Page 48 of Unraveling an Enigma
Hunter nods.
“Meet me at my office tonight. You can run it through my system there.”
Hunter glares at me. “If you don’t trust me yet, Isaac, what the fuck am I doing working for you?”
My eyes narrow. “It isn’t about trusting you, Hunter. It is about Isabelle and protecting her from having her naked body plastered around the fucking country because someone has a vendetta against me that they're unleashing on her. You said my security servers are the best in the country, so it is the only system I trust in making sure these images remain private.”
Hunter runs his hand along his chin before his gaze lifts to mine. “It is the best system because I designed it,” he remarks. “I’ll drop by your office tonight.”
I nod as the knot in my stomach relinquishes its firm hold.
“There’s something else,” says Hunter as the cell phone in my pocket vibrates.
Lifting my index finger, I request a minute while I pull my phone out of my pocket. The wild beating of my heart dampens when I discover it is my standard cell phone ringing and not my emergency one.
I raise my gaze from my phone to Hunter. “It’s my brother, can this wait a minute?” I ask.
Hunter nods. “Yeah, I’ll get everything cleared up and make it look like we’ve never been here before I head out.”
An appreciative smirk etches on my mouth. “Thanks. I’ll meet you back in my office tonight,” I advise, striding to the entranceway of Isabelle’s apartment.
Raising my phone to my ear, I say, “Nicholas. . . calm down, Nick. . . What? I’ll be right there.”
Isabelle
Hugo’s eyes dart to me. His scrunched face reveals his confusion. My lips curve into an uneasy smile before my gaze flicks back to Brandon sitting in the back seat of his car. His brows are also pulled together tightly, his lips set into a thin line as he continues to look outside.
If I had to use one word to describe Megan’s family home, it would be “ramshackle.” Even in the rapidly setting sun, the old, white, wooden double story house doesn’t look like it has seen a coat of paint in centuries, let alone years.
Numerous tiles are missing from the stained brown roof. Three out of the four windows at the front of the house facing the road have had their cracks and holes repaired with duct tape. Long strands of vibrant green and yellow-tipped overgrown grass stands as tall as the first story of the worn, rundown house. Weeds have confiscated any garden beds that used to be at the front of the home. In the far right-hand corner of the property, there is a red barn at least double the size of the house. There is a big, old, rusted black truck parked at the front of it.
“Are you sure this is the address you are looking for?” Hugo questions, pulling into the long dirt driveway.
My eyes shoot down to check the information in Megan’s file I created the past week. After double-checking the number hand-painted in red on an old microwave at the front of the property, I nod.
Hugo’s features harden when he drives down the dirt driveway. The only sound heard in the interior of the car is my heart madly beating against my chest.This place is a perfect setting for a horror movie.
The smell of dust and dirt filters in my nose, so thick, it is choking. Hugo is only driving 5 MPH, but the tires on the car kick up the dry dirt from the ground, leaving a cloud of dust trailing behind us. My gaze absorbs the surrounding properties. Other than another white barn on the horizon, there are no other houses within eyesight of this property.
“Whose house is this?” Hugo asks, his tone flat and apprehensive.
My gaze drifts to Brandon. His eyes meet and lock with mine before one of his shoulders lifts into a shrug.
After turning my eyes back to Hugo, I answer, “Megan Shroud.”
Hugo releases a puff of air from his nostrils, his lips etching into a thin line. The muscle in his jaw spasms as his grip on the steering wheel turns rigid.He has apparently heard of Megan before.
When Hugo parks Brandon’s car in front of a set of rickety old steps, I swing open the passenger door. The dust is so thick, it traps in my throat, and particles of dirt scratch my eyes. Hugo’s arm splays across my chest and pins me into the passenger seat.
“Let us check it out first.” He motions his head between Brandon and himself.
I clench my jaw and narrow my eyes. “I'm an FBI agent, Hugo; I'm not a child,” I retort through gritted teeth.
“Yeah and that's Freddy fucking Kruger’s house,” he says, his voice riddled with both nerves and cheekiness. “If Isaac found out I let you go in there without me first scoping the premises, I won’t be on his Christmas card list anymore.”
Even in the tense circumstances, I can’t help the smile that tugs my lips high.
“Isaac gives very generous bonus checks in his Christmas cards,” Hugo adds with his brow arched.
