Page 57 of Isabelle’s Forbidden Love

“A name can be easily changed, a face, not so much.”

Isabelle put her hand under his chin, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t focus on the negative. I know we’ll figure it out.”

He let out a sigh and dropped the paper onto the coffee table, then snaked his arm around Isabelle’s waist and drew her closer. “You’re an amazing woman, Isabelle.” He brushed his lips over hers and felt them part under his touch. He was about to press her back into the couch cushions, when he heard a sound.

Instantly alert, he released Isabelle and jumped up. “A car just stopped in front of the building.”

Glad that the thick carpet in the condo swallowed his footsteps, Orlando rushed to the guest room, Isabelle on his heels. Next to the window, he pressed himself to the wall and gripped one side of the blinds to lift them away from the glass pane by a mere inch, giving him sufficient space to cast a glance outside.

He only needed a second to see what was happening. Carefully, he moved the blinds back in place.

“Who is it?” Isabelle whispered.

“Scanguards. It’s one of their black-out vans. I saw Samson get out. But he’s not alone.”

“Fuck!”

He could only echo her curse. He walked away from the window and pulled her into his arms. “We have to remain quiet, though there’s little chance they can hear us speaking when they’re in Grayson’s flat. But let’s not tempt fate.”

She nodded in silence. Their gazes met, and it was as if they were both thinking the same thing. What if Scanguards found them, and carted him off, never to see Isabelle again?

“I love you,” Orlando murmured and kissed her, before she could answer. He’d refrained from declaring his feelings for her, but now, fearing these would be the last few minutes they had together, he didn’t want to waste them with hiding what he felt for her.

Isabelle pressed herself to him, kissing him with the same passion he felt for her. Her curves molded to his muscles, fitting perfectly to him as if she’d been custom made for him. Maybe this was why he’d saved Samson’s life all those years ago: because he knew that one day, Samson would sire a daughter who was meant to be his mate. It was foolish, of course, to think that he could have had an inkling of the future, but something had made him help Samson in his hour of need.

While he kissed Isabelle and touched her with impatient hands, wanting to burn the memory of her touch, her smell, and her taste into his mind forever, he heard footsteps from above. Samson and his men had entered the loft and were looking for them. By now, they would realize that he and Isabelle had indeed been hiding there. They only needed to see the tangled sheets and smell the lingering perfume of their lovemaking to know that they’d been there. How Samson had known to search his oldest son’s flat, Orlando wasn’t sure, though it didn’t surprise him. Samson was a smart man.

When he heard the sound of the footsteps retreat, he severed the kiss. Isabelle looked at him, and he put a finger over her lips, while they both listened to the men from Scanguards descend the stairs. Would they try to search this condo too? Or would the thought not cross their minds that Orlando and Isabelle were hiding practically in plain sight?

Only when he heard the engine of the Scanguards SUV start, Orlando took his index finger off Isabelle’s lips. His heartbeat slowed again, the danger behind them—for now. When the car drove away and the engine sound faded, Isabelle put her hand to his nape and looked into his eyes.

“I love you, too, Orlando,” she murmured.

His heart leapt with joy. “Oh, babe.” He captured her lips once again and kissed her, unable to get enough of her. He felt her arms imprison him, and he held her just as tightly, until they were both breathless.

Slowly, he released her lips. “Babe, we have to act. We need to find a picture of Dennis LaRuson.”

Isabelle nodded, her lips looking bruised from his kiss, and more tempting than ever. “It’s almost six o’clock. Ottawa is three hours ahead of us. I’ll try to reach my contact at the Mounties.”

“Okay.”

“Ahm, my handbag. I wrote down his number in my notebook earlier.” She walked back into the living room.

Orlando followed her, and watched as she rummaged through her handbag.

“There.” She pulled out the burner phone he’d given her, and punched in the number. When she pressed the call button, she added, “I’ll put it on speaker.”

It rang twice before a man answered the call. “Inspector Hopkins.”

“Billy? It’s Isabelle Woodford.”

“Hey, Isabelle, did everything go all right? Did you get the info you needed?”

“Yes, and no. I got a match. The guy is in your system, but there was no photo.”

“No arrest photo? Let me have a look on my end. What’s his name?”

“Dennis LaRuson, that’s Dennis with two ns.”