Isabelle’s pleasurable moans echo throughout the almost barren room. She loves the hold she has over me, and how she’s the only woman who has ever unearthed the real Isaac Holt. If it were anyone but her laying before me, I would have left by now, leaving Catherine with the task of kicking them out.
My life is a stark contradiction now.
I didn’t just lift my game for Isabelle. I did it for Callie as well. They need me at my prime and have me more ruthless than I’ve ever been. My competitors are aware there’s no stone I won’t turn to keep both Isabelle and Callie safe. It has them the most feared they’ve ever been. My reputation has never been more impressive.
Isabella and Callie will never see that side of me, though. They’ll forever see a man who will go to the ends of the earth to keep them safe, one who’d become a killer before he’d ever let anyone hurt them.
I just hope I never have to turn the knife on myself to keep my promise.
3
Isaac
The best protection a woman
can have is courage.
“Are you sure it was him?” When I slouch deeper into my office chair, it gives out a squeak. “Perhaps it was someone who looks like him? Vladimir has many sons.”
Parker sighs, unappreciative of my underhanded comment that perhaps his eyesight isn’t as good as it once was. He has to understand my apprehension. Enrique, Isabelle’s brother who kidnapped and held her at ransom six months ago, was given a one-way ticket to Moscow. He should not be in Vegas, much less leaving postcards on windshields for Isabelle.
Frustration highlights my tone when I say, “I need assurance it’s him before I bring Henry in.”
“Why do you need to bring the Gottles in? I have everything under wraps.” Parker sounds more peeved now than he did when I hinted at his failing eyesight. “Furthermore, Enrique isn’t a threat to Isabelle—”
“Everyone is a threat to Isabelle!” I interrupt, my voice rising enough I may wake Isabelle who is sleeping two doors up. “Even herself.”
After fucking her as I wish I could have against my car yesterday, I fed her, then placed her into bed. Her shift started at six o’clock yesterday morning, so our marathon fuck zapped the last of her energy.
Busy commotion stops sounding through the line when Parker suggests, “Ask Isabelle for the note, then Hunter can run a handwriting analysis on it with a sample I have here. It will prove if the note was from Enrique or not.”
Although his suggestion has merit, I’m apprehensive to do that. Isabelle has kept knowledge of the note’s existence from me, and I want to know why without demanding a straight-up explanation for it. I’m trying to rein in the jealousy issues I have when it comes to Isabelle. As you could see from last night, my skills are lacking.
Not needing words to understand my apprehension, Parker suggests, “What about the video footage from the nightclub? Are there any clues there?”
Even though he can’t see me, I shake my head. “He kept his head down, and the car’s tags were under a business entity Hunter is still trying to unearth. We traced him through the streets of Ravenshoe, but our endeavors were lost when he reached the outskirts of Hopeton.”
“Are you worried he’s the Russian attempting a revival on your side of the country?”
My lips quirk. Usually, Parker would say ‘our’ side of the country. Clearly, he’s been my operative contact in Las Vegas for so long he’s forgotten his roots. To anyone out of my inner circle, he’s the operations manager for my clubs on the West Coast. To me, he’s the man responsible for ensuring Isabelle’s true heritage remains unknown to those with the same blood as hers.
I’m certain Col Petretti blubbered about the origin of Isabelle’s angelic face the instant he uncovered it, but Vladimir appeared disinterested in his knowledge. I can’t help but wonder if his mindset will change when he discovers who has taken up Isabelle’s guardianship. Isabelle is worthless to him, but I have ties he’d love to sink his teeth into, Henry Gottle, Sr. being the most prominent.
As I consider how to answer Parker’s question, I slide my hand into my pocket. The damp lace material bracing my fingertips eases my hesitation. I’ve never had a fascination with collecting panties before. The ones left in my ‘fuck pad’ weren’t gathered and stored by me. The women I slept with long before I realized the hollowness I was attempting to fill couldn’t be done between the sheets left them.
I needed a reason to breathe. Isabelle is that reason, and she’s solely to blame for my constant need to collectherpanties.
My apartment on Hyde was gutted over six months ago. It’s been refurnished, re-leased, and had its security reinstalled. Since I have no reason to visit the place Isabelle should have never been a part of, there’s no need for me to worry about the FBI tagging onto my security systems.
I never thought I’d say this, but I miss Alex being shrouded by my shadow. Not because seeing him waste hours of his day was a highlight of mine, but because if I were still under the FBI’s scrutiny, perhaps they would have captured the face of the man who placed the message on Isabelle’s assigned town car last week. Then, I wouldn’t be left double-guessing every theory.
Remembering Alex and his incessant need to do anything Regan asks, a brilliant idea pops into my head. I sit straight in my chair, my mood returning to what it was when Isabelle screamed my name in the midst of ecstasy last night.
“Have Hunter forward me the video footage from my club. He has access to the best facial recognition system money can buy, but I know of one that’s so invaluable, it doesn’t have a price tag attached to it.”
I hear Parker adjust his position before he murmurs, “All right.”
He sounds hesitant but knows best not to deny any command I make. He’s so eager to meet my demand, he disconnects our call without issuing a farewell. It’s for the best. The first syllable had only just left his mouth when my receptiveness of Isabelle activated.
