More times than not, Isaac's meetings are with reputable business associates or his fighter, Jacob. This morning they're missing a prime opportunity. This lady has never popped up in the numerous surveillance photos I've scanned into the FBI database every day the past month.
Realizing I need to match brains with brawn, I yank my cell out of my pocket. My hands grow clammy when I snap a sneaky picture of Isaac’s companion while the doorman is distracted by clientele entering the premises. Hiding behind a potted hedge, I drop my eyes to the screen of my cell. A grunted sigh puffs from my nostrils when the early morning sun reflecting on the window covers half of Isaac’s companion’s face.
Scarcely breathing, I snap another pic. It turns out just as bad as the first.
“Think, Isabelle, think,” I murmur to myself.
I know, I’ll call Alex.
It takes me scanning my short list of contracts twice before I realize Alex never gave me his cell phone number.He would hate to make me feel like I am a part of his team.
After taking a few seconds to settle the nerves fluttering in my stomach, I dial a number known by heart.
“Federal Bureau of Investigation, how may I direct your call?” questions the switchboard operator.
“My name is Isabelle Brahn. I'm a Federal Agent; my number is 5586718. I need you to patch me through to Alex Rogers, head of the Ravenshoe division,” I inform her as my eyes flick between the doorman and Isaac.
“Patching you through now.”
Alex’s phone rings several times, making me worried he won’t answer. Just as I’m about to disconnect the call and try again, he finally answers.
“Alex Rogers,” he snaps down the line.
“Alex, it’s Isabelle—”
“Did you mess up my coffee order again? Black with two sugars; it isn’t that hard, Isabelle.” His tone is vulgar and rude.
Anger lines my face. “No, I didn’t mess up your order.”
Although his coffee is now sitting at the bottom of the garbage bin. If he keeps speaking to me so rudely, I may fish it out and serve it to him from the trash.
“Why isn’t the surveillance team following Isaac?” I question gruffly, trying my hardest to simmer my anger.
Alex grunts. “He is still in bed.”
My brows furrow as my gaze drifts to Isaac sitting in the overpriced restaurant sipping on a cup of coffee. Even without seeing his distinctive eyes, I can’t mistake him. He is too attractive not to notice.
“He’s not in bed; he’s right in front of me having breakfast with a lady at a restaurant on the corner of Welsh and First Avenue.”
While Alex summarizes a reply, I glance back into the restaurant. Time stands still when Isaac’s head suddenly lifts to the window. He appears to be staring straight at me.
With my heart in my throat, I dash around the corner, praying he didn’t spot me spying on him.
“Are you sure it is him, Isabelle?”
“Yes,” I assure, my pitch as high as my heart rate. “I'm one hundred percent certain it is him.”
Alex barks orders at everyone surrounding him, sending the flurry of activity I’ve witnessed every day the past month barreling down the phone.
“We’ll be there in five minutes,” Alex informs me before disconnecting our call.
I lean against the outer wall of the restaurant to take in some deep breaths. I’m clutching my phone so tight, my knuckles go white. I never knew surveillance was so thrilling. I always envisioned it as spending hours eating donuts and busting to use the bathroom, but it is much more exciting than that.
Or maybe it isn’t surveillance that has my heart palpitating so fast it feels like it is going to escape my chest cavity. Perhaps it is seeing Isaac again?
“Bring the car back around,” says a ruggedly handsome voice I immediately recognize in the distance.
Plastering my back to the brick wall, I carefully peer around the corner. A sizeable potted hedge aids in keeping me concealed. Standing just mere feet from me is Isaac. Even from this distance, his commanding aura is highly notable.
