“Until?” Ryan asks, as invested in Nikolai’s reply as me.
His Russian accent is more pronounced when he mutters, “Until the Grim Reaper realizes my plane hasn’t landed, so he has to come to collect his debts himself.”
“Vladimir Popov is coming here? To Ravenshoe?” Ryan almost chokes on his spit when Nikolai dips his chin. “Fuck.” He leans in close to my side and whispers, “We want him, but there’s some shit going down right now that will end badly if he turns up.”
His words were for me, but Nikolai uses them to his advantage. “Hence, the reason you’re going to let me go.”
“Sit the fuck down,” Ryan demands when Nikolai stands to his feet like he’s ready to walk out a free man.
“You have nothing on me,” Nikolai roars, his temper as frayed as mine when he locks his icy blue eyes with me and snarls, “But you will lose everything if he sees her. They’re too similar, and he won’t give a fuck if she has his blood or not.”
“Who is he talking about?” Ryan asks, lost.
“No one of interest to you,” I snap out before Nikolai can disclose Isabelle’s secret. I angle my torso to face Ryan before adding, “But he’s right. You have nothing to hold him on.”
Ryan scoffs, huffs, and wheezes, but since he can’t deny my highly accurate statement, not a word seeps from his thinned lips.
“Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it.” My eyes narrow as thinly as Ryan’s when Nikolai waggles his brows. “Within reason. I can’t be bought.”
Nikolai scoffs off my claim. “Everyone can be bought. Even the Grim Reaper himself. You just haven’t been looking in the right direction.”
55
As the lights of a private jet flash in the cloudy night sky, I shift on my feet to face Ryan. His dark brows are drawn together, and even with it being late in the evening, I don’t see him getting sleep anytime soon. He’s exhausted but determining if he just skirted the law is more important to him than lessening the dark rings circling his eyes.
“You can’t have it both ways, Ryan. You either had to let Nikolai go or go against the likes of Vladimir with charges that won’t stick no matter how much you coat them with Super Glue.” In a rare show of comradery, I place my hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “And it isn’t like you walked away with nothing. You’re just looking closer at the Petrettis now instead of the Popovs.”
Over the long day and almost certain it couldn’t get any worse, I farewell Ryan with a dip of my chin before heading for my vehicle parked out front. I knew it was late, but I’m left a little flabbergasted when the clock on my phone’s screen announces it is an hour from dawn.
The time isn’t the only thing it displays, though. It also displays I haven’t listened to the voicemail Isabelle left me earlier today. I’ve been so engrossed keeping her off everyone’s radar, she temporarily slipped from mine. I’ll make it up to her, and the perfect way to do that pops into my head when her singsong voice sounds down the line.
“I know it’s early in our relationship, but I wanted you to know I love you, Isaac.”
Three little words and I’m cut down from the ruthless businessman everyone else sees to a mere man. Spurred on by the desire to hear the woman he adores speak the words she just whispered over the line in person, I slide into my car, then fishtail out of the Ravenshoe PD parking lot like a madman.
All rational thoughts are gone, and although I am once again relishing the thrill of the chase, it isn’t the only thing keeping my blood pumping. It’s the words I’ve been seeking the past four weeks. The confirmation that the crazy, unexplainable feelings I’ve developed for Isabelle aren’t one-sided. That she is as blindsided as me.
It makes the challenges of today worthwhile and clears my conscience of any wrongdoings.
With my love of the gas pedal notable, I pull into the underground parking garage of Isabelle’s building in record-breaking time. I nod in greeting to Clayton when he exits the elevator so I can ride to Isabelle’s floor alone. A second after watching Nikolai’s arrogant strut down the private jet stairs, I amped up security at Isabelle’s apartment. Not even residents could ride the elevator unaccompanied tonight.
“It’s me,” I advise Hugo when the crack of a man’s fist preparing for battle sounds down the corridor. “Where is she?” I ask after taking in a chair from Isabelle’s dining room set propped against her front door.
Hugo nudges his head to her apartment. “She crashed a couple of hours ago.” He volleys his eyes between mine a handful of times before asking, “Are we good?”
The simplicity of his question doesn’t explain the concern in his eyes. He’s worried but not for himself. Isabelle’s safety is his sole concern.
Although appreciative of his dedication, a touch of jealousy is heard in my reply. “We’re good. I personally watched our guests’ departure.”
He sighs in relief before his hand shoots up to rub a kink in the back of his neck. “So do you still need me on high alert, or can I hit the sack for a couple of hours?”
“Go. Isabelle will beindisposeduntil well into the morning.”
I search Hugo’s face for signs he’s jealous. When I fail to find a smidge of envy, I curl my hand around the doorknob then dip my chin in farewell. I should commend him more. Knowing he was here watching Isabelle is the only thing that stopped me blowing my top the past ten-plus hours, but praise isn’t something I often give. I convey my thanks in a monetary way.
With a laugh that exposes he doesn’t need my praise to know it exists, Hugo mutters, “You’re welcome,” before he moseys down the hall, his stomps more noticeable than the lithe ones I use to enter Isabelle’s bedroom undetected.
She is sleeping on the same side she does in my bed every night, and although her face looks well-rested, I can tell she’s been tossing and turning. Her hair is a mess, and the bedsheets are more entangled around her body than covering her, but she is still the most ravishing woman I’ve ever seen.
