Page 203 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
“What did she want?” Hugo jerks his head to Theresa, ensuring I can’t mistake who he’s referencing. “Regan said the IA’s case has been dropped.”
“It has been.” When he pulls away from the curb, my gaze strays to Theresa sitting in the driver’s seat of her car. She’s jotting something down into a notepad like our conversation wasn’t memorable enough for her to recall without notes. “Our conversation had nothing to do with their squashed investigation.”
“So, she just wanted to… chat?” Hugo’s words could only be grittier if he rolled them in dirt before articulating them.
“Yep.” The ‘p’ pops from my mouth. “A good one-on-one chat—woman to woman.”
Hugo pulls a face that mimics the slug sitting in the bottom of my stomach to perfection but remains quiet. It’s for the best because by the time we arrive at Regan’s apartment, my mood is pitiful. I’m not surprised by Theresa’s testimony, but it stings knowing Isaac hadanyassociation with her. I’m not stupid. I know he bedded plenty of women before me, but pain still gnaws at my chest when I think about him with anyone but me. When it comes to stuff like that, I’d prefer to live with my head in the clouds. Reining in jealousy will never be a strong point of mine.
After dumping my satchel and dress onto the bed, I dig out a pair of running shorts and a loose shirt before returning to the living room. Hugo eyes me peculiarly when he spots the running shoes I’m in the process of tugging on.
“I need to run off this funk.” I pop down to tie the laces on my bright white shoes before doing a quick set of warm-ups to prepare my muscles for the rigorous activity they’re about to undertake. “Avery said exercise would minimize the risk of a nightmare, so why not kill two birds with one stone.”
Hugo leaps up from the sofa he’s sprawled on. “All right. Give me a minute to get changed, then I’ll come with you.”
Not waiting for my response, he sprints toward his room.
Not even thirty seconds later, “Holy shit,” is murmured in a breathless moan.
Regan is standing next to me. Her jaw is on the floor, and a vein is working overtime in her neck. Once I finish stretching my triceps, I follow her gaze. My jaw joins hers on the floor when I realize what she’s gawking at. For someone with not enough hours in the day to do all the tasks he must get done, Hugo clearly schedules in a workout session or three per day. His body is so ripped not even the vast collection of tattoos covering his torso, arms, and thighs can’t hide the dips, bulges, and planes carved in his large frame. His body is mindboggling.
When Hugo senses our gawking, he freezes halfway between his bedroom and the living area. He finishes tying the drawstrings in his black Nike running shorts—yep!That’s the only article of clothing he’s wearing—his brows draw together as his eyes bounce between Regan and me.
It takes him all of two seconds to realize we’re a bunch of dirty, old pervs. “You’ve got that itch now, don’t you?” His question isn’t for me. It’s for Regan who’s still drooling like a baby cutting its first tooth.
Taking Regan’s silence as an answer, Hugo winks before shifting his ignited gaze to me. “Ready?”
I swallow, praying it will return my jaw to its rightful spot before nodding. “Uh-huh.”
CHAPTER20
ISAAC
“Confidentiality is an integral part of a patient-doctor relationship, let alone the fact I’m bound by a stringent code of ethics,” Avery’s voice grows sterner as our conversation continues. “If you want to know about my session today, you’ll need to ask Isabelle because as far as you’re aware, I don’t even have a patient by that name.”
“I’m not asking you to divulge her deep, dark secrets. I’m merely requesting you to helpmehelp herthrough this.”
Avery huffs as the creak of her leather chair sounds through the phone. Even though it’s a little after eleven in the evening back home, I’m not surprised she’s still in her office. She works as tirelessly as I do.
“If you want me to help you, Isaac, you’ll need to be a patient of mine.”
My groan tells her precisely what I think about her insinuation I need help. She’s tried many times the past five years to get me to lie on her shrink chair so she can unravel the mysteries in my head. Her endeavors have not yet reached fruition—they’ll never reach fruition.
“Hypothetically speaking—” Avery’s huff cuts me off, but nothing slows me down. “If myfriendwas suffering terrible nightmares, what would anotherfrienddo to assist him or her through their crisis?”
“Hypothetically, thatfrienddid the right thing by making sure hisfriendsoughtprofessionalhelp.” She ignores my angry growl as effectively as I did her huff. “This is one of the reasons I denied your initial request to work with Isabelle, Isaac. You agreeing not to pry me for information is the only reason I had a consultation with her today.” I attempt a reply, but she continues talking, stealing my chance. “I know you’re trying to help her, but I promised her that our sessions would remain confidential. I intend to keep my promise, so if you want to know what happened today, you’re asking the wrong person.”
Her phone hitting the receiver advises she disconnected our call. After throwing my cell onto the coffee table, I move to the large floor-to-ceiling window of my suite. Usually, my nights in Vegas are spent on the high-roller floor or at my nightclub, Jacks, located on the strip. But tonight, I’m holed up in my room, praying Isabelle doesn’t call me with another nightmare.
Don’t misconstrue my comment. I want Isabelle to call me if she’s having a nightmare, but I’d prefer for her dreams not to be plagued by ghastly, horrid images while I’m a six-hour flight away. When I flew to Vegas with Hunter this morning, we’d anticipated a whirlwind visit, in and out in the one day. As always, not even the most well-thought-out plans follow their anticipated path. We hit a glitch, but once it’s been fixed, I’ll be on the first flight back to Ravenshoe.
An odd ding sounds from the middle of the suite a mere second before my burner cell vibrates on the glass coffee table. I eye it peculiarly while striding across the room. I’ve never heard it make such a noise. When I flip open the screen, a ghost of a smile cracks onto my lips. The peculiar noise was announcing my phone has a text message. It’s from Isabelle.
Isabelle:I miss you.
My faint smirk enlarges to a full smile when my phone buzzes again.
Isabelle:I love you.
