The remorse in her eyes triples when she stammers out, “The instant our lips brushed, I knew it was you, but by then, it was too late.” Her eyes dance between mine. “I know that hurt you to see, but I was trying to keep Isabelle off Theresa’s radar. She had done enough damage to Isaac’s life, so I did everything in my power to stop her from inflicting more. I swear, at the beginning, I truly thought Theresa was there.”
Nodding, I gather a document from my desk drawer. Regan’s eyes track my hands when I slide a photo across to her. “What’s that?” I see the recognition dawn on her face the instant her question leaves her mouth, so I don’t answer her. “That fucking bitch. She was there?”
She picks up the photo Reid printed off the restored servers the morning following my rampage. Although I destroyed their outer shells, the hardware was still good.
“We also uncovered images of Theresa at the gala Isabelle and Brandon attended.” My nose screws up. “Amongst other things.”
Regan’s hand freezes midair as her eyes float to mine. “Other things?”
I give her a look. It should tell her everything she needs to know.
It doesn’t. “You have images of Isaac and Izzy fucking in the supply room?!”
“What? No!” My eyes bounce between hers. “They fucked in the supply closet?”
Regan shakes her head while grinning like a Cheshire cat. “No.”
Some things never change. She’s still the worst liar I know.
“I meant the images of Enrique Popov. Isabelle’s brother.”
I throw out a bone, hoping Regan will catch it. She does before adding meat to my scarcely covered bone. “We were unaware at the time that Enrique was Isabelle’s brother. That didn’t come to light until Isaac organized his extradition to Russia.”
Her reply ends days of speculation, but I act coy. “Why are you sharing this with me now? You must understand that admitting guilt on behalf of your client is still an admission of guilt.”
She twists her lips, revealing she isn’t buying my threat. She knows I’m full of shit because she is as smart as she is beautiful. “If you want to use the information I told you, go ahead, but I’ll forever deny it.”
Although I don’t like that she is defending Isaac, the gleam in her eyes during our banter helps me see things clearly. She’s not choosing Isaac over me. She’s doing the job he pays her to do, and she’s doing it well.
Regan sits straighter in her chair. “But the real reason I am here is her.”
She hands me a recently printed document. My stomach swirls when I take it in. I’ve seen documents like this before; they were often used in the sex trafficking ring I went undercover in as a rookie. But instead of the photo showing a girl of barely legal age, it has the photo of a child attached. She would be around Addi’s age, which is close to four.
“Who is this?”
My eyes lift to Regan when she answers, “Callie Popov. Isabelle’s three-year-old sister.” She fiddles with the hem of her blouse as she strives to pretend her eyes aren’t welling with tears. “Isaac bought her from Vladimir.”
My pulse flutters as recognition dawns. “That’s what the two—”
“Point four million dollar payment was for? Yes,” Regan interrupts.
She hands me a second document. It’s an agreement of purchase that shows Isaac was the successful bidder for Callie. The receipt of payment matches the date Isaac’s bank account was drained of two point four million dollars. If these documents were handed to me from anyone besides Regan, I would have never believed them. But since they’re from her, a woman I know can’t lie even when it’s for her benefit, I’m more open to their authenticity.
“Isaac isn’t who you think he is, Alex.”
I want to believe her, but I can’t. Isaac killed Dane. He may not have pulled the trigger, but he ordered someone to do it on his behalf.
My brows furrow when Regan slides another document under my nose. It isn’t something a woman of her grace would typically possess. It is a photo of a man with a bullet hole between his lifeless eyes.
“That is—”
“Gabriele Francesco,” I interrupt. “He was on the FBI hit list for years before he disappeared.”
“Did he vanish six years ago?” Regan asks, her tone high. “Right around the time an FBI agent carried his injured partner down a field on his back?”
“You saw that?”
A tear threatens to roll down Regan’s cheek when she nods. “Isaac didn’t order for Dane to be shot, Alex. He stopped both of you from being killed that night.”
