Page 53 of Isabelle’s Forbidden Love

“Fuck!” Samson hurried to the SUV. “That means she broke in. We’ve gotta get there before she disappears again. Cooper!”

“Coming,” Cooper confirmed, ran to the car and got in. Moments later, they raced back toward downtown.

Cooper had just turned onto Lincoln Boulevard, one of the main thoroughfares of the Sunset district, when a cell phone rang. He recognized the ringtone as Isabelle’s.

Samson looked at the display. “It’s Nelson.” He pressed accept.

“Nelson? It’s Samson.” There was a short pause, then Samson continued, “No, she’s not here. What is it?” A moment later, Samson put the call on speaker phone.

“…an update on the Hong case,” Nelson said.

“What’s the update? I’m with Cooper. Speak freely.”

28

“I’m in,” Isabelle said and made a gesture to the computer monitor.

“Excellent!”

Orlando hovered behind her, watching as her fingers flew over the keyboard. They hadn’t had any issues breaking into Damian’s house in Pacific Heights. The Victorian was way too large for Orlando’s liking, but he assumed Damian and Naomi were planning ahead: they would be filling this house with a whole horde of little vampire hybrids. At the thought, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He and Margarite hadn’t been blessed with children, and in hindsight it was better that way. But now, looking at Isabelle, feeling how he felt about her, he wanted just that: a family. But he had to push the thought to the back of his mind.

“Here it is.” Isabelle pointed to a spot on the screen. “The system found a match.”

Orlando leaned in, his hand on the backrest of Isabelle’s chair.

“Dennis LaRuson. Do you know that name?” Isabelle looked over her shoulder.

He searched his mind for a sign of recognition. “Not sure. I don’t remember ever meeting anybody with that name. Show me his photo, maybe I’ll recognize him then.”

Orlando pointed to the screen, and Isabelle clicked on the name. Another window opened up, filling the screen. It showed information about the man such as date of birth, hair color, eye color, and height, as well as a rap sheet as long as his arm—but no photo.

“Why is there no photo?” he asked.

“Not sure.” Isabelle navigated around the screen, clicked on every link on the page, but nothing led her to a photo of Dennis LaRuson. “Maybe the file was corrupted?” She pointed to a date on the screen. “His criminal record runs from 1959 to 1976. Back then they wouldn’t have had an electronic database in Canada like they have now. Which means they had to import the file from somewhere else. Maybe the photo didn’t upload correctly?”

Orlando nodded. “It’s a possibility. Or LaRuson could have gotten somebody to delete it.”

Isabelle shrugged. “That’s possible too.”

“His criminal record has no more entries after 1976. Why would he stop committing crimes so abruptly?”

“Here. That’s the year he went to prison for the last time. He was released in 1980, and after that, he disappeared. Maybe he left Canada?”

Orlando looked closer. “Not that early. If he knows about Montreal, he would have been there in 1981.”

“Hmm.” Isabelle scrolled farther up the document again. “It says here he was born in 1942. That would mean he’s about eighty now.”

“If he were a human, yes, but we know he has to be a vampire, because a vampire killed Hong and the Vuber driver. We have no idea how old he really looks.”

“At least we have a little bit of information,” she said with an encouraging look at him. “He’s blond and has grey eyes, five foot eleven. Average weight.”

“That could be anybody. We need to find a photo of him. Now that we have his name, let’s do an internet search,” Orlando suggested.

Isabelle was already typing the name into the search engine. When the results populated the screen, Orlando knew immediately that they were out of luck. There was nobody with that name.

“You know, I can call my contact at the Mounties later when it’s daytime in Ottawa,” Isabelle suggested. “Maybe he has a way of finding a photo of Dennis LaRuson.”

“Can you trust him? How do you know this Mountie?”