I shouldn’t laugh. It’s a dick move. But you can’t see what I’m seeing. Regan is primed and ready to pounce, and although most of her stance is about protecting Isaac, I see the spark that’s solely for me, the one that reveals she’ll defend me as honorably as she does him. She is so fierce, she’s got enough guts to protect us both—if I’m willing to accept that.
After scrubbing the stubble on my chin, I say, “It is my moral obligation to bring criminals to justice.”
Regan’s lips quirk. “It is, so why aren’t you seeking therealperson responsible for Dane’s death?” She lowers her toughened stance, which in turn loosens the tautness on her beautiful face. If only it could do the same thing to the stabbing ache in my chest. “You’ve spent six years on this case, Alex, so what’s a few hours looking at the evidence with a fresh pair of eyes?”
She’s right, I’m just fucking scared. What if I discover it was my fault? What if I am the reason Dane got shot? Could I live with that guilt for the rest of my life?
Regan proves she knows me better than anyone when she says, “Your guilt can’t get any worse than it already is. You’re at the top of the stack, Alex.”
She knows this because she too lives her life with guilt. I already take blame for Dane’s injury, and nothing will change that, so I have no reason to fear unearthing new evidence.
With that in mind, I lock my eyes with Regan and nod. I’m not siding with a criminal; I’m putting her needs before anyone else’s—even my own.
Thirty-Six
Regan
Several pots of coffee later, we’ve unearthed a lot of new evidence. The rockface Henry’s crew removed Gabriele from after he was taken down by the driver of my getaway car was in the direction Alex fired at before he charged down the meadow field. The high caliber weapon had a state-of-the art scope, meaning the shot he fired at Alex’s knee was purposeful. He could have killed Alex, but since the head he was hunting was blocked by Alex’s broad chest, he maimed him with the hope his fall would make Dane a sitting duck. He failed to factor in Alex’s determination, so he had no clue Alex would shelter Dane’s body with his own.
Although Gabriele’s death was never reported, his “family” held a candlelight vigil at a local parish the week following the incident at Substanz. Isaac has always said Henry is a good man; he just works in the wrong industry. Allowing Gabriele’s family to mourn his loss would have put Henry’s syndicate at risk, but it was a risk Henry was willing to take so a mother could grieve her son. He’s “allegedly” done the same thing many times during his reign.
With numerous cash transactions and a handful of scribbled notes, we discovered the man who directed Isaac and me to the railway tracks was working on behalf of Henry. He appears to have completed many transactions for Henry the prior four years. Much to Alex’s dismay, we’ve yet to unearth his name. I doubt that will hinder Alex long, though. He’s determined to bring him to justice. To him, criminals are algae on the bottom of the pond, but rogue agents are even more perverse than that.
My eyes cease scanning bank reports from Substanz when Alex hands me a sheet of paper. “What’s this?”
My heart rate triples when I realize it is the document Brandon gave me last week when he tried to convince me Isaac was keeping things from Isabelle. It must have slipped into my briefcase by mistake. “Not a part of this investigation.”
When I attempt to snatch the document out of Alex’s hand, he lifts it out of my reach. “It has the same figure deposited into an account on the same day every month for six years. If that isn’t a pay-off, I don’t know what is.” The accusation in his tone isn’t shocking, but it is annoying.
“It’s not a pay-off. Isaac doesn’t hire hitmen. It’s. . .”
My words trail off when I can’t find the appropriate thing to call it. Isaac wasn’t funding Dane’s living expenses because he was guilty of shooting him. He just can’t stand the thought of anyone suffering like he did after Ophelia’s death. This isn’t proof of a wrongdoing. It’s testimony that there are still good people in the world. You’ve just got to dig through a hole heap of shit to find them.
In an instant, the color drains from Alex’s face. He rummages through his desk drawer until he finds a checkbook at the bottom. When he spreads it across the document so he can match up the sequence numbers with the account number the deposits were made into, he handles it so roughly, the top check rips.
“They match,” Alex announces at the same time I ask why he has a checkbook for Kristin in his drawer.
He swallows numerous times before explaining, “Things have been tough for her since Dane passed. I’ve been helping her stay ahead.” He chuckles, but it is a pained laugh. “That’s why I’m driving that piece of shit you saw in the parking lot. I can’t keep the girls fed, clothed, and have a nice car. Kids are expensive.”
“Kristin’s broke?” When Alex nods, I ask, “Then how can she afford a $180 hat, $2000 stilettos, and a coat with fur that cost $200 an ounce wholesale? With markup, you’re looking at a very expensive outfit, one I’ve envied many times the past twenty-four hours.”
Alex peers at me, shocked and confused. At first, I assume his surprise centers around my extensive knowledge of clothing, but it doesn’t take long to realize that isn’t the cause of his hanging jaw. I’m well known for my love of designer babies. It’s his shock that I’ve met Kristin fueling his bewilderment.
“When?” Alex asks, his tone low.
“Yesterday.” I peer down at my watch that reveals it is a little after 3 AM. “Well, technically, two days ago now.”
“Christmas day?”
I nod. “I saw you with Addi. She’s adorable.”
A proud sparkle glimmers in Alex’s eyes. “She is adorable. . . and a handful.”
My giggle softens to a husky purr when he scoots his chair closer to mine. Because we’ve spent the last several hours working side by side, we’re on the same side of his desk. I won’t lie; it’s been pure torture not responding to the occasional brush of his thigh against mine, much less his hot, virile scent.
“If you saw us, why didn’t you come over and say hello?”
My nose screws up. “I didn’t want to interrupt.” I try to keep jealousy out of my tone. I do a horrible job.
