Page 181 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
His vicious words stab in my chest, physically shunting me, but they don’t stop me from saying. “I trust Isaac—”
“And look where that got you,” Alex mocks, his tone arrogant. “Standing in a courthouse on bail for murder.” When he peers past my shoulder, the mask he’s wearing momentarily slips, but it does little to leash his anger. “I know you didn’t do what you are accused of, so I’ll do everything in my power to have your charges dismissed, but you need to look at the whole picture before you get buried so deep, you’ll never climb back out.”
Before I can tell him I’m already gone, the creak of a door gains my attention. Regan is standing in the doorway with her wide eyes bouncing between Alex and me. When she notices her silent stalk has been busted, she says, “Your bail has been paid. You’re free to go, Isabelle.”
Although she’s talking to me, her focus remains on Alex. She seems as uncomfortable in his presence as me, but for a different reason. I don’t know exactly what, but if forced, I’d guess they’ve met before.
While gathering my belongings from the tabletop, I return my focus to Alex. “Be the agent you quote I could be. Dig deeper, look harder, and unravel the truth instead of running with speculations. I’m not just talking about my case. I’m referring to Isaac’s as well.” I smile, pleased the backbone I lost the past six months has started rejuvenating. “And do it without tapping your agents’ cell phones and paying exorbitant airfares.”
Not giving him a chance to reply, I pivot on my heels and briskly stroll out the door. Even with my heart erratically thumping, my chin is lifted high, and a broad grin is stretched across my face. Pride costs nothing, but boy is it saucy.
CHAPTER9
ISABELLE
Idash down the marble stairs of the courthouse toward Hugo, who’s standing next to his 1969 Chevelle. My lungs relish the fresh, clean air, but the frantic sucks of my nostrils are barely heard over the blissful tune my heart is pumping out. Every gallop I take toward Hugo increases my megawatt smile.
I’m so eager to get away from the dark gloom looming over the courthouse, I’m unaware of the attention I’m gaining until members of the media swarm me. As their counterparts push their cameras in close to my face, reporters hammer me with a range of questions pertaining to Megan’s case. For the most part, they’re the standard inquiries any criminal anticipates when leaving court with an official indictment, but there are a handful of ones who make me extremely uncomfortable. They all center around Isaac and if I am in a sexual relationship with him.
When the lights become too bright for me to bear, I back away with my hands held up to shield my eyes. My fumbled steps cease when I bump into a hard, warm surface. Expensive cologne infuses the air when a jacket is placed over my head a mere second before I’m guided through the sea of reporters. Their endless questions only stop when I’m helped into a taxi, and the back-passenger door is slammed shut.
“The corner of Tivot and Esplanade,” requests a deep voice I immediately recognize.
When the taxi lurches to life, I yank off the coat covering my head. As suspected, the person who saved me from the aggressive swarm of media moguls is Brandon. He’s wearing his standard work attire, which consists of dark trousers, a light-colored dress shirt, and a fitted jacket. He’s forgone the tie he usually wears, switching it out for a massive bruise that covers a majority of his right cheek.
“What happened?”
He hisses when my fingertips skim over the bruise that looks freshly formed. Its size and pattern indicate a closed fist most likely made it. If I were still viewing the world through rose-colored glasses, I could blame my arrest for the mark, but I doubt that is the case. Brandon swung first, but none of the officers retaliated with their fists.
When Brandon drags the back of his knuckle-busted hand down my face, I continue my assessment of his face by only using my eyes. “We have a matching pair of bruises.” As the remorse in his eyes triples, he locks them with me. “I’m sorry for how you were treated, Izzy.”
I swipe away his worry by slicing my hand through the air. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” When I rib him with my elbow, he sharply exhales, pretending my blow winded him. “But who knew you were hiding such impressive fighting skills, Mr. James?” I keep my tone witty, praying it will douse the tension hanging thickly in the air. “The officer you smacked won’t breathe out of his nose for at least a week.”
His hearty chuckle warms my heart. “He should be grateful he’s breathing at all.”
Just as Brandon’s chuckles die down, a thunderous engine revving rumbles through my body. In sync, Brandon and I snap our eyes to the back window of the idling taxi. Guilt swamps me when I spot Hugo’s glimmering candy apple-colored car is sitting behind us. My unexpected swarming by the reporters and Brandon’s bruise had me forgetting that Hugo was waiting for me.
Jesus, could I be any more of an airhead this week?
When apprehension washes over Brandon’s face, I aim to settle his panic. “It’s Hugo. He came to pick me up.” After gathering two twenties out of my purse, I scoot closer to the partition separating us from the taxi driver. “Can you please stop here?”
Upon spotting the generous tip I plan to give him for not even two minutes’ work, he directs his cab to the closest sidewalk. With a smile, I hand him the bills before slipping out of the taxi. When Brandon fails to mimic my departure, I tilt my torso so I can peer at him sitting motionless. “Are you coming?”
He watches me peculiarly before apprehensively nodding. As he hurries across the bench so he can exit the taxi onto the safety of the sidewalk, I stray my eyes to Hugo. His big beaming smile fades the instant Brandon joins me on the sidewalk. I don’t know why he despises Brandon so much, but his hatred is as evident as the sun shining in the sky.
After giving Hugo my please-behave face, I gesture for Brandon to slip into the back seat of Hugo’sbabybefore I slide in the passenger seat. Hugo’s woodsy smell activates my senses when I slip inside his, but the familiar drawl of, “Hey, Isabelle,” warms my heart the most.
“Miss me?”
I slap his thick bicep when he mutters, “Like a hole in the head.”
After latching his belt, Brandon seeks Hugo’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Hey, Hugo.”
It takes a quarter of a mile, and my teeth clench to the point of cracking before Hugo returns Brandon’s greet, and even then, it’s short and clipped. “Blondie.”
When I peer back at Brandon, he nudges his head to Hugo, his expression questioning. I shrug, genuinely unsure of what Hugo’s problem is. I get he treats Isaac like family, so he hates the idea of anyone stepping on his turf, but that isn’t what Brandon is doing. He’s my friend—point-blank.
Twenty minutes later, Hugo pulls into the driveway of a glass house on a cliff. My mouth dries up as my eyes bulge. “Are you sure this is the address Hunter messaged you?”
