Unraveling an Enigma Read online

  My eyes float up from the floor when Harlow murmurs, “Cormack has a reason to be suspicious. I did conspire to set you up with Isaac.” She blows her nose before her purge fess begins. “I met him a few weeks before we went out to celebrate your birthday. He ordered cupcakes for a meeting he was holding. With Fallon quitting the night before, I delivered his order instead of having them couriered. It wasn’t the norm, but the instant I saw him…” She stops talking, her face expressing what her mouth can’t. She fell in love with him on sight, just like I did with Isaac.

  “As I was leaving, I ran into Isaac. He interrupted us…” Her heated cheeks have me wondering what Isaac walked in on. “After some not-so-fun to and fro, I discovered Cormack and Isaac were good friends. Cormack was hesitant, but I convinced him we should conspire to get you two together.”

  She sucks in a big breath before continuing, “I didn’t book a table at that restaurant the night we went out for your birthday because I knew Cormack already had one booked. He and Isaac did the same routine every week. I saw the way Isaac looked at you but thought you were being stubborn. I had no clue what I was pushing you toward. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I should have been honest from the get-go.”

  She nods, agreeing with me. “Please tell me you weren’t with Isaac solely for the FBI.” She glances into my eyes, hers once again welling with tears. “Because if you were, not only will Cormack never forgive me, I won’t forgive myself.”

  Her devastated tone kills me, but nothing can alter the facts. “I love Isaac, Harlow, more than I could ever explain, so you can be assured I was never with him for the Bureau.”

  She nods for the second time, once again believing me.

  If only Isaac could be as easily convinced.

  By the time I leave the bakery, things aren’t back to normal between Harlow and me, but they're better than they were when I arrived. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure Cormack understands that Harlow is innocent in this situation. I don’t care if Cormack never speaks to me again. He can despise me for the rest of his life, but he needs to take his anger out on me, not Harlow.

  A vehicle parked across the street from the bakery halts my quick exit. A blue sedan is parked two spaces up. Although I can’t confidently declare it’s the same vehicle that was tailing me earlier, my intuition is warning me to remain cautious.

  With my body facing the shop frontage, I commence walking down the street. I don’t even get four steps away before the sedan begins following me. When I increase my speed to a jog, it also increases its speed.

  Against my better judgment, I freeze before turning to face the vehicle that’s come to a stop three car lengths behind me. If they're going to blatantly follow me, I want them to be aware I know of their pursuit. When I step closer to my pursuer, it heads in the opposite direction. It reverses down the street, its tires squealing from the heavy compression of the accelerator.

  My heart feels seconds from escaping my chest cavity, but instead of it pounding in fear, it's thumping with adrenaline. I’m sick and tired of being pushed around. It’s time for me to give as good as I’m getting.

  Chapter 6

  Isabelle

  Numerous pairs of eyes track me when I enter my office building. Ignoring the tension ridding the air of oxygen, I deliver the morning coffees as I have every day since joining the team six months ago. Since Alex isn’t in his office, I leave his on his desk.

  Brandon is the only agent who acknowledges me during my deliveries. He's quiet, but his eyes are missing the judgment every other agent had while glaring at me. Once my deliveries are over, I store my satchel in the bottom drawer of my desk, then fire up my computer. While it starts the slow process of downloading the malware required for my job, I hang my coat on the rack next to the front entry door.

  When I spin back around, I come close to losing my footing. A female agent I haven’t met previously is standing within an inch of me. “Sorry I didn't see you there.”

  “That’s fine. I’m sure your daftness can be excused after the tense week you’ve had.” Her eyes are friendly, even though her tone is anything but. “Isabelle Brahn, I assume?”

  “Yes.” I accept the hand she’s holding out in offering.

  “Theresa Veneto. I’m from the Internal Affairs Division of the FBI.”

  Her handshake is robust, nearly as sturdy as her lips, which are set in a straight line. She's attractive—if you can look past the harshness of her punitive glare. If I had to guess her age, I'd say early to mid-thirties. Her long blonde hair frames her oval face, and her eyes are blue.

  “How can I help you, Ms. Veneto?”

  It takes me yanking my hand out of her clutch to free it from her rigid grip, and even then, she seems reluctant to let me go. I stuff my hands into my pockets, uneased by her odd-ball behavior. When her humored eyes float around my office, I follow the direction of her gaze. Every agent in the direct vicinity of us is watching our exchange, including Alex, who’s standing next to Brandon's now-empty desk.

  “Perhaps we should take this somewhere private?”

  When she gestures for me to follow her, I do, albeit hesitantly. She guides me to the dimly lit conference room where Brandon and I discovered Isaac’s connection with Col Petretti. My already wobbly strides increase their shake when I notice a male agent in the room. He's seated behind a camera tripoded on the table that once held the files I’ve been scanning the past several weeks. They’re not the only thing missing. My uncle's moldy storage boxes have also been removed.

  When I enter the room, the male agent assesses my body in a creepy, skin-crawling way. “I understand Isaac’s interest.”

  Either missing her partner’s statement or happy to ignore it, Theresa requests for me to sit in the chair across from the video camera. Just as I plop down, a knock rattles the window behind my head. Relief washes over me when I see Brandon on the other side.

  “As the union representative for this division, I need five minutes to talk to Ms. Brahn before her interview commences.” Brandon’s tone conveys he’s not seeking permission. He’s telling them this is what is happening.

  Theresa huffs, annoyed. “Five minutes.”

  The male agent places on his suit jacket, his belly so round, the buttons nearly burst during fastening. When the glass door of the conference room closes with them on the other side, I drift my eyes to Brandon.

  “Wha—”

  “Be quiet, Izzy.”

  “I—”

  “Shut up, Isabelle.”

  I freeze, stunned. This is the first time I’ve heard him curse. When he jerks his chin up, I look in the direction he nudged. There's a security camera mounted in the corner of the room. It's flashing red, indicating we're being watched.

  “What the hell,” I murmur to myself when the blinking light ceases a few seconds later.

  Before I can ask what is happening, Brandon locks his panicked eyes with mine. “I strongly advise you to plead the fifth—”

  “I don’t have anything to hide.”

  My relationship with Isaac may be construed as immoral, but nothing I’ve done the past month was criminal.

  “Please don’t be stupid. They’re here to charge you with conspiracy in aiding and abetting a criminal by supplying him with official government documents. If you don’t plead the fifth, you’re looking at over twenty years in jail.”

  “Why?” I mutter, my one word breathless. “I’ve never given Is—”

  “Shut up!” Brandon’s growl vibrates right through my chest. “I can’t guarantee they don’t have ears in here.” After pressing his sweat-slicked palms to the white melamine tabletop, his gaze seeks mine. “Plead the fifth, then I’ll do everything in my power to help you through this.” Even though his tone is stern, his request still comes out as a plea.

  I still feel it's the wrong thing to do, but I nod. Brandon has gone out of his way to help me. He wouldn't do that unless he believes it's imperativ
e.

  “I’ll stay with you during your interview, but no matter what they say or do, continuously plead the fifth.”

  My stomach churns so much, I feel like I’m about to be sick, but I still nod—somewhat. It’s more a halfhearted agreement than a determined one.

  Not long later, Agent Theresa and her partner re-enter the room. “Your five minutes are up.” She nudges her head to the door, giving Brandon his marching orders.

  “Isabelle has requested a union representative be present during her interview.”

  Theresa’s jaw ticks as her eyes drop to mine. “Is that correct, Isabelle?” She sneers my name like it left a nasty taste in her mouth.

  I nod. “Yes, that’s correct. “

  When she closes the door with more force than needed, the room plunges into an awkward silence. She dumps a spare chair next to Brandon's thigh before taking a seat in the one opposite me. It's not hard to work out who plays good cop and bad cop in her partnership. Theresa's face is as hard as stone, whereas her partner looks seconds from laughing.

  His smile sags when Theresa ribs him with her elbow. After coughing to clear his throat of laughter, he leans over to switch on the camera. The instant it flashes its familiar red light, Theresa breaks into the bad cop script every agent is taught during training. It’s just not the standard set of questions I was anticipating. “Are you in a relationship with Isaac Holt?”

  “I plead the fifth.”

  Theresa’s manicured brow bows as her face strains with confusion. She wiggles her ear, certain she heard me wrong. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  “I plead the fifth amendment.”

  With an evil grin, she tries another tactic. “Are you in a sexual relationship with Isaac Holt?”

  I swallow harshly, praying my voice doesn’t stutter when I reply, “I plead the fifth.”

  “Have you had physical contact with Isaac Holt since your placement commenced in this division of the FBI?”

  “I plead the fifth.” My reply comes out sterner than I’m anticipating. It can’t be helped. Theresa’s tone could only be murkier if she dumped her words in the Hudson before articulating them.

  Theresa flicks her humored gaze to Brandon. “She’s clever. A rookie agent knowing to plead the fifth. Who would have thought?” After returning her eyes to me, she snarls, “Are you planning to answer any of my questions, Ms. Brahn, or will you continue pleading the fifth amendment?”

  Her partner chuckles when I declare, “I plead the fifth.” Blood races through my body, my annoyance at an all-time high. “I choose not to answer your questions on the consideration that I may be unwillingly incriminating myself.”

  Brandon may have suggested I plead the fifth, but I’m not as stupid as she’s making me out to be. I did learn some tricks during my time at the academy.

  A scrape bellows around the room when Theresa stands from her chair. After running her hands down her starched-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life blouse, she snags a manila folder from a black leather briefcase open on the desk. “You read a law book during your training… impressive.” She taps the folder on the desk three times, her smirk condescending. “So, you’re aware prostitution is illegal?”

  “I'm well aware of that.”

  Brandon squeezes my thigh, wordlessly cautioning me to stay on script.

  Theresa isn’t worried about his silent warning. She’s confident she has her case in the bag. “Just because he didn’t leave money on your bedside table when he was finished, doesn’t make it any less of a crime.”

  She places down a sheet of paper in front of me. It’s the lease I signed for my apartment months ago. I’m a little lost as to where our conversation is heading—until she adds a second paper to the mix. As clear as day, written in the owner section of the report is Mr. Isaac Holt.

  “I pay rent for my apartment in full every month.” Ignoring Brandon’s painful squeeze that will most likely leave a bruise, I raise my eyes to Theresa. “The owner's details were not disclosed when my application was processed.

  “I thought you might say that, so I dug a little deeper.” She hands me a list of addresses with monthly figures on the side. “The same two-bedroom apartments in your building rent for over three thousand dollars a month—you pay twelve hundred.” Her composure drips with cockiness. “That’s not even half. Do you get a friends-with-benefits rate?”

  It’s the fight of my life not to tell her exactly what I think of her and her inappropriate suggestions. I would if I weren’t worried she’d use it to railroad me even more than she already is.

  “I plead the fifth.”

  She continues with her interrogation as if I never said anything. “Then, there's this.” She slides another piece of paper across the desk. “A charter for a private jet booked under Isaac Holt’s name. How romantic; most men don’t take their mistresses on holidays with them.”

  Brandon snatches the flight manifest out of my hand. “Isabelle’s name isn’t even on the manifest. That’s explicit conjecture. Everything you've presented thus far is speculation.” His legal knowledge is impressive. “Isaac Holt owns over half of Ravenshoe, so it would be virtually impossible for Isabelle to rent anything in this town that didn’t belong or have an association with him.” He stands, knocking over his seat in the process. “This interview is over. If you speak to Isabelle again without a lawyer present, I won’t hesitate to contact my father, who in turn, will have a word with your superior officer.”

  With a sharp yank on my arm, I'm removed from my seat. Brandon guides me out of the room, his steps so furious, I have to jog to maintain his rapid pace. His angry strides don’t stop until we arrive in the supply closet that’s been my office the past month.

  He drags his fingers through his hair, giving it an appealing sexed-up look. “You didn’t have a clue about any of that, did you?”

  I shake my head. “I plead the fifth.”

  He mutters something under his breath that sounds similar to “Jesus Christ, Isabelle.” His voice is clearer when he warns, “You need to be vigilant about anything you say or do over the next few days.”

  When I nod, he steps closer to me. “Is Isaac Holt Mr. Unattainable?”

  He stares at me with unease, begging for me to deny his accusation.

  His pleas are left unanswered when I nod.

  “Jesus, Isabelle.” He drags his hand over his head, flattening his new do. “How long?”

  I hesitate. He just cautioned me to remain quiet, but now he wants all the details. “Officially, a little over a month. But I met him before I knew he was being investigated.”

  When Brandon gives me a look as if he’s not buying my story, I explain, “I'm petrified of flying.” My fear is so nerve-wracking, my knees knock even while explaining my concern. “I was working up the courage to enter the boarding area at the airport when my push off the railing had me crashing into Isaac.” I smile when the memories of that day filter through my mind. “Isaac took care of me. He iced the bump on my head before offering up a pain reliever for my throbbing head. I didn’t think I’d see him again, so you can imagine my surprise when I was seated next to him for my flight to Ravenshoe. If that wasn’t already shocking, it was a business-class seat.”

  I’m still shocked about that day. What would the odds be out of the millions of people traveling that day, we’d be seated together?

  “You flew business class?” When I nod, Brandon’s lips crimp. “Who paid for your flight?”

  I give him my best duh face. “The Bureau.”

  He knows this. When you're assigned a team, travel expenses are included.

  “Did you request for your ticket to be upgraded to business class?”

  I shake my head at Brandon’s question. I don’t have the means to upgrade my ticket now, much less back then.

  Brandon’s chest expands so much, the buttons on his dress shirt nearly pop. “Did Isaac have any way of knowing you were on his flight?”

  I almost shake my head until the
memories of that day trickle through my mind. “Isaac collected my belongings, so he may have seen the boarding pass I had printed earlier that day, but it would have only been for the quickest second…”

  My words stop when the supply closet door swings open. When Alex enters the already stuffed room, its minute size shrinks even more. He bounces his eyes between Brandon and me before they finally come to rest on Brandon. “It’s after eleven, and the report I requested first thing this morning is still not finalized, yet you have time for a chit-chat with Isabelle in the supply closet. Perhaps I need to increase your workload?”

  Brandon remains quiet, but he doesn’t need to speak to express his anger. It’s visible on his usually expressionless face. Happy he has Brandon on tenterhooks, Alex shifts his focus to me. “I need to see you in my office.” He pivots and stalks to the door, only stopping to ensure I’m following him. “Now, Isabelle.”

  Nodding, I drift my eyes to Brandon, praying today won’t be the last time I associate with him on a professional level.

  Chapter 7

  Isabelle

  My heart smashes against my ribs when Alex lowers the privacy blind in his office. The glass wall I’ve never seen shadowed frosts, plunging the room into an eerie gray coloring. After switching on an antique lamp, Alex gestures for me to sit in the chair opposite his well-organized desk. Once I'm seated, he sits in a leather chair, then props his elbows on his keyboard. Although his gaze is stern, there’s something behind them that has the vein in my neck working overtime.

  “Because of your unwillingness to cooperate with their investigation, IA is recommending you go on unpaid leave until they finalize their inquiries.”

  The room spins around me. This is worse than first perceived.

  “Although I don’t agree with their scrutiny, I believe it’ll be best for all involved if you take a step back.” His deep timbre softens to a whisper. “Running an investigation like ours is hard enough. We don’t need IA breathing down our necks.”