch the plain-clothed officers by surprise, freeing me to unleash a lethal left and right combination on his unprotected face.

  Even being flanked by four officers, I throw him back until his torso slams against the glass window of a hospital suite, then clutch his throat. His pupils widen, and the veins in his neck throb under my firm grasp, but he smirks, seemingly amused by my anger.

  The blood surging through my veins shrills in my ears, making it almost impossible to hear the demands of the officers pulling me away from him, but one voice will never be silenced.

  “Stop, Isaac, please stop,” yells a distorted voice. “He’s my brother.”

  Flashbacks of the night I fought CJ Petretti rush to the forefront of my mind. Those were the last words Ophelia spoke to me before she died. All I can see is her beautiful face soaked with tears and her pleas for me to stop beating her brother.

  I shake my head, erasing the painful memories clogged there before tightening my grip on Isabelle’s attacker’s neck. This time is different. I'm not hurting this man because I was strong-armed into doing something I didn’t want to do. I'm punishing him for hurting Isabelle. My Isabelle. The one woman I'd do anything to protect.

  “Stop, please!” screams through my ears again. This time, from a voice I recognize.

  When I shift my eyes to the voice, Isabelle’s tear-stained face glances up at me. “Please, Isaac.” She hiccups through tears. “He’s my brother.”

  Haunted by memories of the night Ophelia died, I release my fingers from the stranger’s neck before taking a step back. He bends in half before gasping in some big breaths. When he regains his breath, he glares at me. My brows furrow. I’m not frightened by his stare. I’m confused as to why I’m staring i
nto a pair of eyes I’ve seen many times before. There's no mistaking those eyes. They’re identical to Isabelle’s in every way.

  I scan his face as my disordered brain tries to compile some sort of normality in this bizarre situation. He has the same plump, cupid-bow lips, same nose, although his is more prominent than Isabelle’s, same hair coloring, and even the same skin tone.

  I take another step back. How the hell did I miss this? He isn’t just a half-sibling of Isabelle’s, he’s her full-blooded brother.

  Isabelle drops to her knees before placing her juddering hands onto the sides of his swollen, bloodstained cheeks to hoist his downcast face up. Her lips quiver as fresh tears spill from her eyes unchecked. “I’m sorry, Enrique. I’m so sorry,” she apologizes. “I was only a child. If I were older, I’d have begged for Tobias to take you, too. I would’ve never left you behind, but I was only a child, Enrique. I didn’t know any better. Please forgive me. Please.”

  Logically, I understand Isabelle harbors guilt for leaving him behind, but she said it herself—she was only a child. She was only six when she was sold, so she can’t be held accountable for the actions of the adults who surrounded her. The burden of culpability doesn’t belong on her shoulders, and if Enrique doesn’t realize that, he doesn’t deserve the apologies trickling from Isabelle’s lips.

  No longer able to watch her plead for forgiveness from a man who mere hours ago drugged and kidnapped her in broad daylight, I pull Isabelle away from Enrique. When my arms curl around her waist, she stiffens until she realizes who is grabbing her.

  A painful whimper escapes her lips as she burrows her head into my neck, her tears dampening my shirt. “I’ve got you, Isabelle.”

  I stride down the corridor, ignoring the frightened glances of the police officers and hospital staff. My stern glare is impressive enough they won’t dare stop me.