I ignore Grayson’s advice by replying, “I don’t know what to think.” Because in all honesty, I don’t. Isaac’s case is trickier than the men I’ve previously investigated. His empire doesn’t dabble in drugs, the prostitute conglomerate, or underage sex trafficking rings. Other than having Henry Gottle, Sr.’s number on speed dial, he seems like a legitimate businessman.
Does that mean he’s undeserving of the Bureau’s scrutiny? No, it doesn’t. My father presents himself as an upstanding moral citizen as well, and he’s as conniving as they come. Isaac is shady. That alone deserves scrutiny.
But I won’t pass that knowledge onto a woman who could possibly be sharing his bed. “But I will say one thing, I’ve been part of this investigation for nearly a year, and I’ve not yet stumbled on one shred of information that corroborates Alex’s presumptions of Isaac.”
A confused crinkle pops between Isabelle’s brows. “Do you think he’s hiding something?”
“Are we still talking about Isaac, or have we switched to Alex?”
Grayson’s warning growl to keep his brother out of this almost drowns out Isabelle’s reply, “Both.”
“Everyone is hiding something, Isabelle.” I lock my eyes with hers before breathing out, “Even you.”
Like all women stuck in a situation they never anticipated, she doesn’t refute my highly accurate recount of events. I don’t necessarily believe she’s lying to me, but she is definitely hiding secrets behind the massive barrier she forever places between us.
Perhaps this will help her lower them.
“Speaking of secrets, that file you requested has arrived.”
When her eyes snap to mine, I nudge my head to my leather satchel hanging on one of her dining table chairs. I’ve taken out anything that links Hugo to a rape I’m not yet convinced he committed, but it has the basic information Isabelle is seeking.
“Can I?”
When I lift my chin for the second time, she smacks an overzealous peck onto my cheek. It causes Grayson to release a sequence of moans I’d give anything never to hear again.
His goading doesn’t last long. My mention of his brother the second time tonight shuts him up rather quickly. “You have to promise Alex will never find—”
“Alex will never know,” Isabelle interrupts, her eyes the most honest they’ve ever been. “I promise, Brandon.”
“Once this is done and dusted, you better tell me what’s the go with the two of them.”
I peer at my reflection in the mirror of Isabelle’s dining room before dropping my chin, approving Grayson’s request without words.
When he hums out a similar agreement, I rib Isabelle with my elbow. “Come on, I’m dying.”
I’ve scrutinized every single word in the report she’s about to read more than once, but I’m anxious to observe her response. Will she look at the report through the eyes of an agent or a civilian? How she responds will guide how Grayson and I will handle our joint investigation from here on out.
After brushing away a tear sitting high on her cheek a few minutes later, Isabelle says, “That’s incredibly sad, but it doesn’t warrant the shroud of secrecy.”
“No, but this does.” I hand her a heavily redacted court document. It wasn’t like this in the file Melody gave me, but I can’t unlock all my secrets in one go, or this will end even more disastrously than a skeptic like me could have predicted.
Isabelle’s silence reveals she’s aware of the name on the police report she is perusing, but she keeps her cards close to her chest.
I do my best to change that. “Roberto didn’t do any time behind bars, even with being arrested at the scene and recording a blood-alcohol level three times over the legal limit. His name was never reported in any news or press articles. He would have had to give the DA something substantial to get a plea that lenient.”
“Or someone,” Isabelle mutters, her voice surprisingly firm for how wet her eyes are.
I’m about to ask her if she has any idea about who that could be, but the tapping of keyboard keys stops me. Grayson only ever punishes his keys when he’s pissed at someone attempting to undermine his hacking work.
I twist to face the kitchen before pointing out the saucepan hidden beneath a plume of black smoke. “Hey, Izzy. Is that supposed to be smoking like that?”
Isabelle’s eyes bulge out of her head. “Shit. The Mariana sauce.”
When she races to the kitchen to save our dinner, I devote my attention to Grayson. “What’s going on?”
His words come out jarringly, compliments to how hard he’s hitting the keys on his keyboard. “Someone is attempting to piggyback my feed.”
“Which feed?”
