“You’re not the only one.”
Another stretch of silence passes between us. Thankfully, this one is more endearing than the first. Isaac rules his business with the rueful reputation he amassed during his college years, but the one sitting in silence on the other end of the line, the one whose breathing is as labored as mine, he’s the sole reason I’ll never leave his empire. He’s more my friend than my employer.
An office chair squeaking into position sounds down the line. “I’ve got to go. Morgan ordered lime yellow booths instead of the standard black.” I giggle like a school girl when he gags. “They remind me of the hideous floral print on my grandmother’s couch.”
“Aww, don’t be too hard on her. She could have ended up with the original flamingo print she ordered.”
Isaac growls. “We barely survived that disaster.”
Nodding, I laugh. “We still had a lot of fun that weekend, though. Your grandmother kept us on our toes.”
“She did. We’ll have to go back. . . when you’re not gallivanting around the country with random homeless guys.” He grumbles his last statement.
“Isaac.”
I could say more, but I don’t need to. The way his name exited my mouth with a sharp and precise breath exposed everything I needed to express.
But in case it didn’t, I add on, “Back off. He’s a genuinely nice person—”
“Who’s never heard of a razor.”
“Thank god for that!” My voice has the country twang I try to hide. “You have no idea how good it feels when he—”
“Regan.” Isaac growls my name as seductively as Alex does, except his is laced with disgust instead of unbridled lust.
“Hey, this is what happens when you stick your nose in places it isn’t wanted. If you want details, I’ll give you details. Big.Juicy.Details!”
I feel like I’ve hit the jackpot when Isaac snaps, “Fine. I’ll stay out of your private life if you promise never to put that image in my head again.”
“Deal.”
I grin like the cat who swallowed the canary. Isaac must be off his game. He’s usually as stubborn as me. I’ve never seen him succumb so quickly before—if ever.
After requesting that I return his calls more diligently than I have been, Isaac disconnects our call. It is only after dumping my phone next to an empty canister of frosting do I recall exactly what he said. He requested I return his calls, as if he called me.
That can’t be right. There were no voicemails or missed calls on my phone, just text messages. If it were anyone but Isaac, I would assume he was mistaken, but Isaac is as pedantic about accuracy as he is about protection. This isn’t something he’d get wrong.
The desire to shower for the second time this morning rains down on me when I spin on my feet to face the bed. First, my laptop was open and unlocked, now my voicemail messages have been deleted. This can’t be a coincidence. It can only mean one thing.
Alex isn’t a spy; he’s just spying on me.
16
“Calm down and stop talking in fuckin’ riddles. How do you know he’s one of us?” Grayson’s eyes glance down at the photo Brandon printed all the way from Ravenshoe. “Where was this image obtained?”
“The back quarter panel of the taxi that picked us up from the alley. The cab driver must have recently washed his car as the paint was so gleaming, we caught his reflection.”
His nose screws up as he takes in the grainy image. “I thought you said there were two perps?”
“I thought there were, but maybe I was mistaken? I wasn’t exactly thinking straight since my brain was leaking out of my ears.”
Grayson’s angry snarl matches mine. “Yet, you still recognize him?”
“Yes! The vision is shit, but you know how on point I am with photographic recognition. He’s the same man who flew with Regan and me to Texas last week.”
The distrust in Grayson’s eyes fades for belief. He’s aware I have the most photographic memory in our family because he fought me for the title last year.
“So this photo is evidence—if you can call it that—that he may be the man who attacked you, but I’m not connecting my dots the same way you are. How is this proof he’s with the Bureau?”
