Hunter’s gaze drops to his laptop. “I’ve got video of the kidnapping.”
I move around my desk to glance over his shoulder. My blood blackens when Isabelle is grabbed from behind by a massive brute of a man, easily the size of Travis, my bouncer, who stands at the door of my nightclub. Isabelle’s legs kick out so wildly, her running shoes fly off from the force of her blows, but the longer he holds the white cloth over her mouth, the weaker her kicks become.
My jaw muscle tenses when a white Range Rover mounts the curb, and Isabelle’s lifeless body is thrown into the back seat. Hugo enters the screen from the bottom right corner of the frame. His furious steps have him reaching the vehicle faster than a heartbeat. The black, heavily-tinted passenger window shatters into tiny shards when his fists connect with it. He launches his torso into the shattered window, vainly trying to drag Isabelle out of the back seat.
When the Range Rover skids down the road, leaving black tire tracks and a dislodged Hugo on the sidewalk, Hugo leaps to his feet and chases after them on foot. The steady flow of traffic aids his ability to pursue the fast-moving vehicle.
“Freeze the image,” I demand when my gaze zooms in on an object in the background of the photo.
Anytime I’m given surveillance photos, I pay vigilant attention to the entire picture, not just the sections your eyes initially focus on. It’s often the minutest thing that causes the biggest ripple.
“There, you can see the driver’s face in the side mirror.” When I point to the section in the frame I’m referring to, Hunter magnifies it.
At the start, it’s pixelated and contorted so that you can’t see Isabelle’s kidnapper’s face, but after a few strokes on Hunter’s keyboard, it becomes bright and unblemished.
“That’s the same guy from the surveillance images at the gala?” I half-inform half-query. “The one who was watching Isabelle?”The one she compellingly stated wouldn’t harm her.
Hunter hacked into the mainframe at the gala hotel to obtain their security footage the night he arrived at my hotel suite. That night, we located the gentleman who accosted Isabelle in multiple frames standing just to the side of her. He was in plain sight for all to see, but concealed amongst the dense gathering of men wearing similar black tuxedoes.
Hunter nods. “Yes. I already ran him through the Police Department’s facial recognition software. It didn’t find anything.”
My gaze shifts to my office door when it swings open. I'm surprised to see Regan standing behind it. She’s worked for me for years, but not once has she set foot inside my office. I wave for her to enter as the cell on my desk rings. Relief washes through me when I notice it is Hugo calling.
“Hugo,” I greet him.
“It’s Brandon,” he says breathlessly. “Hugo’s been shot.” My pulse shrills through my ears when sirens filter down the line. “They’re taking him to Mercer Hospital.”
“Instruct them to take him to Ravenshoe Private. Tell them it’s at the request of Isaac Holt. I’ll call the head of surgery there and advise her of his impending arrival.”
“Okay.” Brandon muzzles the phone as he passes on my instructions. A gurney being pushed into the back of an ambulance and doors slamming shut sounds down the line as Brandon calls my name.
“Yes.”
“Ask Regan to call the head of the FBI division in our county.”
My jaw muscle clenches.
“Alex will help if he knows it’s for Izzy. He has a higher clearance than Hunter does on the police database. It may be your only chance of finding her before it’s too late. If this is Col, he won’t keep Isabelle alive for long.”
The weight on my chest increases. I said earlier I'd do anything to keep Isabelle safe, so shouldn’t that include acquiring the assistance of my arch-nemesis if it guarantees she's returned to me uninjured?
I drift my eyes to Regan. “Regan is here. I’ll call him.”
Brandon exhales a large puff of air.
“Brandon.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for your help. Please keep me updated on Hugo.” My words come out scratchy and strained.
“I will.”
When he disconnects our call, my eyes lift to Regan. Her face is pale, and her eyes are plagued with red rims. “I need to talk to you.”
“Can it wait?” My tone is clipped as fear takes hold. “They’ve taken Isabelle.”
Regan clutches her neck before briskly nodding.
