Page 134 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
Brandon glances at me from the corner of his eyes. “They don’t have government-issued plates.”
Conflict makes itself known with my gut. I thought the blue sedan was Theresa or one of the agents she assigned to surveillance me. A car with a similar make and model as the one tailing us was parked on my street when I returned from a run yesterday afternoon. Not long later, Theresa arrived at my apartment. Putting two and two together, I thought I was onto a winner. Her investigative tactics have been so heavy, I wouldn’t put rummaging through my garbage past her. She’ll do anything she can to get a shred of evidence against me, so surveillance seems like an action she’d utilize during her investigation.
Annoyed, I lift my gaze to Brandon. “Pull over. If it isn’t IA following me, I want to know who it is.”
Brandon’s thigh muscles spasm before he does as requested. Ignoring the tremor rattling my hands, I yank my satchel off the floor while scanning our nearly-isolated surroundings. Other than a derelict building to my right, the rest of the street is nothing but paddocks of overgrown, vermin-infested grass.
I peer at Brandon’s anxious face. “You never witnessed this.”
Not giving him a chance to reply, I pull my government-issued gun out of my bag then throw open my door.
“Jesus, Isabelle…”
As I move for the long grass on the road edging, I see Brandon’s hands dart under the driver’s seat. While using the tall weeds for cover, I brace my revolver high on my chest, then peer down the sight. Approximately thirteen heart-thrashing seconds later, the sedan that was following us pulls down the deserted street, stopping a few spaces behind Brandon’s car.
A cool breeze flicks up my hair when I sprint toward the stationary vehicle with my gun aimed at the driver’s side front window. My heart beats wildly against my chest, and my thighs are quaking, but my shakiness isn’t from fear, it’s from the adrenaline surging through my veins.
Brandon approaches me from the left. He also has his gun directed at the unknown assailant and is demanding for him to switch off his ignition. Ignoring our repeated requests to surrender, the driver reverses back two places before he attempts to complete a three-point turn. As trained, I aim my gun at the back, right tire. My pistol recoiling is almost deafening in the quietness of the crisp winter day, but it has the effect I was aiming for. The back tire blows out, and the assailant’s three-point maneuver crawls to a snail’s pace. Once I shoot out the back-left tire, his getaway halts altogether.
After jerking up my chin, requesting for Brandon to have my back, I cautiously approach the stationary car. The patter of my feet on the asphalt is the only sound heard in the eerily quiet morning. Once I reach a close but safe distance from the car, I spread my feet to the width of my shoulders before adjusting my pistol, so the barrel faces the driver's side window.
“Slowly wind down your window and throw your keys onto the roadside.” My voice is surprisingly firm for how fast my heart is hammering my ribs. “Or the next time I shoot, I won’t aim for a tire.”
Time stands still when the heavily tinted driver’s side window slides down. A vibrant-colored, tattooed arm with keys dangling from its index finger pops out of the opening a short time later. With a swift flick of the wrist, the keys plummet onto the asphalt, mere feet from the driver’s side door.
Brandon’s eyes lift to mine in silent questioning. When I nod, he bridges the last few steps to the vehicle. I’m so nervous, I have to keep re-attaching the grip of my gun to ensure I don’t drop it. I have no reason to be nervous, I’ve trained for this—not just at the academy, but at the gun range with my uncle as well, but something about this feels wrong.
I discover why when a thick familiar voice says, “Hey, Isabelle,” from inside the vehicle I’m in the process of apprehending.
When I slant my head to the side, clearing my eyes from the mid-morning sun, Hugo’s mischief-filled eyes peek out from behind the steering wheel. I exhale sharply before lowering my gun, so it's no longer aimed at his chest. Brandon’s stance remains solid with his feet planted at the width of his shoulders, and the barrel of his gun is aimed at the pinched skin between Hugo’s brows.
Sensing Brandon’s hesitance, Hugo warns, “You better point that somewhere else before someone gets hurt.” His voice is a threatening snarl someone as cheeky as him shouldn’t be able to pull off. “And it won’t be me who gets injured.”
When a tick hits Brandon’s freshly shaven jaw, I run my hand down his arm. His muscles bunch from my unexpected touch, but it relays to him that I want him to drop his weapon without a word needing to spill from my lips. The gleam that generally clusters in his eyes returns when he holsters his gun into the waistband of his trousers.
Happy I’ve diffused one dangerous situation without carnage, I walk straight into another. “Why are you following me?”
Hugo stops shooting daggers at Brandon to drift his eyes to me. Although they’re narrowed, I can see the remorse settled behind them. “It’s my job—”
“You never got fired, did you?”
The crisp dew-filled air burns my nostrils when Hugo shrugs. “Not technically. Isaac did take a swing at me, and he said a few things he didn’t mean, but he never fired me.”
My fists curl into tight balls as my chin trembles. “You son of a bitch.”
Hugo’s lips tug higher. “It’s all that gray…”
“What about the intense stare-down between you and Isaac at the record company last week?” My high tone conveys my utter confusion. They seemed as if they hated each other that day.
“Isaacprefers me to watch you from a distance. Come on, Izzy, you know what he’s like when it comes to any man getting close to you.”
Watching over our exchange like a spectator at tennis, Brandon joins in. “Yeah, she does know what Isaac is like. That’s why she needs to get as far away from him as possible.”
Hugo’s eyes snap to Brandon as quickly as mine. That wasn’t what I was expecting him to say. “You can’t fight fate, blondie.”
Although grateful Hugo is backing up my relationship with Isaac, I’m still angry. He said that exact thing to me last week when he waspretendingto be my friend. “So, for the past week, the whole,I’m your friend, Izzy,was that part of your job description or you fighting for fate?”
This proves why I hesitated during my introduction yesterday. I should have trusted my intuition. It’s never steered me wrong before.
