I fill the seat next to him, causing the old wicker chair to squeak from having two grown-ass men sitting on it. “Theresa had photos of Regan and me. . .together.” He nods, recalling me telling him the same thing two nights ago with the exact same dip in my tone. “When she presented the evidence, I didn’t pay as much attention to the non-focal points as I usually do.”
“You were distracted by your girl. I get it.”
The humor in his tone pisses me off, but I nod all the same. Regan forever distracts me, to the point it is becoming frustrating.
“I assumed the photos were taken by a member of the flight crew via some type of surveillance device as they had a black tinge on the edges. It was only after talking to Brandon did I assess the photos more diligently. The black edging appears to be high caliber stitched cotton, meaning the photos were taken over someone’s shoulder—most likely a man’s suit-covered one. Add that to the angle of the photos, and you can only reach one conclusion: they were taken by someone sitting across from us. The fucker used my neurosis against me to gather intel on both Regan and me.”
Although I can see Grayson is dying to grill me, unlike me, he has no troubles keeping his focus on the task at hand. “Accusing a supervisor of tailing an agent is a risky move, but saying an agent assaulted you. . .” His words trail off as he scrubs his hand over his tired eyes. “That feels wrong just admitting.”
Before I can inform him that Theresa gives wrong a whole new meaning, he adds on, “I get where you’re coming from, though, and you haven’t viewed the info my guys have unearthed the past twenty-four hours. Dodgy has a new meaning now that I’ve run stats on the head of your unit.”
I stare at him quietly. He said he’d look into my case. I didn’t realize that meant he’d have his crew working on it as well. Grayson’s guys are the cream of the crop, the very essence of what every agent strives to become a part of. They don’t work on stalker cases that involve rogue supervisors more interested in netting their targets than maintaining the integrity of their unit. They take down entire criminal associations, terrorists, and serial killers.
Missing my shocked expression, Grayson slouches into his chair. “This guy you’re targeting, do you have much on him?”
Shaking my head, I drop my eyes to the photo Brandon printed for me, assuming that is whom Grayson is referencing.
“Not him,” Grayson responds, returning my focus to him. “The guy you’re at Ravenshoe for. The one who got your panties in a knot whenever your girl mentioned him in a roundabout way during dinner.”
Apfftnoise sounds from my mouth, denying his assumption without words. Regan rarely mentions Isaac or his association when she’s with me. Her thoughts are too occupied forhimto enter the equation.
Grayson nips my attitude in the bud by saying, “I saw the elevator footage, Alex. She doesn’t just have your panties twisted up; she’s got your balls in her purse as well.”
Although I’d rather knock the smug grin off his face with my fists, I have more important points to work through. I’ve pussy-footed around for nearly a week now. It’s time I start thinking with the head on my shoulders instead of the one between my legs. Regan deserves a man who can both satisfy her and keep her safe. I’m only exceeding in one field at the moment.
“How did you see the elevator footage? I wiped it from the servers?”
Grayson’s lips tug high, exposing several pegs of white teeth. “Is anything ever truly wiped?”
I’m tempted to tell him to save his excuses for when I upload the sex tape he made in college, but the squeak of a screen door stops me. Regan storms onto the back porch we’re hiding out on. The high slit in her mid-thigh dress steals my devotion for a couple of seconds, but her sassy diva-like attitude utterly consumes it.
I assume her fiery attitude is because she’s finally deciphered what I mumbled earlier, but she proves me wrong when she says, “You wipedmymessages frommyphone.” Her tone leaves no chance in hell I can mistake it as a question. “Why would you do that?”
I nudge my head to the door she just stormed through, requesting for Grayson to give us some privacy. With a shake of his head and a determined stance, he ignores my suggestion. After glaring at him in warning that he’ll pay for his stupidity later, I stand from my chair and motion for Regan to join me at the side of the patio. She is as stubborn as Grayson.
With a cocked hip, she spreads her hands across her waist then arches her brow high. Most men would take the shit-eating grin stretching across Grayson’s face as appreciation for the spectacular vision standing before him, but Grayson is anything but ordinary. He’s not taking in Regan’s seductive curves, ample breasts, and drop-dead gorgeous face. He’s attracted to her fiery attitude.
Our father might be set in his ways like his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, but the new generation of Rogers are a cut above the rest. With our father rarely home, our mother raised us, which means we have no qualms respecting fierce, determined women.And I have no issues subduing them either.
I step closer to Regan, my chest swelling when the vein in her neck pulsates with every movement I make. “I didn’t mean to delete your messages—”
“So you admit you used my phone?” she interrupts, her voice as ice cold as the glare she’s giving me.
I nod. “Just like I have since the night in the alley.”
That stumps her for all of two seconds. “Allowing someone to use your phone doesn’t give them the right to do whatever the fuck they want with it. Those weremymessages—forme.”
“I had every intention to tell you about Isaac’s calls, but between being attacked, your discovery last night, and othermattersthis morning, I haven’t had a chance.”
Regan looks two seconds from ripping me a new asshole, but I’m saved from being maimed when Grayson interrupts, “Isaac?” He scoots forward on his chair, acting as if it’s the first time he’s heard the name. “You said you’re from Ravenshoe, right?” His question is directed at Regan, not me.
A sudden wish for privacy crosses Regan’s face before she nods once at Grayson’s question.
“Is this Isaac also from Ravenshoe?”
Grayson is good. If I hadn’t discussed Isaac with him earlier, I’d truly believe he has no clue who he is.
When Regan nods again, Grayson murmurs, “No shit! I had a college friend who moved to Ravenshoe a few years ago. His name was Isaac.” He scrubs his hand along his jaw as if he is digging through his memory for clues. “What was his last name again?”
