Unraveling an Enigma Read online

When I was arrested this morning, I felt Isabelle’s presence before I saw her. That’s not uncommon. She has that effect on every red-blooded man she meets. Time stands still when she enters the room. She doesn’t walk, she floats like an angel. Just one glance into her rich eyes makes my cock as hard as stone. I’m talking from experience when I say it only takes a mere second to grow infatuated with her. That’s how thought-provoking she is.

  When I sensed her presence this morning, I spun to face her, prepared to launch into a campaign about her not needing to panic, and that everything would be okay, so you could imagine my surprise when I noticed she was wearing a bulletproof vest and had a Bureau-issued revolver in her hands.

  I’ve known for months she was hiding something. I just had no clue it was something so mammoth. The woman who invades my every waking thought is an undercover FBI Agent—an elaborate ruse to pry me for information. People are always gunning for me. I learned early on in my career about tall poppy syndrome. If you’re already wealthy, say like Cormack, with old family money, it’s okay your success is expected, but if you build your wealth from pennies as I did, you must be doing it unjustly and illegally. There’s no middle ground.

  People often assume my wealth was gained from fraudulent, underhanded activities. It wasn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I'm not saying I am a saint. Like many red-blooded Americans, I’ve dabbled in some illegal activities in my life. Enough to warrant an FBI investigation? I don’t think so. Obviously, my reputation has even superseded me.

  When I say I fought my way to where I am, I’m not being facetious. Bare knuckles and a dirty concrete floor gave me the capital to start my empire.

  For months, my college roommate, Cormack McGregor, pestered me to go out with him on the weekends. He was the definition of a popular school jock. He wasn’t just well-liked because of his cocky personality and playboy reputation but because his family was obscenely rich. They didn’t just have decent-paying jobs, they were so wealthy, Cormack wouldn’t have to work a day in his life if he didn’t want to.

  I was attending college on a scholarship, so a majority of my time was spent with my head in a book to ensure I maintained the grades needed to keep it. Regrettably, Cormack didn’t understand the word ‘no.’ After pleading relentlessly for an hour, I agreed to put my business paper on hold for another night.

  Inquisitiveness made itself known with my gut when an hour after me agreeing, Cormack pulled his BMW into the driveway of a derelict building on the outskirts of a town forty miles from our college. Cormack noticed my grim expression, but he did nothing to settle it. He just smiled a beaming, full-toothed grin before making his way into the dusty building. I trailed closely behind.

  We walked into a dingy space that appeared to be a college gym in its heyday. The walls hadn’t seen a coat of paint in years, the windows were covered with cobwebs, and the floor was brown, appearing as if it hadn’t seen a mop in over a century.

  The further we walked, the greater the smell of sweat became. I unearthed the reason for the scent when we broke through the hundreds of people huddled in a circle in the middle of the warehouse. Two well-built men were fighting toe to toe. One had blood running from a split above his left brow. The other had a variety of bruises scattered across his torso. Both were covered in soot.

  The crowd sighed in sync when the guy with the split eye was hit with a grueling right-swung fist. He plummeted to the floor, his sickening crunch occurring a mere second before an African-American man in his early twenties checked him for a pulse. Although he was breathing, he was knocked out, so the plain-clothed referee declared the fight over by technical knockout.

  My interest piqued when he handed a wad of cash to the winner. He shared a portion of his prize money with a middle-aged man at the side of the makeshift ring before giving a smaller cut to the referee. Once they dragged the unconscious man out of eyesight, a new, less-battered fighter took his place. He was massive, easily five to six inches taller than me, and his bicep was bigger than my head. His veins were either laced with steroids, or he worked out for hours on end.

  My eyes strayed to the referee when he snatched a microphone off a portable speaker on his right. “All right, gentleman, who’s it going to be?” He scanned the crowd, eyeing off men as big as the one standing mid-ring. “Is anyone brave enough?”

  The room fell into silence. It was both uncomfortable and amusing.

  “What does he want?”

  Cormack’s attention diverted from a pretty blonde cozying up to his side. “He's looking for a contender to fight Bruno.” He nudged his head to the brute in the ring. “People are reluctant to fight him because he’s undefeated.”

  “How much is the buy-in?”

  A condescending grin formed on his face. “For who?”

  “Me,” I answered without pause.

  Cormack laughed so loud, he gained the attention of the MC/referee. “Do we have a challenger?”

  Cormack stopped shaking his head when I said, “Yes.”

  The MC cupped his mic with his hand before stepping closer to me. “Who’s your fighter?”

  I gave him a playful wink, loving the unease in his tone. “Me.”

  “Seriously?”

  Broadly smirking, I nod. “What's the buy-in?”

  “Two G,” the MC replied.

  I cursed under my breath. If I had known where Cormack was taking me, I would have gone prepared, but I didn’t carry that sort of cash around, but I knew someone who did.

  I lifted my eyes to Cormack, who was watching me curiously. “Buy me in, and I’ll give you a cut of the profit.”

  His brows pulled together as he glared at me in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?” His tone was dead serious like he was petrified about my well-being. “He'll kill you.”

  “He has to catch me first.” I smirked like the arrogant prick I was. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

  He took several minutes pondering my request before he reluctantly yanked his wallet from his jeans. “I don’t care about the money, but if you die—”

  “Won’t happen.”

  My eyes darted down to my clothes. I’d never fought in jeans before, but I didn’t have anything else to change into, so they had to do. After pulling off my shoes and socks, I handed them to Cormack. He cocked a brow before thrusting my shoes into the chest of the blonde attached to his side.

  Her huff of annoyance changed to a gasp when I removed my shirt. With flaming cheeks, her bugged-eyes glided down my body. I winked at her shocked face before shadowing the MC into the ring. Tae kwon do, boxing, mixed martial arts, karate. You name it, I had done it. After being weak and sick the first five years of my life, I became obsessed with anything that required strength and conditioning.

  My body showed my dedication.

  Halfway back to Cormack’s car, he leaped into the air. “You crazy son of a bitch!”

  I smirked; smugness was all over my face. “I told you to trust me.”

  The fight had gone as I had predicted. Bruno was all brute and no brains. He was exhausted after only a handful of swings of his chunky arms. That’s when I moved in. Two left and right combinations, then a swift kick to his temple, and he was kissing the pavement. I didn’t break into a sweat, and not one of Bruno’s hits landed on me.

  Cormack slid into the driver’s seat of his car before drifting his eyes to mine. “Do you have any plans next Friday night?”

  When his curious gaze floated over my face, I arched a brow, unimpressed by his prying glance.

  He smiled at my snappy reaction. “We have to play this.” He flattened my hair, then fiddled with the collar of my shirt. After squinting his eyes, he murmured, “Yes.” His rummage through his glove compartment produced a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and an ugly peaked beanie. “Perfect.”

  He laughed when I put on the items as requested. All I needed was some knee-high socks, and the dorky, school nerd look would be perfected.

  “Now, we’ve got the perfect ru
se.”

  For the next six months, we jibbed the underground fight scene at any college within a three-hundred-mile radius of ours. I would arrive separately, dressed down in the dorky clothes Cormack supplied, acting innocent and unaware. Only once Cormack negotiated a fight did I reveal my true self.

  With my bank balance the highest it had ever been, I quit my barista job at the local coffee shop so that I could concentrate on my new Friday-night schedule. Most circuits had a two to three grand buy-in, but a few men got cocky. They increased the purse, believing they were playing me. I walked away with four grand those nights.

  I met Col Petretti's son, Dimitri, on the way out of one fight that netted me a little over three grand. “How long do you think your con will last?” He strolled our way, his strut cocky. “You’re almost out of contestants in this circuit.

  I smirked before continuing to Cormack’s car. I had been approached by several wannabe managers the past few months, but since I wasn’t interested in what they were selling, I kept walking. Our days were numbered—I had fought at nearly every college I could—but I already gave a share of my profits to Cormack, so I wasn’t willing to part with more of my money.

  My eagerness to get away slowed when Dimitri said, “I can guarantee you five grand a fight.” His voice was void of any emotion. He appeared to have the world at his feet. It was only his eyes that gave away his deceit. They were empty and soulless. “Fight for my father, and he’ll pay you five thousand dollars a fight.”

  When I peered at Cormack, he notched up his shoulder, leaving the decision up to me. It wasn’t his life on the line every fight, so he always left that side of the business to me.

  “Where are the fights located?”

  “Hopeton.” Dimitri stepped closer, his attitude too arrogant for my liking. “Just near your hometown.”

  My brow arched. He had done his research on me, making me realize my ruse may end sooner than initially perceived.

  “How often are the fights scheduled?” Five thousand dollars a fight was impressive, but not if I only fought once a month.

  When Dimitri shrugged, my lips hard-lined. “Not interested—”

  “What if I guarantee you five thousand a week, even if you don’t fight.”

  My heart whacked out a funky tune. My future goals and aspirations would greatly benefit from five thousand dollars a week. Any deliberations ceased when Dimitri said, “Five thousand dollars a week, and my father becomes your owner.”

  My jaw ticked. “My owner?”

  Dimitri smiled and nodded, like the idea of me being owned would impress me. It didn’t.

  “Nobody owns me.”

  “Everyone is owned.” Dimitri’s voice was haunted and shallow.

  I stepped closer to him—so close, I could smell his fear. “Nobody owns me.”

  Dimitri’s eyes flashed to the side when car doors being opened broke through the silence teeming between us. Two large men in expensive suits stepped out of a black Escalade. One of the men, whose attention was fixated on me, pulled back his suit jacket to show he was carrying a semi-automatic weapon.

  “As I said, everyone is owned.” Dimitri signaled for the men to stand down before he joined them. Just before he slid into the back of the Escalade, he drifted his eyes back to me. “I’ll be in contact.”

  When his taillights blurred into a sea of many, I shifted my focus to Cormack. “Who the fuck was that?”

  He shrugged because back then, we didn’t have a clue who we were dealing with.

  Chapter 5

  Isabelle

  I press my palms on the vanity sink before raising my eyes to the mirror. Disheveled—that’s the only word I can use to describe myself. My hair is oily and unkept since I haven’t washed or brushed it in over forty-eight hours, and my skin is pale, which amplifies the dark rings under my eyes. I look horrific. Rightfully so. I spent my weekend wrapped up in my bedsheets, but I barely slept a wink. My sheets are the closest thing to Isaac I have, so I haven’t let them out of my sight.

  Some good came from my lack of sleep, though. A small portion of the confusion in my mind lifted. Alex must not have unearthed anything incriminating during his invasive search of Isaac’s home, or he would have never let Isaac leave during questioning. It’s immensely satisfying knowing the Bureau doesn’t have enough evidence to issue an arrest warrant on Isaac, but I’m still confused as to why he was arrested to begin with. Alex would have needed something substantial for the judge to agree to a search warrant, but for the life of me, I can’t work out what it is.

  I do know one thing. No matter what it is, I'm sure it's a misunderstanding. Isaac isn't the man his FBI file portrays. He's kind, honest, and has the biggest heart. I'm so confident in my assumption, even with him giving clear signs he wants nothing to do with me, I’ll continue defending him. I’ll fight for justice right alongside him, not stopping until his name is clear of controversy.

  After a steaming hot shower, and a good thirty minutes striving to remove the disheveled look from my face, I walk out of my apartment. It’s a crisp, dreary morning. The rain brought in a cool change, and my wool jacket and beanie-covered head make it easy to ignore. The smell of rain and fresh-cut grass filters in my nostrils when I exit the rotating glass doors of my building. Birds are chirping in the distance, and the constant honk of impatient motorists announce morning commuter traffic is at full capacity.

  Since the rain has cleared, the sidewalks are more popular than they were Friday night. In true modern times, most travelers conduct their journeys with a cell phone attached to their hands. It’s rare to see anyone without an electronic device these days. It’s nice to keep in contact, but since they rarely look up from their phones, I’m constantly elbowed or barged.

  Not wanting to get trampled, I move to the furthest edge of the sidewalk. Traffic is dense, but my odds of being hit by a car would be significantly less than the number of elbows I’ve already been subjected to this morning.

  Two blocks down, the beat of my heart increases to a steady pace. A dark blue sedan is tailing me. I wouldn’t have noticed if its speed wasn’t matching mine. Commuter traffic is thick, but it’s not heavy enough they need to drive at a walking pace.

  While adjusting my satchel, I inconspicuously peer over my shoulder. The sedan’s dark tint is already a hindrance, much less the sun beaming off the windshield. I can’t see any of the driver's features. When the light ahead of me changes to red, I sprint across the intersection, breaking away from the shadow following me. He can't follow me since there are three cars between us.

  By the time I reach Harlow’s bakery, I’m covered with a sheen of sweat and suddenly regretting my thick coat. After closing the bakery’s front door, I lean my back against it, close my eyes, then suck in several big breaths to settle my flipping heart.

  Once I’ve regathered my composure, I pop my eyes back open. The nerves I’ve just expelled return full force when I’m subjected to Harlow’s furious wrath. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, and her hazel eyes, which have tears, are glaring at me. Her lips twitch like she's about to speak, but no words seep from her mouth. It isn’t that she can’t talk. She just doesn’t want our showdown witnessed by the handful of customers enjoying the breakfast items her bakery supplies every morning.

  With a shake of her head, she spins on her heels to enter the kitchen at the back of the bakery. I take off after her, smiling a greeting to Renee, one of her workers, on my way past. My brisk pace slows when I notice Harlow’s clenched fists. She’s angry, but it has nothing on the disappointment in her eyes. They reveal what her anger centers around. She knows my secret.

  “Legally, I couldn’t tell anyone…” My words trail off when she huffs. She’s pissed I’m giving her the same old excuse as everyone else, and she has a right to be. She deserves better than that. “I’m still me.” I step into the firing zone. “I’m the same person you became friends with. I just don’t do the job I said I did, but nothing else about me i
s different.”

  A disbelieving chuckle rumbles in her chest. “And your relationship with Isaac? Was that you? Or Izzy, the FBI agent, diving under the sheets for the good of society?”

  Ouch. That’s a sting my bruised ego did, but I deserve her anger. I did lie to her. “I understand that you're angry—”

  “I’m not angry, Izzy. I'm pissed off. You lied… for months!”

  “Nothing I told you was a lie.” I move closer to her, wanting her to look into my eyes, so she knows I'm telling the truth. “Anything I ever said or did when I was with you, was me, Izzy, your friend. I was never an agent when I was with you.”

  “Some friend.” Her glare cuts through me like a knife. “Not only are you suffering the consequences of your actions, but others are as well.”

  I step back, confused. What is she talking about?

  My heart breaks when a tear splashes onto her cheek. “Harlow…”

  She holds her finger into the air, begging for a minute. If I didn’t feel responsible for her tears, I’d leave her alone as requested, but since she’s my friend, and I care for her, I step closer to her instead.

  When I curl my arms around her quivering shoulders, she attempts to shrug out of my embrace. I hold on tight, refusing to relinquish her from my grip. “I’m sorry. I should have been honest. I would have if I could.”

  The reason for her heartbreaking sobs come to light when she murmurs, “Cormack hasn’t returned any of my calls this morning.”

  “Oh, Harlow, I’m so sorry.”

  Her hand sweeps across her wet cheeks. “He probably thinks I knew all along you were working with the FBI.”

  “I’ll explain everything to him. I’ll make this right, I promise.”

  I have to make this right. Harlow loves Cormack. She told me precisely that only days ago. I wish I had put more thought into the ripple effect my deceit would create. Alas, when I’m in Isaac’s world, I forever wear rose-colored glasses.