Page 15 of Unraveling an Enigma
I swallow harshly. “I plead the fifth.”
“Have you had sexual contact with Isaac Holt since you started your placement in this division of the FBI?”
“I plead the fifth,” I respond more assertively as my jaw quivers from her rude tone.
Theresa grins a sly smile before her eyes flick to Brandon. “She is clever. A rookie agent knowing to plead the fifth. Who would have thought?” she snarls. “Are you planning on answering any of my questions, Ms. Brahn, or will you continue pleading the fifth amendment?”
The male agent sitting next to Theresa chuckles when I declare, “I plead the fifth.”
Lifting my eyes from the tabletop, I glare into her resolute gaze. “I chose not to answer your questions on the consideration that I may be unwillingly incriminating myself,” I say, my voice having a hint of arrogance.
Brandon may have suggested I plead the fifth, but I’m not as stupid as Theresa is making me out to be. I did learn some tricks during my two years at the Academy.
Theresa promptly stands from her chair, which scrapes across the floor. My eyes follow her haste movements. She runs her hands down her smooth, crisp lemon-colored blouse before she gathers a manila folder from a black leather briefcase open on the desk.
“So you read a law book during your training. Impressive,” she remarks condescendingly. “So you should be acutely aware that prostitution is illegal in the State of Florida.”
“I'm well aware of that.”
I exhale a sharp breath when Brandon places his hand on my thigh and squeezes it. When my eyes snap to him, he shakes his head, wordlessly warning me to follow his original request.
Theresa’s thin lips tug into an evilly wicked smile that makes my palms sweat. “Just because he doesn’t leave money on your bedside table when he is finished, doesn’t make it any less a crime.”
My brows stitch, utterly confused by her statement. Theresa places one white sheet of paper on the table in front of me. Peering down, I see the lease I signed for my apartment over three months ago. My confused gaze drifts back to Theresa as I shrug.
“Oh, I forgot the rest of the document,” she informs, her tone dramatic.
Her brow cocks as she hands me the second piece of paper. My heart ceases beating when my eyes roam over the paper in front of me. As clear as day, written in the owner section of the report is Mr. Isaac Holt.What? Isaac owns my apartment?
“I pay my rent on time every month for that apartment,” I advise, ignoring Brandon’s painful squeeze on my thigh that will mark my skin with a bruise.
Theresa’s lips purse and she hunches her shoulders. “I thought you might say that, that's why I did a little more research.”
She hands me a list of addresses with monthly figures on the side. “The same two bedroom apartments in your building rent for over three thousand dollars a month, you pay twelve hundred,” she informs me, her voice dripping with cockiness. “That’s not even half. Do you get a friends with benefits rate?”
Gritting my teeth hard, I fight the urge to tell Theresaexactlywhat I think of her and her inappropriate questions.
“I plead the fifth,” I snarl through gritted teeth.
Theresa’s lips crimps but she continues with her interrogation as if I never said anything.
“Then there is this.” She hands me another piece of paper. “A charter for a private jet booked under Isaac Holt’s name. How romantic, taking his paid mistress on holidays with him.”
Brandon snatches the piece of paper out of my hand. His eyes vigorously assess the document before he lifts them to glare at Theresa. “You don’t have Isabelle’s name on the manifest. That’s explicit conjecture. Everything you've presented thus far is pure speculation,” he interjects, surprising me with his impressive legal knowledge.
“Isaac Holt owns over half of Ravenshoe. It would be nearly impossible for Isabelle to rent anything in this town that didn’t belong or have an association with him.”
Brandon stands from the seat, knocking it over in the process. “This interview is over. If you speak to Isabelle again without a lawyer present, I won’t hesitate to contact my father, who in turn will contact your superior officer,” he informs her.
With a sharp yank on my arm, I am removed from my seat. Still clutching my hand, Brandon strides out of the room. His steps are so fast and furious; I have to jog to maintain his rapid pace.
His angry strides don’t halt until we arrive in the supply closet that has become my personal office the past month.
Releasing my hand from his tight grip, he roughly runs his fingers through his hair, giving it an appealing sexed-up look. “You didn’t have a clue about any of that, did you?” He swivels his head to face me.
In a haze of shock, I shake my head. “I plead the fifth.”
Brandon shakes his head and mutters something under his breath that sounds similar to, “Jesus Christ, Isabelle.”
