Page 56 of Isabelle’s Forbidden Love

He didn’t contradict her. Isabelle was amazing in so many ways. He’d always thought she’d be high maintenance, because of who she was, the daughter of a very rich and powerful man. But she wasn’t only practical and quick to pivot when necessary, she was also forgiving and conciliatory. Would she also be understanding when he told her the truth about Montreal, or would she condemn him for it?

When they reached the entrance to the condo building, Isabelle unlocked, while Orlando looked over his shoulder, checking to see if anybody was watching them. They were alone. There were only a few residential buildings in the financial district as well as quite a few hotels, but those were a few blocks away from Grayson’s loft. Humans didn’t walk around this deserted area at night, and there was no traffic, though his sensitive hearing picked up the sound of cars a few streets over.

They’d walked back from Pacific Heights taking little used side streets, rather than risk taking a taxi—if they could have even hailed one. An Uber or Lyft wasn’t possible, not only because Scanguards would be able to track them through it, but also because neither Isabelle nor Orlando had their cell phones on them. They only had their burners.

Inside the building, it was quiet and dark. Isabelle didn’t switch on the light in the hallway. Orlando took her hand and together they walked upstairs without saying a word. He inhaled deeply, trying to ascertain if anybody had entered the building since they’d left around midnight, but he didn’t pick up any foreign smells.

At the door to Grayson’s loft, they both stood still and listened for sounds. There were none. Orlando nodded, and Isabelle unlocked it. Inside, it was exactly like they’d left the place.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s take what we need. Ten minutes tops.”

They packed one of Grayson’s old travel bags. Isabelle tossed a couple of T-shirts and pieces of underwear in it, then snatched several bottles of human blood from the refrigerator and placed them in the bag.

Orlando picked up his small overnight backpack and put it over his shoulder. Then he let his eyes roam, and his gaze fell on a file folder on the dining room table. “That yours?”

Isabelle nodded. “The Hong murder file.” She grabbed it and put it in the bag.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“No.”

“Good. Let’s go.” He reached for the travel bag and headed for the door.

“Have you thought about where we could go?” Isabelle asked.

“Trust me, I know the perfect place.”

Isabelle slipped her hand into his, and left the condo with him, pulling the door shut behind them. One floor lower, Orlando stopped in front of the entrance door to the only other condo in the building. He set down the travel bag and pulled his lockpicks out.

“We’re staying in the building?” Isabelle whispered while he was already working on the lock.

“Best place. You told me yourself that the owner won’t be back till Sunday night, and—” He pointed to the package next to the door. “—it looks like you’re right.”

When the lock clicked, he added, “Take the package and bring it inside. We don’t want to alert anybody to the fact that the place is empty right now.” He winked at her as he opened the door wide. “Might give whoever is looking for us ideas.”

Once inside, Isabelle closed the door behind them, and put the parcel on the sideboard. “You’re not just a pretty face.”

He smirked. “I don’t think anybody’s ever called me pretty.” He set down the travel bag and his backpack. “Let’s close the blinds. The sun will be rising soon, and I assume the only flat with UV-impenetrable windows is Grayson’s.”

“I’m afraid so.”

While Isabelle closed the blinds in the master bedroom, Orlando did the same in the guest room and the living room. The floor plan of this unit was identical to Grayson’s, apart from the fact that this unit had wall-to-wall carpeting instead of wooden floors.

Once they knew the flat would be safe when the sun came up, Orlando took off his jacket. Isabelle removed the sheets of paper they’d printed out at Damian’s house from her handbag.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” she suggested, as she sat down on the couch, and he joined her.

The first sheet of paper he unfolded was a copy of Ines’s driver’s license. Her name was now Ines Taylor. It appeared she’d gotten married in the US. Isabelle leaned in, and they both read the address at the same time.

“Oakland,” he said on a breath. “That’s the first good news I’ve had in a long time.” He could barely believe his luck that Ines lived only minutes from San Francisco. All they needed to do was to cross the Bay Bridge, and they would be in Oakland.

“That’s wonderful,” Isabelle said, putting her arm around his back and squeezing him.

Orlando laid the piece of paper on the coffee table, then unfolded the other sheets of paper on which the criminal record of Dennis LaRuson was displayed. He’d only glanced at it earlier in Damian’s house, but now he took a closer look. His crimes started with petty theft when he was seventeen, and continued to grow more serious and more violent as the years passed.

“How are we gonna find this guy?” Orlando said as if speaking to himself. “Without a photo it’s gonna be near impossible.”

“At least we have a name. It’s a start.”