Page 253 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
It was impressive watching her in her element. She didn’t fluster when reporters probed her about my connection to Isaac and Col. She merely ignored them before answering a question from a reporter that pertained to my case. She didn’t even break into a sweat. I, on the other hand, was a sweating bag of nerves.
“Here.” Regan hands me a cup of coffee in a paper cup. “It’s bad, but it’s all they have.”
My nose screws up when the thick, ghastly taste of the poorly brew hits my taste buds. It isn’t that I have affluent tastes, but this coffee is so terrible, the undissolved beans cling to my tongue when my mouth refuses to swallow it.
When I dump the full cup into the bin I'm sitting next to, my eyes turn to the side of the room. The hairs on my nape bristle when they detected Isaac’s presence. My inner vixen is like an animal in the wild. She can sense her mate from a mile away.
A smile curves on my mouth when I spot Isaac standing at the end of the corridor. He's talking to a gentleman in a fancy black suit with a large briefcase in his hand. He doesn’t appear to have noticed my gawp, but his curving lip as he continues with his conversation reveals he has spotted me. He’s just playing it cool.
My attention is diverted from Isaac when the courtroom door swings open, and “Isabelle Brahn” thunders out of the mouth of the court bailiff. I suck in a big breath before pacing to the door he’s holding open. The last thing I see when I enter the courtroom is the flash of a smirk on an adorable face.
CHAPTER8
ISAAC
Iwait for everyone to enter before slipping into the courtroom where Isabelle’s proceedings are being held. Isabelle doesn’t turn around, but I know she feels my presence as her shoulders square and her breathing slows when I step inside the courtroom.
Wanting to ensure I don’t raise any suspicion, I take a seat in the back pew next to Hunter, but a few spaces over. My brows scrunch when a few minutes later, he slides a piece of paper across the polished wooden bench. ‘Watch Lucas’ I read off the paper.
When my wide eyes stare at Hunter, he waggles his brows before gesturing his head to the front of the courtroom. I turn to face the front of the courtroom, pausing on Isabelle when I notice her fidgeting in her seat. She’s always been undoubtedly beautiful, which ensures she acquires the attention of every male in the room, but when my eyes locked in on her wearing a dress on par with her million-dollar smile, all I could imagine was seeing her in nothing but black stiletto shoes with expensive diamonds draped around her neck. The image was so riveting if we weren’t attending this court session with the hope of having her charges dropped, she wouldn’t have made it out of the hospital room with her dress still intact.
My attention is diverted from Isabelle when the beep of a cell phone bounces off the stark white walls of the courtroom. I shake my head when my eyes roam over the abhorrent man seated across from Isabelle and his expensive Mr. Porter Kingsman suit. If Mr. Marco wants to survive the corrupt, unethical world he’s immersing himself in, he needs to be more inconspicuous. Displaying your achievements with lavish articles is fine if you can show you acquired your wealth legally, but wearing a suit and watch that costs thousands of dollars makes you look like a fool when you slide into a car that’s older than the woman you're falsely prosecuting.
If he’s secured my interest with all the mammoth tasks I’ve dealt with the past month, it means he has also gathered the attention of others in my industry. He may see that as a positive until he realizes what his request for a golden handshake fully entails. No favors are imparted in this industry without a ripple effect. It’s like throwing a stone across a pond—some skim along the top where others may sink.
Even the rock that immediately sinks still creates a wave on the surface of the water. Something that seems as simple as a signature on a document can quickly turn into an unscrupulous demand. If Lucas truly loves his family as his public image portrays, he needs to learn that his ideas about this industry are both unbecoming and incredibly inaccurate.
The bailiff snarls when Lucas’s cell buzzes again. “All phones are to be turned off.”
“Sorry,” Lucas grumbles as his hand digs into the pocket of his trousers. “I thought I turned it off.”
When he pulls his phone out, his eyes bulge. He yanks it in close to his chest as his wide eyes dart around the courtroom. His expression is panicked, his mouth formed into a large ‘O.’ I drop my eyes to my shoes to ensure he doesn’t spot me in the back row when he scans the courtroom.
My interests pique when Hunter muffles his chuckles by pretending to cough. “One more, just for fun.” Hunter fiddles with a black device. It isn’t a cell phone but more like a small computer tablet. No doubt something he designed.
The bailiff’s annoyed growl booms through the courtroom when Lucas’s phone buzzes for the third time. He stomps toward Lucas with an angry scowl fettering his face. His steps are fast and furious, reaching Lucas before he can read his latest message.
When he snatches the phone out of Lucas’s hand and glances down at the screen, his cheeks hue. His lips move like he's attempting to speak, but no words escape his mouth. Lucas’s throat works hard to swallow, but he remains quiet, frozen in shock. The only noise heard is his heavy pants of breath along with Hunter’s muffled laughs.
Hearing Hunter’s chuckles, Regan turns around to face us, snarling when she notices me in the back row. Incapable of withstanding her wrath, Hunter excuses himself from the courtroom before he rushes for the hallway.
My attention diverts to the front of the courtroom when the bailiff announces the judge’s arrival. Relief washes over me when I notice it’s the same judge who presided over Isabelle’s arraignment. I have an inherent knack for reading people, and his eyes show he's a good man with strong ethics, but he also can offer amnesty.
Within five minutes of the evidence-admission hearing commencing, I'm sitting on the edge of my seat, fighting the urge to strip Lucas of his sheep’s clothing in front of the court he's using to cloak his wolf teeth. His statements about Isabelle don’t steer far from his description weeks ago. He calls her unhinged, psychotic, and an agent with a hero complex who goes above her pay grade to unleash personal justice on innocent civilians.
“Every word Mr. Marco has spoken is explicitly biased and based on nothing but false allegations and testimonies from people who should be sitting in the chair my client is sitting in,” Regan remarks, her tone firm. “We have unmistakably demonstrated that a majority of the evidence in this case does not even pertain to the murder of Megan Shroud.”
“That remark is negotiable considering the evidence was stripped from a reputable FBI agent to be processed by a long-term friend of Ms. Myer’s client.”
“Calling Ms. Veneto a reputable agent would be like calling Hitler Mother Theresa,” Regan fires back.
The judge slams his gavel onto the top of the polished wooden podium he's seated behind. “Ms. Veneto isn’t on trial, Ms. Myers, so please keep your opinions on her work ethic for when you're not in my courtroom,” he suggests. “If you wish to file a proceeding for the malicious prosecution of your client, you can, but not in my court.”
Regan screws up her nose but still nods.
Lucas smirks, feeling victorious. “The ridiculous notion that Ms. Veneto has a personal vendetta against Ms. Brahn is blatantly false. Ms. Veneto was the agent who gathered the evidence at the murder scene because she was the agent whodiscoveredthe scene.”
“Because she wassupposedlythere to arrest Ms. Shroud for the murder of her father. But please, Mr. Marco, explain to the judge one time where you’ve heard of an Internal Affairs agent serving an arrest warrant on a civilian.”
