“Your boy was right. Col didn’t send you that message.”
“Then who did?” Cormack asks before I can, the whiskey strumming through my veins slowing my response time.
Maximus shrugs. “Someone who wants him tothinkthe message was from Col.”
“The same person from the warehouse?”
Maximus shrugs again. It maddens me, but before I can advise him of that, he discloses, “Perhaps. Hunter triangulated the signal to the same tower the drone’s network was bounced off, but that could mean anything. I’ll go over preliminary findings again in the morning with a set of fresh eyes. Until then…” He nudges his head to the door like he’s giving Cormack and me marching orders.
I fold my arms in front of my chest. “I’m good here.”
“Me too,” Cormack parrots, happy to maintain his earlier promise about having my back like I do his, even with him itching to tuck Harlow in.
After dumping my empty glass of whiskey onto the desk, I shift my eyes to Cormack. “Go spend time with Harlow, Cormack. This weekend wasnevermeant to be about business.”
“It wasn’t?” When I nod, he balances his elbows onto his knees. “Then what are we doing here?” He waves his hand around an office large enough to be a library. “Inside these walls are safe, Isaac. They always have been. Even when my father lived here.” He locks his eyes with the window that shows the sun is preparing to rise. “It’s the people out there we need to worry about.” My eyes bounce between Cormack and Maximus when Maximus gives Cormack an encouraging pat on the back. Before I can decipher a reason for their unusual comradery, Cormack stands, then adds, “So I will take you up on your offer because if tomorrow is my final day, I want to make sure it’s a good one.”
He slaps my back as if my throat is burning from the pricy bottle of whiskey we shared before he stumbles out of the room. I slant my head to hide my smirk when his shoulder rams into the door on his way out.
He’s always been a lightweight.
Once he disappears into the corridor, Maximus draws my focus back to him with an indiscreet cough. “Perhaps you should do the same?” he suggests once he gains my attention.
Shaking my head, I sink deeper into my chair, confident my ass won’t be vacating it anytime soon. “Just because the message wasn’t from Col’s cell phone provider doesn’t mean it wasn’t sent on his behalf.”
I hit him with a rueful glare when he mutters under his breath, “And here I was thinking you were a smart man.” He brushes off my stare as if it’s pronged with kindness before he moseys to the door. It isn’t an easy maneuver for him to pull off since he’s six foot four and built like a tank. Just as he reaches the hallway, he adds another grumble into underhanded ribbing. “I guess not, considering you’ve left Miss Sweet Thing sleeping in a room only two doors down from Colby. He spent half the night searching for her. Now he’s close enough to smell her.” When my jaw involuntarily ticks in response to his rile, a grin tugs on his lips. “Uh-huh. Just as I thought. You want to be with the girl, you’re just too scared to fight for her.”
“I’m not scared,” I spit out in disgust. “I can protect her from Col.” There’s a hesitation in my voice, an awkwardness I’m not familiar with. Col doesn’t scare me, but I’d be a liar if I said his interest in Isabelle didn’t fill me with unease. He let his own daughter perish for greed, so how far will he take things when his target doesn’t share his blood. Furthermore, rumors are circulating that Callie’s auction had an influx of bidders when a new buyer registered in the wee hours of this morning. Although the identities of the auction-goers are being kept under wraps, everyone knows who he is. Col wants what everyone else has, but I refuse to let him have either Isabelle or Callie.
“Keep me updated on anything you find. Even if it doesn’t directly correspond with Isabelle, I want to know about it.”
When Maximus jerks up his chin, I collect my suit jacket from a coat rack on my left, skirt past him, then make my way down the corridor of the room I share with Isabelle, acting ignorant to the victorious gleam in his eyes.
Even with the hour being earlier, I feel Isabelle’s eyes on me when I enter the room. They’re full of relief, but nothing can detract from the number of questions swirling in her head. She knows who Col is, which means she’s dying to work out our connection. Since that isn’t something I’m ready to disclose just yet, I strip down to my boxer shorts, slip between the heated sheets, then roll Isabelle onto her opposite hip so her truth-bearing eyes face away from me.
Once my nose is buried into her hair that still smells like me and my hand is flattened on her stomach, I say, “No questions. Just sleep, Isabelle.”
When the quickening on her pulse darts through my hand, I recall the steps it took to ease her restlessness the night prior. Within minutes of me gliding my hand up and down her arm in a lulling motion, her breaths shallow and her lips part before she falls into a peaceful yet still restless slumber.
I soon join her.
My sleep is only interrupted when the frustrating buzz of my cell phone announces I overslept my alarm. It is nearly ten in the morning. I haven’t slept in this long since Isabelle tumbled to my feet at the airport. The first time she jogged past my nightclub, I altered my routine. It isn’t as bad as Cormack’s has been the past couple of months, but it’s cutting it close.
Isabelle murmurs in her sleep when I carefully commence sliding out from beneath her. Her head is resting on my left pectoral muscle, and her leg is wrapped around my midsection. I’m tempted to stay put, or worse, finish what I started last night, but regretfully, the message illuminating on the screen of my phone won’t allow it. Hunter has an update, and since his message is in all caps, I can’t ignore it.
“This better be important,” I grumble down the line while pacing into the attached bathroom. While Hunter advises me he located footage of Col in Las Vegas last night, I stare at myself in the vanity mirror. I look well-rested for a man who only had approximately three hours of sleep. My sleep regime is back to what it was when I launched my very first nightclub. Good genes grant me the ability to function on five to six hours of sleep per night. My reputation makes up for what it lacks.
“I’m forwarding the footage to Maximus’s server.”
I spin to face the bed Isabelle is resting on. “Send it directly to me.”
“Can’t,” Hunter replies, the gruffness of his voice undeterred despite his short reply. “For one, your burner phone is too outdated for videos. Two, the files are too long for a standard system. And three, I don’t know Isabelle from a bar of soap, but I’m reasonably sure you won’t want her overhearing the conversation between Col and her father. I thought Col would remain the most vindictive man on my villains’ list, but Vladimir Popov gave him a run for his money last night.”
As a growl rolls from my chest to my throat, I exit the bathroom and head for the antique closets on the far side of the room. “Does the video have audio?”
When he hums in agreeance, I advise him I’ll return his call once I arrive at Maximus’s office, disconnect our call, then remove a freshly laundered three-piece suit out of the closet. While getting dressed, I keep my eyes locked on Isabelle.
The fact she can sleep so peacefully exposes I was right in keeping both Col’s connection and her sister’s sale from her. I’ve only slept the bare minimum since Hugo unearthed information about Callie’s sale, and she doesn’t have an ounce of my blood. I don’t see things being better for Isabelle if she were to learn about the multiple tasks my team is juggling right now. I’d rather keep her in the dark than taint the fascinating gleam of her eyes I can’t get enough of. It’s kept me motivated for months on end. Nothing has been as motivating in my life previously. Not even the woman I pledged to have loved only hours before her demise.
