The Final Chapter: Enigma, #4 Page 7

  My pulse rings in my ears when he stealthily prowls toward me. He doesn’t speak a word as he wraps his arm around my shoulders and guides me out the hospital door, but I swear on my uncle’s grave, I hear him mumble “mine” under his breath when we walk past a pair of male interns in the hospital corridor.

  An hour later, I'm tapping my foot on the polished tiled floor of the courthouse, waiting for my name to be called by the court bailiff. Although Isaac isn’t sitting next to me, his support is undoubtedly felt by the people surrounding me. Ryan is talking to Regan near Courtroom 4’s double doors. Hunter is talking on his phone to someone a few benches up from me, pretending he isn’t here with me, and Roger, Isaac’s driver-bodyguard, is standing in the hallway, ensuring no sneaky reporters accost me.

  When Regan and I exited Isaac’s town car, we had to walk through a gauntlet of reporters screaming out a range of questions about Megan’s trial, my connection to Isaac, and if I had any comment on the news that Col Petretti was killed in an FBI operation yesterday afternoon. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized the details of Col’s death and my kidnapping were not linked.

  Regan talked to the reporters at the top of the courthouse stairs. She issued a statement about what my court hearing is about and how justice will finally prevail when all charges are dropped after her client, aka me, is found to have no connection to Megan Shroud’s death.

  It was impressive watching her in her element. She didn’t fluster when reporters probed her about my connection to Isaac and Col. She merely ignored them before answering a question from a reporter that pertained to my case. She didn’t even break into a sweat. I, on the other hand, was a sweating bag of nerves.

  “Here.” Regan hands me a cup of coffee in a paper cup. “It’s bad, but it’s all they have.”

  My nose screws up when the thick, ghastly taste of the poorly brew hits my taste buds. It isn’t that I have affluent tastes, but this coffee is so terrible, the undissolved beans cling to my tongue when my mouth refuses to swallow it.

  When I dump the full cup into the bin I'm sitting next to, my eyes turn to the side of the room. The hairs on my nape bristle when they detected Isaac’s presence. My inner vixen is like an animal in the wild. She can sense her mate from a mile away.

  A smile curves on my mouth when I spot Isaac standing at the end of the corridor. He's talking to a gentleman in a fancy black suit with a large briefcase in his hand. He doesn’t appear to have noticed my gawp, but his curving lip as he continues with his conversation reveals he has spotted me. He’s just playing it cool.

  My attention is diverted from Isaac when the courtroom door swings open, and “Isabelle Brahn” thunders out of the mouth of the court bailiff. I suck in a big breath before pacing to the door he’s holding open. The last thing I see when I enter the courtroom is the flash of a smirk on an adorable face.

  Chapter 8

  Isaac

  I wait for everyone to enter before slipping into the courtroom where Isabelle’s proceedings are being held. Isabelle doesn’t turn around, but I know she feels my presence as her shoulders square and her breathing slows when I step inside the courtroom.

  Wanting to ensure I don’t raise any suspicion, I take a seat in the back pew next to Hunter, but a few spaces over. My brows scrunch when a few minutes later, he slides a piece of paper across the polished wooden bench. ‘Watch Lucas’ I read off the paper.

  When my wide eyes stare at Hunter, he waggles his brows before gesturing his head to the front of the courtroom. I turn to face the front of the courtroom, pausing on Isabelle when I notice her fidgeting in her seat. She’s always been undoubtedly beautiful, which ensures she acquires the attention of every male in the room, but when my eyes locked in on her wearing a dress on par with her million-dollar smile, all I could imagine was seeing her in nothing but black stiletto shoes with expensive diamonds draped around her neck. The image was so riveting if we weren’t attending this court session with the hope of having her charges dropped, she wouldn’t have made it out of the hospital room with her dress still intact.

  My attention is diverted from Isabelle when the beep of a cell phone bounces off the stark white walls of the courtroom. I shake my head when my eyes roam over the abhorrent man seated across from Isabelle and his expensive Mr. Porter Kingsman suit. If Mr. Marco wants to survive the corrupt, unethical world he’s immersing himself in, he needs to be more inconspicuous. Displaying your achievements with lavish articles is fine if you can show you acquired your wealth legally, but wearing a suit and watch that costs thousands of dollars makes you look like a fool when you slide into a car that’s older than the woman you're falsely prosecuting.

  If he’s secured my interest with all the mammoth tasks I’ve dealt with the past month, it means he has also gathered the attention of others in my industry. He may see that as a positive until he realizes what his request for a golden handshake fully entails. No favors are imparted in this industry without a ripple effect. It’s like throwing a stone across a pond—some skim along the top where others may sink.

  Even the rock that immediately sinks still creates a wave on the surface of the water. Something that seems as simple as a signature on a document can quickly turn into an unscrupulous demand. If Lucas truly loves his family as his public image portrays, he needs to learn that his ideas about this industry are both unbecoming and incredibly inaccurate.

  The bailiff snarls when Lucas’s cell buzzes again. “All phones are to be turned off.”

  “Sorry,” Lucas grumbles as his hand digs into the pocket of his trousers. “I thought I turned it off.”

  When he pulls his phone out, his eyes bulge. He yanks it in close to his chest as his wide eyes dart around the courtroom. His expression is panicked, his mouth formed into a large ‘O.’ I drop my eyes to my shoes to ensure he doesn’t spot me in the back row when he scans the courtroom.

  My interests pique when Hunter muffles his chuckles by pretending to cough. “One more, just for fun.” Hunter fiddles with a black device. It isn’t a cell phone but more like a small computer tablet. No doubt something he designed.

  The bailiff’s annoyed growl booms through the courtroom when Lucas’s phone buzzes for the third time. He stomps toward Lucas with an angry scowl fettering his face. His steps are fast and furious, reaching Lucas before he can read his latest message.

  When he snatches the phone out of Lucas’s hand and glances down at the screen, his cheeks hue. His lips move like he's attempting to speak, but no words escape his mouth. Lucas’s throat works hard to swallow, but he remains quiet, frozen in shock. The only noise heard is his heavy pants of breath along with Hunter’s muffled laughs.

  Hearing Hunter’s chuckles, Regan turns around to face us, snarling when she notices me in the back row. Incapable of withstanding her wrath, Hunter excuses himself from the courtroom before he rushes for the hallway.

  My attention diverts to the front of the courtroom when the bailiff announces the judge’s arrival. Relief washes over me when I notice it’s the same judge who presided over Isabelle’s arraignment. I have an inherent knack for reading people, and his eyes show he's a good man with strong ethics, but he also can offer amnesty.

  Within five minutes of the evidence-admission hearing commencing, I'm sitting on the edge of my seat, fighting the urge to strip Lucas of his sheep’s clothing in front of the court he's using to cloak his wolf teeth. His statements about Isabelle don’t steer far from his description weeks ago. He calls her unhinged, psychotic, and an agent with a hero complex who goes above her pay grade to unleash personal justice on innocent civilians.

  “Every word Mr. Marco has spoken is explicitly biased and based on nothing but false allegations and testimonies from people who should be sitting in the chair my client is sitting in,” Regan remarks, her tone firm. “We have unmistakably demonstrated that a majority of the evidence in this case does not even pertain to the murder of Megan Shroud.”

  “That remark is negotiable
considering the evidence was stripped from a reputable FBI agent to be processed by a long-term friend of Ms. Myer’s client.”

  “Calling Ms. Veneto a reputable agent would be like calling Hitler Mother Theresa,” Regan fires back.

  The judge slams his gavel onto the top of the polished wooden podium he's seated behind. “Ms. Veneto isn’t on trial, Ms. Myers, so please keep your opinions on her work ethic for when you're not in my courtroom,” he suggests. “If you wish to file a proceeding for the malicious prosecution of your client, you can, but not in my court.”

  Regan screws up her nose but still nods.

  Lucas smirks, feeling victorious. “The ridiculous notion that Ms. Veneto has a personal vendetta against Ms. Brahn is blatantly false. Ms. Veneto was the agent who gathered the evidence at the murder scene because she was the agent who discovered the scene.”

  “Because she was supposedly there to arrest Ms. Shroud for the murder of her father. But please, Mr. Marco, explain to the judge one time where you’ve heard of an Internal Affairs agent serving an arrest warrant on a civilian.”

  When Regan glares at Lucas with her arms crossed in front of her chest, he fumbles out a string of mumbled words.

  Smirking, Regan devotes her attention back to the judge. “Mr. Marco can’t recount a single time that has happened because it doesn’t happen. Internal Affairs’ agents are simply that, internal. Their jurisdiction does not extend to external matters outside of their agency. Ms. Veneto was only on the scene because her soon-to-be brother-in-law was identified as the officer who processed the initial request from the Sheriff’s Office at Parkerville for Ms. Shroud’s arrest.”

  When she's granted permission, she hands the judge two official police reports and photographs from an article in last week’s newspaper announcing Theresa’s younger sister, Ella, is soon to marry Officer Tate in February. When walking back to stand next to Isabelle, Regan audaciously winks at the DA. Even though he's fuming with so much anger that steam is billowing out of his ears, he still flushes from Regan’s taunt.

  From the photos Hunter presented to me yesterday, there's no doubt Mr. Marco has a fascination with powerful blonde women, but a woman with a stature like Regan’s is way above his pay grade, even when it comes from dirty blood money.

  The judge places the documents onto the podium before his eyes lift to Lucas. “After perusing these documents, I have to agree with Ms. Myers. There was no legitimate reason for the evidence in the murder of Ms. Shroud to be collected by Ms. Veneto. But, even if there were a legitimate reason, none of the evidence you've presented me with is admissible. With that in mind—”

  “Ms. Veneto’s interest in Ms. Shroud’s case came about when she was investigating the illicit affair between Ms. Brahn and Mr. Isaac Holt, a man whom Ms. Brahn was brought to Ravenshoe to assist in a special undercover FBI operation of, not fall into bed with.”

  My teeth grit, angered over Lucas’s fictitious allegations. Isabelle was assigned to the team in Ravenshoe to investigate me, but it was under false assumptions. She was unaware of the malicious ruse they were trying to force on her.

  “And what does that investigation have to do with this case?” the judge questions, gaining my attention. “Ms. Brahn isn’t in my courtroom under the presumption she's on trial without a jury of her peers for the murder of Megan Shroud. She's also not here to answer questions on her alleged affair with Mr. Holt. We're here to discuss the premises relating to the gathering of evidence in this case. Evidence that Ms. Myers has demonstrated was not amassed, documented, or processed with due diligence, which leaves me no choice but to side with Ms. Myers.”

  Lucas scoffs while nervously fumbling with papers on his desk. He looks like a petrified man, like having the charges against Isabelle dismissed is a matter of life and death. Only now do I realize how dirty his hands are. I have no doubt Theresa and members of her family are deeply embedded in Lucas’s new venture into corruption. Now, he has no chance of escaping their malevolent clutches.

  “You’ll let a murderer off scot-free because of a few missing signatures on the chain-of-evidence documentation? That’s the most absurd notion I’ve ever heard.” Lucas’s eyes widen when he realizes his statement was loud enough for the judge to hear.

  The judge’s gaze narrows as his lips set into a firm line. “I'll be more than happy to continue our discussion on absurd reactions in my chambers once this hearing is over, Mr. Marco.”

  His gaze shifts to me sitting in the back of the courtroom for a few seconds before his eyes turn down to Isabelle. “My wife hates the inventor of donut holes. Not a small dislike, she hates, hates him. Does that mean I should seek harm on their creator because she cries when she can’t fit into her favorite jeans? No, it doesn’t. Millions of people fall in love every day. That doesn’t mean they wake up the next day and choose to participate in a crime.”

  He stands from his chair and leans over the podium. “With any arrest, the evidence must show an objective, factual basis for believing the defendant committed a crime. In this case, I do not find probable cause. All charges against Isabelle Brahn pertaining to the murder case of Megan Shroud have been dismissed. You're free to go, Ms. Brahn.” He slams his gavel down onto the podium three times before exiting the courtroom.

  Isabelle shakily stands from her chair at the direction of the bailiff. When the judge exits, she wraps her arms around Regan’s neck. A large smirk curves on my mouth when her excited gaze shifts back to me. A huge grin is stretched across her face, and happy tears are welling in her eyes.

  Now that nothing is standing between us, it’s time to take my girl home.

  Chapter 9

  Isabelle

  All the weight I’ve been carrying on my shoulders is suddenly alleviated with three bangs of a judge’s gavel on a wooden podium. Sweet relief washes through me as I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting hard to keep my tears at bay.

  “All rise,” requests the bailiff.

  I stand to my feet, my knees wobbling so much they clang together. An excited and immature squeal escapes my lips as I wrap my arms around Regan’s shoulders when the judge leaves the courtroom. Regan is taken back by my overfriendliness.

  “Thank you,” I whisper into her ear.

  “I’m not the one you should be thanking.”

  I don’t need to spin around to know who she's gesturing her head to. I felt his presence the instant he walked into the courtroom. A man with an impressive aura like Isaac doesn’t need an introduction. His stature exudes from him in imperceptible waves. Even without seeing him, my body is conscious of his every move.

  When my head flings to the back of the courtroom, dizziness clusters in my brain. Not just from my foolhardy movements but because of the mouth-watering smirk carved on Isaac’s perfectly etched mouth. The fiery spark that was kindled in his eyes earlier is even more paramount. No doubt, he’s feeling the same serene sentiment I'm experiencing. All the obstacles that were impeding us being together have been removed, clearing the path for us to create a stable, solid relationship that will survive any storm.

  My breathing labors when Isaac scoots out of the bench seat and ambles toward me. His long strides close the distance between us quickly. After banding his arms around my waist, he pulls me in close to his body. All the nerves juddering my insides soothe when he presses his lips against mine. His kiss is possessive and claiming while also passionate. He nips my lower lip before his tongue soothes the sting of his bite, not caring that we're standing across from a man who mere minutes ago accused me of only bedding him in an attempt to net him in an elaborate FBI sting.

  When the false statement fired off the DA’s tongue, I nearly vaulted from my chair, wanting to vehemently deny his claims, but then I remembered Isaac knows me, he knows me better than anyone ever has, so he’d never believe a word dribbled from the vindictive DA’s tongue.

  When Isaac inches back, my heart is bursting at the seams, and my panties are drenched. It’s so surreal he can ca
lm me while turning me on at the same time. No man has ever had this type of power over me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love him so much, I feel like I need him in my life just to breathe. Even when he is this close to me, it’s hard to rein in my desire to be possessed by him.

  “Are you ready to go home?”

  Just him speaking has my insides aching for him to kiss me again, but I nod instead.

  A few moments later, we’re following Regan out of the courtroom door. I’ve just notice Alex standing at the side, talking on a cell phone when Ryan steps into view, startling me.

  “Sorry.” His smiles, exposing the dimples in his top lip.

  Isaac and Ryan greet with a shake of hands before Ryan devotes his attention to me. “I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time?”

  Before I can answer, Isaac jumps back into the conversation. “What’s this regarding? Does Isabelle need a lawyer present, or—”

  “No, it’s not related to any prosecution of Isabelle.” Ryan’s tone lowers to ensure the people milling in the hallway don’t overhear his next comment. “It pertains to her kidnapping yesterday.”

  Isaac’s stance stiffens before he gestures for Ryan to lead the way. Regan follows closely behind us, her composure altering from friend to kick-ass lawyer the instant Ryan requested to speak to me.

  We end up in the room I was initially taken to after my arraignment. It’s as cold and unwelcoming as it was back then. When Ryan gestures for me to take a seat at the table, I remain standing, trying to portray a strong front. It would be better if I could stop fidgeting.

  Isaac stills my hand fiddling with my dress by enclosing it within his. Just his skin against mine appeases my agitation.