Twenty-Three
Alex
My feet stomping down the stairwell of Regan’s apartment chops up my words when I say, “Isaac knows about the IA’s investigation into Isabelle.”
“That can’t be right,” Reid responds down the line. “You kept her investigation in house, meaning only Isabelle, the investigating officers, and us know about it.”
“Don’t forget the union rep Isabelle had sit in with her during her interview.”
My lungs, which are working through a bad case of oxygen deprivation, get jealous from Reid’s sharp inhalation of air. “Brandon’s your snitch.” Since he isn’t asking a question, it doesn’t sound like one. “It makes sense: expensive clothes, designer shoes, and a car way beyond his means.”
“And a position on Theresa’s team back in her glory days, right around the time Regan was thrusted into my line of sight.”
A chair creaks seconds before Reid curses. “Where was he transferred to when Theresa stood down?”
“Good question, one of many I plan to find out.” I break onto the sidewalk outside of Regan’s apartment before asking, “Where are you?”
“Wherever you need me to be.”
I smirk. “Good answer.”
After requesting for Reid to meet me at HQ, I hang up and dial Regan’s number. Although I feel bad leaving like I did, when my gut is throwing me this many warnings, I must act on them.
Although, if being totally honest, I also need some time to decipher what she confessed this evening. Don’t get me wrong, I believe what she said. I’ve just been harboring hurt so long that she aborted my baby, I’m having a hard time separating fact from fiction. I’m sure once I’ve had a few minutes to stop and contemplate, I’ll know which step to take next, and you can be assured it will be a step in the right direction. What Regan said earlier is true. We’re adults who need to start acting like adults.
That would be a shit ton easier to do if she’d answer my call.
She doesn’t answer my first call or the second one. Not even the third.
I don’t hear from her again until her name is listed on the opposing side of an arrest warrant.
* * *
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
Brandon balks before the panicked expression on his face clears away. Stupid move. I’m so fucking angry right now, I’m two seconds from popping a bullet between his brows.
Not only did I discover halfway into my investigation that one of my agents has been arrested for murder, I also haven’t had any contact with Regan. None. Not even with over sixty attempts to reach her. My frustration is at an all-time high, meaning Brandon would be best not to double-cross me—again.
I stop abruptly at Brandon’s side, cautious to avoid other court goers from crashing into me as they scoot by. “I asked you to show me how to work her laptop, not steal information off her computer!”
Brandon shakes his head, futilely trying to deny my claims, but his eyes give away his true self. He’s a liar and a manipulator.
“Regan thinks I stole information from her.” My hissed words reveal my teetering mood. “That I used her to better my position.”
“That was never my intention. I had no plans to use the information I found; I just forgot that anything uploaded to the Bureau’s servers remain uploaded no matter how great your hacking skills are.”
The anger running through my veins quickly shifts me from Brandon’s superior officer to a man destined for revenge. “You forgot?! How can you fucking forget me instructing you to log out of her computer ten minutes before you did?”
I thrust a computer log printout into his chest, the one that proves he was still logged into Regan’s laptop when she got out of the shower. “If that isn’t enough proof, how about this?”
My nostrils flare when I spin my phone around to show him the photo I have on the screen. It displays Regan in a skimpy white towel with wet hair and a confused wrinkle between her brows. It’s from the morning I told her I loved her.
“You were watching her—”
“No.” Brandon shakes his head. “I logged out the instant she entered the room.”
“The instant she entered the room in nothing but a towel.” My voice is so loud, it startles several people galloping down the courthouse stairs we’re standing next to. “What if she didn’t have a towel on? What if she were naked?”
