Unraveling an Enigma Read online

  I want to snap back at her wordless taunt, but I'm honestly too tired. Instead, I hurry for the back entrance of the club, ignoring Tina’s snarky chuckle at my mad dash. “Make sure the door doesn’t hit you on the ass on the way out.”

  With a grunt, I push open the heavy door. My eyes squint as they struggle to adjust from the darkness of Isaac’s club to the blinding mid-morning sun. It’s so bright, I have to shelter my eyes to see where I'm walking. Eager to return to my apartment to wallow in self-pity in private, my strides are urgent and fast.

  When I reach the corner of Welsh and Trover Street, my quick pace slackens. Megan Shroud is a mere foot in front of me. With everything going on, I completely forgot about her and her freakish obsession with Isaac’s brother, Nick.

  At first glance, she appears as if she’s any other woman going about her day-to-day routine. The only reason she’s attracting my attention, and that of those surrounding her, is the yellow sundress she's wearing. Although the mid-morning sun has a nice amount of warmth to it, the breeze blowing up the hem of her dress is as cold as ice. I’m chilly wearing jeans and a thin cashmere sweater, so she must be freezing.

  Ignoring the nerves fluttering in my stomach, I drift my eyes over the people milling around the bus stop, seeking the agents Alex assigned to Megan’s case Thursday morning. My first guess would be the lady sitting at the café across the street with a newspaper in her hand. She appears to be reading the paper, but her eyes aren’t shifting in a left to right pattern. Uncle Tobias said that error is usually the first thing a target spots when they’re under surveillance.

  “Even if your gaze never leaves your target, you must shift your eyes accordingly,” he used to preach.

  God, I miss him.

  Once I’m standing shoulder to shoulder with Megan, I glance down at the paper she's grasping in her delicate, yet strong hand. Because her clutch is so firm, I can’t see what’s printed on the document, but a logo of an interstate bus company is visible in the top right-hand corner.

  Unaware of my watchful glance, Megan bounces heel to toe. Her light brown hair hangs freely down her back, framing her makeup-free face. Her nude lips are curved into a smile, and her hazel eyes are sparkling in the sun. Even in her dapper mood, her body can’t hide its panic. Her arms are covered with goosebumps, and the tips of her toes are blue, although her expression does not indicate her body's discomfort.

  A dull ache stabs my chest. Is anyone looking out for her? She’s clearly unhinged.

  My worry is pushed aside when the squeak of brakes shrieks through my ears. It’s closely followed by the polluted smoke you’d expect from a large coach. A white bus with ‘New York City’ displayed in LED lights in the window stops in front of Megan and me. Believing I’m waiting for the bus, Megan gestures for me to enter before her.

  “Ah… I still need to buy a ticket.” I bite on the inside of my cheek, hating that my words come out with a quiver. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. At least I thought of something. I’m not usually quick-witted.

  Megan’s grin exposes a chip in her front tooth. “The ticket office is through those doors.” She points behind me, her voice so weak she sounds like a child instead of an adult.

  I stray my eyes in the direction she’s pointing. A large circular logo for Bellevue Buses is displayed on the front door. The frontage sign states they specialize in traveling interstate in comfort and safety.

  Uneased, I return my eyes to Megan. “Thank you.”

  I desperately want to ask her where she’s going, but she steps onto the bus before I can. When she hands her ticket to the overweight gentleman sitting in the driver’s seat, he eyes her attire in confusion. Even in his heated bus, he’s wearing a long-sleeve shirt and a knitted vest.

  When the lady ‘reading’ the newspaper crosses the street to shadow Megan onto the bus, I dip my chin in greeting. She fills a vacant spot three places down from Megan before she recommences reading.

  I wait until the bus is nothing more than a blip on the horizon before yanking my phone out of my pocket and dialing a memorized number.

  “Miss me already?” Brandon jests a short time later.

  The cool wind chills my teeth when I smile. “I do… but I also need a favor.”

  “Another one.”

  His chuckles settle the nerves in my stomach. I hate asking for favors.

  “Megan Shroud was just seen leaving on a bus to New York. Can you please check if she purchased a one-way or a return ticket?”

  “Yeah, hold on.” Fingers hitting keys of his keyboard sounds down the line, along with his heavy breaths. “It’s a one-way ticket.”

  Relief washes over me. Hopefully, this is a sign Megan finally got the hint that Nick isn’t interested in her, but just in case, I add a little more sauce to my favor. “Can you add Megan’s name to the travel database? I want to know if she purchases a return ticket.”

  Brandon remains quiet, but papers are ruffling.

  “Brandon?”

  I hear his cheeks rising. “Oh yeah, sorry, I was nodding.”

  “Thanks, Brandon.”

  He exhales sharply. “Anytime, Izzy.”

  While placing my phone back into my pocket, a delicious smell streams into my nose. It smells distinctively like the scrumptious pies Harlow serves every day. Other than the message I got from her after I left Cormack’s office, I haven’t heard a peep from her. Before I stuffed everything up, we texted each other numerous times a day before finalizing our day with a call each night. I want to say her lack of contact is because she’s busy, but it’s more likely that she, along with everyone else, is still angry at me.

  Determined not to make another huge mistake, I make my way to Harlow’s bakery. Because it's only mid-morning, the bakery is pretty deserted. When the bell above the door chimes, Harlow stops replenishing the cake fridge. Several heart-clenching seconds pass with her staring at me in shock. The silence is awkward. Usually, when we're together, no one can get in a word between us.

  “I’ve missed you, Harlow.” My voice shakes with emotions. We’ve only been friends for six months, but she is, without a doubt, my very best friend. “Please let me fix this. I’ll do anything to make things right between us.”

  The tears I’m fighting to keep at bay spring down my cheeks when she dashes around the counter to wrap me up in a fierce hug. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  We cuddle for several minutes, only breaking when the bell above the door chimes for the second time. In sync, our eyes drift to the other side of the room. Renee is standing at the door, balancing a stack of bakery boxes on her slim waist.

  Her brows fetter when she takes in our wet cheeks and glistening eyes. “Go sit, then I’ll bring coffee. You both look as if you could use a caffeine IV.” Guilt washes over her face, but it doesn’t stop her from saying. “Whoever invented the term ‘ugly crying’ was referring to this when they fabricated it.”

  I laugh, adoring her sass. She reminds me of a younger, more rebellious version of Harlow. Although her comment was made in jest, it holds credit. I know I look like shit, but Harlow also appears tired and withdrawn. Dark rings dull her eyes, and her smile isn’t as bright as usual. After looping my arm around Harlow's elbow, I drag her toward our table. We assemble at the same table every time we get together here. It’s the table Isaac was seated at the first time I laid eyes on him in his home turf. Every time I sit here, the smell of whole grain and rye toasted cheese sandwich conquers up memories. Today is no different. Not even our brutal run-in can weaken them.

  Harlow remains quiet while Renee wrangles up two mugs of coffee and a gigantic slice of pumpkin pie. “You can’t have coffee without pie.” After rubbing my shoulder, she makes herself scarce.

  I don’t have the heart to tell her I hate anything associated with pumpkin. Pumpkin is disgusting. Even with a whole heap of sugar and a super sweet pastry, I refuse to eat it, but even if she presented me a chocolate pie with a pile of whipped cream, I still wouldn’t eat it
. My stomach is too twisted up about the anxious expression on Harlow’s beautiful face to handle food.

  I curl my hand over Harlow’s clenched fist. “Do you want me to talk to Cormack again?”

  I was hoping Cormack had taken Hugo’s advice and patched things up with Harlow, but from the expression on her face, I’m going to assume he hasn’t.

  The pressure on my chest weakens when Harlow smiles. “No, we're good, but thank you for offering.” Her smile enlarges to a full-size grin. “The makeup sex was great, so I should probably thank you.”

  Our giggles are more noticeable since the bakery is near empty. After blowing on my coffee to cool down its scorching heat, I take a swig. “So, what’s with the odd expression on your face? You look…” I stop talking, giving my eyes time to study the look marring her face. “… scared?”

  Harlow is as shocked by my admission as I am. She’s a tough cookie. She handled the Tatiana incident with dignified composure and handles irate customers daily. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her rattled.

  Hold on, yes, I have. She was skittish when we first arrived at the McGregor residence. Before I can ask if the incidents are linked, Harlow confirms it. “Did you know Clara is now living in Ravenshoe?”

  Ignoring the tension in my belly, I shake my head. “But I didn’t have a clue where she lived.”

  After swallowing a mouthful of sweetened black coffee, Harlow’s eyes meet mine. “She was residing in New York but moved to Ravenshoe permanently the weekend following our trip to the McGregor residence. She's living in a fancy building on Hyde Place.”

  My heart stops beating. It could be a coincidence, but Isaac’s fuck pad is in Hyde Place. Before I can work through my confusion, Harlow continues, “Do you remember me begging you not to leave me alone when you first woke up from your famous wine and Xanax blackout concoction?”

  I jerk up my chin. “Yep. I just recalled that it was the first time I’d seen you rattled.”

  Harlow rolls her eyes. “That was because of Clara. She doesn’t like me very much.”

  “Is she creating trouble between you and Cormack?”

  Her lips thin. “I can’t one hundred percent testify to that, but I’m reasonably sure she's narking in his ear at every available opportunity.” Her eyes lift and lock with mine. “The billionaire and the baker isn’t a story she wants plotted out.”

  I make a pfft noise with my lips. “Then she's an idiot. Thousands of readers would gobble up a story like that. She just doesn't understand modern-day fairy tales.” Leaning over the table, I re-clutch Harlow’s hand in mine. “Give as good as you're getting, Harlow.”

  She arches her brow. “That goes for the both of us, Kettle.”

  “Yes, it does,” I agree with a nod. “And from here on out, I’m going to do precisely that.”

  Chapter 13

  Isaac

  “That doesn’t look like the face of a traitor.”

  I close my laptop screen, which is displaying an image of Isabelle leaning against my office door. In the photo, her teeth have caught her bottom lip, and her eyes are snapped shut as she battles not to let tears spill down her ashen face. The hurt projected in her beautiful chocolate eyes when I insulted her cut through me like a knife, so I’ve been torturing myself the past hour by watching the surveillance video of the incident over and over again. It only made me more confused. If she were paid to sleep with me, why did she react to my taunt?

  “What Hugo told you is true, Isaac. If you wait too long—”

  My vicious glare halts any further relationship advice Hunter is planning to give. “If you still want to be employed by the end of the day, keep your thoughts to yourself.”

  Hunter, my head of security, pops his shoulder onto the doorjamb of my office. As he authenticates my threat, he scrubs his hand over the scraggly beard covering his jawline. His dark blond hair is pulled back into a low-riding man bun, and his tattoo collection is barely concealed by the checked shirt he’s wearing rolled up at the sleeves. He has what could be termed a rough-and-rugged appearance.

  When I interviewed him for a position within my empire, I initially judged him on his outer facade instead of his impressive security capabilities. He soon proved his worth when he hacked into my supposedly unhackable security system to siphon my bank account of two million dollars. He was so brazen, he did it in front of me. I fired my head of security the day he joined my team. That was a little over four years ago.

  “Was that Isabelle?”

  Hunter pushes off the wall to stride into my office, his hurried pace slackening when my narrowed eyes land on him. “Yes, but if the search you completed on her had been more thorough, you’d be aware of that.”

  Hunter dares to smirk. “I stand by my search—”

  “Then, obviously, I need a new head of security.”

  “When you find the guy who hid her information so deep not even I could find it, I’ll hire him myself as my replacement.” His tone relays the truth in his bold statement.

  At my request, Hunter undertook a background search of Isabelle the weekend she stayed at my apartment. His investigation failed to yield any real results. He supplied me with an expired copy of her learner’s permit from when she was sixteen. It revealed that she resided in a coastal town near San Francisco called Tiburon, but other than that, her file was as scarce as her bank accounts.

  It may seem pretentious of me to investigate people in my life, but in my position, I have no choice. I’ve been burned in the past, so I’m cautious about who I allow into my life. Generally, my searches are reserved for staff or business associates, but Isabelle intrigued me enough to warrant her own special investigation. Although frustrated with Hunter’s lack of information, it made the chase even more inspiring.

  Hunter plops into the leather chair across from me. “This lady, on the other hand, reads like an open book.” He tosses a manila folder filled to the brim with papers onto my desk. “Was there something you failed to mention when you asked me to investigate her?”

  My teeth grinding together stuff his laughter into the back of his throat. While he scrubs his beard, a trait he always does when nervous, I open the folder. A grunt parts my lips when my eyes run over the extensively noted documents inside. Hunter is meticulous about the amount of information he unearths, but right now, I don’t have time to read a one-hundred-plus-page report.

  I sink lower into my chair. “I have a meeting with Regan in ten minutes. Can you give me a brief rundown?”

  Hunter pulls an iPad out of the hemp bag he dumped on the floor upon entry. “Did Roger scan your office this morning?”

  “Yes.” I snap. “He didn’t find anything… today.”

  After I was arrested, Hunter had my office, apartment, and private residence scanned for listening devices. Two bugs were found in my home, and one was in my office. Now, Roger examines my office twice a day instead of his usual once-over before I arrive.

  “From what I unearthed, I’m assuming you know a good whack about her private life…” His arrogant smirk is wiped off his face when I growl. “All right, here are the basics. Theresa Veneto is thirty-two years old. She lives in Hopeton, she's unmarried, has one child, and her current position is an investigator in the Internal Affairs Department of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” His smile returns. “Oh, and last, but not at all least, she has a major lady boner for a businessman named Isaac Holt.”

  I shoot him a warning look. I’m not in the mood for his shit today. I’m at my tether. “How long has Theresa been with IA?”

  “Since June thirteenth.” Hunter doesn’t sneak a glance at the information sitting in front of him. Hugo continuously jests that his brain is like a sponge. It absorbs every minor detail to retain it for future use.

  “What was she doing before IA?”

  Hunter arches his brow. “Investigating you.”

  “Was or is?”

  “Was. Due to no credible evidence against you, she was removed from your case.” Hi
s eyes snap to mine to give me a cheeky wink. “You can thank me for that later.”

  A subtle grin etches on my mouth. His skillset does warrant some credit, but I’ll never tell him that.

  “The details are a little shady, but Theresa was either demoted to IA or she asked to be transferred there.” His tattoo-covered hand darts across the table to flick over a few pages of the extensive report he presented me with. “That’s her current target.”

  Blood surges through my veins when my eyes drop to the surveillance photos displayed. The top picture is a photo of Isabelle and Theresa standing eye to eye in the entranceway of Isabelle’s apartment.

  “Why is IA investigating Isabelle?”

  Hunter places his jean-covered ankle onto his knee before gliding his amused eyes to me. “For conspiring with you.”

  “They're investigating their agent for doing the job they paid her to do?”

  Hunter’s lips crimp as he shakes his head. “Now, the slap mark on your cheek makes sense.”

  His eyes float over my left cheek, which is still burning from the slap Isabelle inflicted on me over an hour ago. I’ll be frank, my cock turned to stone when she slapped me. An angry Isabelle is just as ravishing as a jealous Isabelle.

  Hunter drops his ankle from his knee before his elbow takes its place. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but I’m gonna say it. Isabelle didn’t rat you out.”

  A half-chuckle/half-grunt escapes my lips. “What is it with all the men surrounding me not seeing past Isabelle’s ruse? First Hugo, then Cormack, now you. I thought I was the only fool who couldn’t see past the wool she pulled over my eyes.”

  Hunter slants his head to the side, not the least bit confronted about the repercussion he may ignore by saying, “Because we’d happily rot in jail just for the opportunity of tapping a woman who looks like her, let alone having her more than once.”