The instant Isabelle bit back at my demand she go undercover in Isaac’s empire, I knew the surveillance images my crew acquired of them the weekend they flew to Ravenshoe were accurate. They had an immediate connection. How do I know this? The fireworks sparking between them as they walked down the jet bridge side by side was as blinding as the ones that forever ignited between Regan and me.
Isabelle is forging her way into Isaac’s empire as I had planned months ago, except I’m not forcing her to follow my ruse with the underhanded, scheming tricks Theresa used. I’m just sitting back and watching the show unfold. It’s quite simple, really. The more I strive to keep Isaac off Isabelle’s radar, the harder she fights to keep him in her sights. It’s a brilliant ploy, and not a single rule has been broken to make it happen.
I’m so confident Isabelle is the key to unlocking Isaac’s years of criminal activities, I’m not afraid of putting all my eggs into the one basket. Isaac’s arrest may not happen tomorrow; it may not happen next month, but I know it will happen eventually.
I just need Isabelle to unlock his vault load of secrets first, then I’ll be able to use them against him.
Returning my eyes to Reid, I say, “No matter what you have to do, keep on him 24/7.”
* * *
“You can’t lose an entire fucking plane. It’s a plane, for crying out loud!” I bang my phone onto my desk three times to replicate what I wish my fists could do to Reid’s face before pushing it back against my ear. “They have to log a flight plan; did you check with the airstrip they flew out of?”
“They want a warrant.” Reid’s low tone reveals he is as frustrated as me.
I throw my hand into the air. “Then give them a fucking warrant.”
“I tried. His lawyer is blocking me at every chance.”
And there’s the real reason my anger is so firm. For months, any move I make in my investigation of Isaac, Regan blocks. Even something as simple as bringing Isaac in for questioning concerning a recent building application lodged under a false alias was denied by his legal team.
My team is already being strangled by bureaucratic bullshit, let alone crap that shouldn’t enter the equation. Regan is pissed, for what? I have no fucking clue! I didn’t break her heart and leave her a miserable, grumbly bastard who spends more hours cranky than he does happy. She did that to me!
I exhale a big breath to calm my anger before asking more coolly, “Do you have confirmed footage of Isabelle boarding the plane with Isaac?”
“Yes,” Reid confirms, his tone confident.
“Can you take those images and add them to the FBI database? If they land at a commercial airstrip, we have a chance of tracking down their location.”
Air whizzes through Reid’s teeth. “I can do that, but it will take a couple of hours. If they land before I’ve thrown out my net, I’ll miss them.”
My ticking jaw is heard in my reply, “It’s better than sitting there, twiddling your fucking thumbs, isn’t it?”
“True.” Reid isn’t the slightest bit concerned by my vicious snarl. “I’ll get right on it.”
When he disconnects our call, I throw down the receiver of my phone before slouching into my chair. While my brain struggles to get my heart on board with its plans, I run my fingers through my recently cut hair. Since I’m still without my beard, my hair has taken its place when I need to let off steam.
Before either my heart or brain can talk my ego out of it, I snatch up my cell phone and dial a number I had Brandon track down nearly six months ago.
Regan answers my call several seconds later. “Regan Myers, how can I help you?”
“Stop blocking my investigation. If your client has nothing to hide, you have no reason to deny my requests.”
I hear a chair creak before, “I’m sorry, who is this? I missed your name at the start of our conversation.”
My grip on my phone tightens. She knows who I am, she’s just twisting in the knife she stabbed into my heart months ago.
“Alex Rogers, leader of the Ravenshoe division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m calling in regards to your client, Isaac Holt,” I grind out through clenched teeth.
“Isaac Holt, did you say?” The shuffling of papers barely drowns out the smart-ass, condescending tone her voice is laced with. “Hmm, are you sure you have the right number? I don’t have a client of that name in my records.”
“I’ve sent requests to your office myself, Rae; don’t treat me like an idiot,” I seethe.
My unplanned use of her favorite nickname halts her retaliation for barely a second. “Clearly, you’re mistaken, Mr. Rogers, as there is no one by that name here either!”
She slams down her phone so hard, its brutal bang breaks through my pulse shrilling in my ears. I clutch my cell so hard, the screen is seconds from cracking.
It does when I send it flying across my office.
