“How?”
Ellie takes over the reins. “You’re not the only one chasing Castro. A specialist team has been on his tail for months. From what I’ve heard, it’s a joint CIA/FBI operation, which makes no sense whatsoever since Castro is a US citizen.” Realizing she’s getting off track, she waves her hand through the air, shooing away her inquisitiveness before starting again. “Anyhow, the lead on the case discovered Castro is after a new mark.”
“Roxanne?”
“No,” Smith and Ellie say in sync. “This woman.”
My brows join when Ellie sets down a photograph of Isabelle Brahn. “What does Isaac’s girlfriend have to do with this?”
“Nothing,” Ellie says with a grin, pleased by the confusion in my tone. “Castro merely thinks she’s this woman.”
She hands another photograph to me. Just like Isabelle’s image, I immediately recognize the blonde in the photograph. When I told Brandon James I did some digging, I wasn’t lying. Not only did Smith discover he’s the son of the New York governor—who I happen to have ties with—we also unearthed his first love, mindful not even the ultimate betrayal can break a connection between soulmates. Take Smith and Ellie’s joint operation as an example.
“Castro wants Melody Gregg so badly, he’s willing to come out of hiding to get her. He purchased tickets to an event Isabelle was set to attend as Melody this weekend.” Air whizzes from Ellie’s nose when she exhales deeply. “Unfortunately, the stunt was siphoned down the gurgler a couple of minutes ago.”
“Why?” I don’t mean to be blunt. I’m merely lost as to why they’ll build up my eagerness only to squash it like an ant a second later.
“Isabelle Brahn was just arrested,” Smith informs, his tone low.
I shrug like it’s no big deal. “Have a replacement brought in. Castro is like my father. He can’t tell the difference between one blonde and another.”
“We can’t. It’s too late,” Ellie replies. “The lead on this case released Isabelle’s image on a report she wrote up about Melody Gregg. Castro doesn’t just have a name to go off on anymore, he has a face.”
“She’s a fucking woman not a priceless painting. Surely, you can find someone with similar features.”
I know what I’m saying is wrong. I am just too filled with anguish to rope in my arrogance. This is the only solid lead we’ve had in hours, and it’s for a function that’s days away.
I can’t wait days.
For every hour Roxanne is gone, her chances of survival greatly decrease. She’s already been at Rimi’s mercy for over twenty-four hours. I could already be too late.
Furthermore, I’m beginning to suspect her kidnapping isn’t about money. Audrey’s ransom landed in my inbox almost instantaneously with her kidnapping. That hasn’t occurred this time around, making me believe Roxanne’s captives want to drain my veins, not my bank accounts.
The best way for them to do that is to kill Roxanne.
I won’t let that happen.
I’ll become as vicious and relentless as my father before I’d ever let that happen.
With that in mind, I ask, “How can we get Isabelle to the event Castro will be at?”
Smith smiles as if I fell straight into the trap he set for me. “Simple. Get Isabelle out of lock-up.”
I give him a look, warning him to dull down the antics before growling through clenched teeth, “She was arrested in Ravenshoe. I don’t have jurisdiction there.”
He completely ignores my threatening glare. “But you know the man who does.”
I fall back into my chair with a laugh. It reveals how unhinged I am. “I’m not siding with Isaac.”
“Why not?”
With my anger too perverse to hold back, I shout, “Because although he didn’t hold a gun to my sister’s head, he is the reason she’s dead! If he had just forfeited the fight, Ophelia and CJ would still be here, and I wouldn’t be left dealing with all my father’s shit by myself.”
I didn’t mean to express my last sentence out loud, but I’m glad I couldn’t hold back when it forces Ellie to use the non-agent side of her head. “Get Brandon to ask Isaac for help.” She angles her body to face Smith. “You saw the way he protected Isabelle during her arrest. He cares for her, but—”
“He’s still in love with his ex, so he’ll always choose to place Isabelle into the fire over her,” Smith fills in, gleaming. “Who were the arresting officers?”
They stop shuffling through papers when I mutter out, “You won’t find them.” I smirk at the shock on their faces before adding, “If Isabelle was my sister, and she needed someone to protect her during her arrest, you’d never find the officers responsible for it. The cartel doesn’t leave evidence, and neither does the Russian mob.”
