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I know what I need to do in order to get my answers.
In truth, I havealwaysknown what I need to do. But I just haven’t been able to bring myself to do it.
Isabella will never willingly tell me what I want to know. She will never trust me. And I will never be able to trick her into telling me either. I could also torment and torture her endlessly, but I know that she would never break. None of those methods would work.
There is only one way to make her answer my questions truthfully. One way to break that iron will of hers. And it’s time to do it.
It’s time to stop behaving like Rico Hunter and to become Enrico Morelli for a day.
Raising my fist, I pound on the door of a house three streets away from ours.
Nothing happens.
I bang my fist against the door again.
A light comes on in one of the upstairs windows. It’s not even six o’clock yet on a Sunday morning, so the guy who lives here was no doubt asleep.
Pounding on the door again, I tell him to hurry the fuck up.
At last, lights are turned on in the hallway inside as well. Then the lock clicks and the door is shoved open to reveal a blond man wearing only a white t-shirt and a pair of blue boxers.
“What the fuck do you think you’re…” he begins before trailing off. His eyes go wide when he realizes who I am, and he curses himself under his breath. Then he clears his throat before speaking in a much more respectful voice. “Hunter.”
“Jacques Lefevere,” I say.
It’s a statement, not a question, because he’s a senior like me so I already know who he is. But he answers anyway.
“Yes,” he replies, somehow making that sound more like a question.
“The upcoming annual tournament,” I begin, keeping my voice hard and emotionless. “You have a first-year called Isabella Johnson on your team, correct?”
His face scrunches up and he looks to the side for a moment, as if he is running through the names and faces of his team members. Then he meets my gaze again and raises his eyebrows. “The brown-haired chick who doesn’t really have any noteworthy skills?”
“Yes.”
He nods. “Yeah, she’s on my team.”
“Team training starts tomorrow.”
When I don’t immediately elaborate, Jacques flicks a hesitant glance from side to side and then replies, “Yes.”
“Where are you taking your team?”
“Gun range. The small one close to the lake.”
“Good. Tell everyone else on your team that that’s where you’re meeting. Everyone except Isabella Johnson.”
He frowns. “Why?”
I arch a pointed brow.
Clearing his throat, he hurriedly amends it to, “What should I tell her instead?”
“Take her to the forest. You know that small clearing by the rock wall?”
“Yeah?”
“You will personally make sure that she gets there. Make up whatever story you like about why you’re there. But you get her to that location. And then you leave and go back to your team at the gun range.”
