It’s been a while.
Cut me some slack.
Recognition that Alex skipped the etiquette side of supervisor training is exposed when he mutters at Isabelle, “Once you’re in a dress and a pair of stilettos, Isaac won’t care you’re a brunette.”
“Once you have a personality transplant and a plastic groin inserted, nobody will care you’re a Ken doll,” Isabelle fires back, proving she’s as quick-witted as she is beautiful.
My ears rouse when Alex whispers to Isabelle, “I know who your uncle was. I know his reputation, but you need to learn your place. You were only brought here as a distraction for Isaac. He never lets anyone in, and you’re supposed to be our way in.”
Isabelle’s reply is fast, but I only catch half of it since I’m out the door faster than a rocket.
“If you’re this quick between the sheets, no wonder why I haven’t seen you with a woman in years.” Grayson chuckles down the line, believing I’m returning his call to update him on the bank records he’s chasing for his continued search to find Katie Bryne, a girl he met once many moons ago. She was abducted from a town not too far from here.
Grayson’s chuckles diminish when I ask, “How does Alex know Tobias?”
“Everyone knew Tobias. He was an integral part of the FBI.”
He has a point, so I extend the perimeter of my scope. “How does Alex know about Tobias’s daughter, Isabelle, and that she calls him her uncle?”
“He doesn’t know Tobias referred to Isabelle as his daughter, but the uncle reference is standard. Her birth certificate had Tobias’s brother, Abraham, cited as her father. Remember, we improved its authenticity the day you pushed her application through the correct channels? She wouldn’t have gotten in the door with the identification she was handing over.”
“Fuck, I forgot about that.” Tobias was skilled at keeping people hidden, but his documentation wasn’t the best at the end of his career, so you can imagine how poor it was twenty years ago. “Seeing Isabelle again threw me off. My head isn’t screwed on right.”
“Isabelle Brahn is in Ravenshoe?” Grayson sounds as shocked as I felt when she walked into HQ.
“Yes!” He can’t see me, but I nod, nonetheless. “It looks like Alex brought her in as a Honey Pot for Isaac.”
“Whoa. Are you fuckin’ serious?” His voice is a cross between a laugh and groan. “I heard she was a knockout from a rookie who joined my team last month, but Leesa’s stunt had all sups stepping back from using fresh recruits as Honey Pots. If they don’t end up dead, their entire team could be debunked like ours was, so none are willing to risk it.” He stops talking for a bit, the sound of him scratching his beard the only noise resonating down the line. “For Alex to go this far, he must be desperate. Maybe hold back and see how it plays out.”
“I can’t hold back.”
A chair squeaks like Grayson is adjusting his position. He’s more a sloucher than a shoulders-rolled-back, spine-straight type of guy. “Why, Brandon? Because you’ve transferred your hero complex from Melody to Isabelle?”
I make a pfft noise. “It has nothing to do with that.” It does, but I sure as fuck don’t want to be called out on it. Although I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s a hero complex. Seeing the lost blankness in Isabelle’s eyes when she was grappling with Alex reminded me what it felt like to have no one on your side. It’s an experience I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, let alone an orphan who has nothing. “We’re friends, that’s all.”
I picture Grayson’s cell phone speaker being coated with spit when he blows a raspberry. “Friends like you were with Melody? Or the friendship you had with Olivia? You know how this will end, punk. It’s not worth it, so step back now before you get burned for the second time.”
BRANDON
TWO MONTHS LATER…
T his sucks to admit, and never in a trillion years did I think I’d ever say this, but Grayson was right two months ago. The burn this time around is nothing compared to what I experienced when Melody left me, nor the event I’m endeavoring to forget five years ago, but my ‘friendship’ with Isabelle definitely has enough sting to it to cause a blister.
It’s not my fault I can’t step back. For years, I was programmed to protect, honor, obey, and serve. It isn’t something I can easily switch off, especially when it comes to women. If I didn’t step forward to help Isabelle, Alex’s plan to make her the Honey Pot of his operation will end as disastrously as the sting that claimed Tobias’s life. That isn’t an unfavorable chance. It’s a statistic. It just won’t be Alex left reeling once all is said and done. That burden will be solely placed on Isabelle’s shoulders.
Isabelle has not yet fallen for Alex’s ruse, but she has failed to notice how he’s inconspicuously placing her on Isaac’s radar. Between sending her to gather coffees from a local baker at the exact time Isaac has been observed in the area by the surveillance crew following his every move, to granting her a weekend off so she can release some of the pent-up wildness in her eyes with the hope it will initiate the natural dominance that beams out of Isaac anytime Isabelle is in his vicinity, he’s all but dangling her in front of Isaac, luring him to take a moral-eradicating bite.
Alex’s ploys are older than the handbook they are taught from, but regretfully, Isabelle seems blind to his deception. She doesn’t realize how far some men go to snare their targets because she was raised by a man who valued respect above anything.
As was I.
That’s why I’m here at a dance club in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint and better clientele, ordering the largest cocktail on the menu, praying the wooziness it will cause Isabelle’s head will have her failing to notice Isaac eyeballing her from the corner of the room.
Now I understand why Alex slipped pamphlets for this nightclub into the break room at HQ earlier this week. Isaac is known for spending his Friday nights scouting new business endeavors. Alex must have caught wind that Isaac would be here tonight.
I could let Alex know I’m onto his ruse, but just like Grayson and I have kept our connection on the down-low, I’m going to keep this set of cards close to my chest as well. A good agent never lets his unease be announced prematurely because it isn’t about the hand you’ve been dealt but what you make of it that counts.
When I replace Isabelle’s bottle of water with the mammoth cocktail I just purchased, her nose screws up, but before she can voice a single worry I see in her eyes, I say, “Who knows when we might get another day off?”
