When the dark BMW pulls into a derelict warehouse on the outskirts of Hopeton to drop Isabelle off, I use one of the many burnt-out cars scattered around my location to hide my piece of shit sedan. When a lack of government funds forced me to purchase my own vehicle, I nearly splurged, but Isla’s eight thousand dollar dental bill squashed that idea as quickly as it arrived. She needed braces more than I needed a nice car.
Kristin returned to work three months ago, but she’s not close to taking over the financial reins I’ve been holding since Dane’s death. I honestly don’t know if she’ll ever be ready. I had no clue kids were so expensive. It makes me wonder if that’s why Regan made the decision she did nearly a year ago. She knew the financial burden of having a baby. Although it’s a piss poor excuse, one I would have happily argued against if given the chance, it makes my anger not as intense as it once was.
My thoughts return to the present when Isabelle and Isaac exit the warehouse from the same partially open door Isabelle entered ten minutes ago. Isaac is carrying Isabelle in his arms, his hold displaying his arrogant dominance. I wait for him to place her into the passenger seat of his flashy sportscar, throw a shirt over his sweat-slicked body, and dart out of the warehouse lot like a madman before firing up my engine.
Isaac annoys the fuck out of me, but I can put aside my disdain long enough to admit he’s admirably cunning. I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s absconded from the surveillance team who tail his every movement. I want to say all his fleeing skills are thanks to his expensive ride, but that would be a lie. He hasn’t flown under the FBI radar so long for no reason.
He’s good at keeping his hands clean.
* * *
Have you ever been torn between doing what is morally right and acting ignorant for the greater good? I’m facing that issue right now. Isabelle is in Isaac’s apartment, the one opposite Regan’s old crash pad. She’s been in there long enough I’m confident the murmurs trickling over the state of the art headphones covering my ears aren’t sentences, but not long enough for guilt to force me to do the right thing.
She isn’t doing anything against her wishes. The instant she refused to go undercover in Isaac’s case, I put her on desk duty, so anything happening in his apartment is not on my shoulders. But no matter how many times I’ve told myself that the past hour, my heart won’t listen.
Fuck!
This is too similar to the ruse Theresa pulled on Regan and me. There are too many similarities at play for me to ignore this. I don’t need to shut down this operation, but I need to ensure Isabelle is aware of what is at stake here.
I throw my headphones onto the desk, startling Reid. “Shut down surveillance and remove any footage we’ve obtained the past hour from our servers.”
Reid looks like he wants to argue, but he knows better than to question me. It’s a pity I don’t need to hear his words to see them.
“She was our agent before she was his. . .whatever.I have to fix this.” I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but I know it’s the right thing to do.
My campaign to right my wrongs goes to shit when an attractive blonde captures my attention outside of Isaac’s apartment building. A woman with remarkably similar features to Regan is sliding out of the back of a cab. Her hair sits the same length as Regan’s the last time I saw her; her smile the same, and even the swell of her chest is oddly similar. There is just one difference: she has a bright pink stripe down one side of her hair.
Even knowing the woman climbing back into the taxi to gather something from the back seat isn’t Regan, I can’t stop myself from moving toward her. “Rae?”
The blonde clambers onto the sidewalk before spinning around to face me. Although the first thing my eyes should lock in on is her face, a squeal of jubilation steals my devotion. The bag I thought she was climbing into the taxi to gather isn’t a bag; it’s a baby strapped in a car seat. He has spiky blond hair and a cheeky grin that exposes two little teeth in the top of his otherwise gummy mouth. His eyes are as blue as mine, his jaw just as square. He’s a cute little thing. . . even with his familiarities sending my heart rate skyrocketing.
After shaking my head to clear some of the confusion, I raise my eyes to the blonde. I take a step back when the face doesn’t match the one permanently embedded in my memory. She is beautiful—insanely gorgeous—but she isn’t Rae.
“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
I don’t wait for her to respond before pivoting on my heels and darting down the jam-packed sidewalk. I don’t know where I’m going, and I have no clue what I’ll do when I get there, but I need to get as far away from here as possible, because that blonde and her adorable little baby are taking my fond memories and turning them into horribly bitter ones.
Thirteen
Regan
“What are your thoughts on your apartment?”
Raquel sighs. If I didn’t know her as well as I did, I’d assume she’s hating her first taste of Ravenshoe. It’s a pity I know her better than I’ve known myself the past twelve months.
“It’s good. It’s a great size, and it’s really beautiful, but I’m reasonably sure it’s beyond my means.” She sighs for the second time. “Are you sure it’s only $500 a month?”
“Yes,” I lie. “Someone died in the apartment across from yours, so no one wants to rent any of the apartments on that floor.” I wouldn’t have lied if I was concerned it would ruffle Raquel’s feathers, but unlike me, she loves blood and gore.
“Was that Axel?” I ask when a coo sounds down the line, hoping to use him as a distraction from the deceit in my tone.
Raquel follows along nicely. “Yeah, he’s hungry. . . or pooping? I haven’t worked out all his expressions yet.”
I laugh. Raquel is too hard on herself. She is a damn good mother, one I hope to emulate one day. Pretending my surprised confession was a consequence of the hormones running rampant through my veins, I switch from perusing pretty dresses to overpriced shoes and handbags. With my mood at an all-time low, I’ve spoiled myself with a weekend shopping expedition in New York City. It is a delayed birthday gift to myself since I’m another year closer to thirty.
Regrettably, splurging is not having the effect I was aiming for. I’ll always love my designer babies, but after having a taste of what love can really be like, materialistic things aren’t cutting the mustard. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not referring to my brief fling with an FBI agent who has caused more stings to my backside the past twelve months than he did when he spanked it raw. It centers solely around Axel and his adorable little face.
Mostly.
