Page 304 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
“Years of hard work wasted.” I drag a box of ruined documents out of the room to be dumped onto the curb for waste collection. “Uncle Tobias never relied on computers. He said they were too risky. I guess he never met a cracked tile before.”
Hugo chuckles before he helps me lift another saturated box onto the office desk to rummage through.
Three hours later, our hands are covered with black ink from salvaging the documents we could, and Hugo’s tummy is grumbling.
“I’ll climb up onto the roof tomorrow morning to patch the hole the best I can, but you might want to get a professional out to look at it.”
A smile tugs my lips high. “Thanks. I guess I should feed you then, to make sure you don’t fade away before tomorrow morning.”
He chuckles a hearty laugh. “I don’t think there’s much chance of me fading away.”
No, there isn’t. Hugo is so well-built, his physique can’t even be hidden in a long-sleeve shirt, jacket, and loosely hanging jeans.
“Give me a second to get the box I originally came in here for, then I’ll order us some pizza from Maria’s.”
As I pace toward the aisle of boxes, my heart beats faster with every step I take. I glide down the wall of documents seeking the right number. My uncle coded his files according to the names of his targets and the dates he associated with them. So my file from when I was sold would be I09P01 because my name was Isabelle Popov and he purchased me in September 2001.
My heart stops beating when I come face to face with the box I'm searching for. Through shaking hands, I carefully remove the box marked O01P14 and pace back to Hugo. His eyes flick down to the box for several heart-thrashing seconds before they shift back to me. A cloud of suspicion taints his gaze, but he remains quiet as he removes the box from my grasp and walks back to the main residence.
After calling in an order for two large pizzas to be delivered, I grab a quick shower to freshen up before sauntering back to the eat-in kitchen. My breath snags when I discover Hugo rummaging through my uncle’s files. He has several FBI folders marked with a red ‘Confidential’ stamp opened and spread across the wooden dining table. His brows are pulled together so tightly, a deep crease has embedded in his forehead, and his hand that isn’t grasping a document is fisted into a tight ball.
“What are you doing? You can’t go through that. Those files are highly confidential.” I rush toward him and snatch the documents out of his hand.
“Confidential?” His brow cocks high into the air. “You’re invading his privacy, and you're worried about confidentiality. Is this why you came here? Searching for answers to questions he can’t answer yet?”
I don’t reply to Hugo’s interrogation. I just gather the documents and photos spread across the table while ignoring the brutal ache stabbing my chest so painfully, I can’t breathe.
“If you want answers, you should keep asking them, not go behind his back and investigate him.”
“I’m not investigating him—”
“Then what do you call it, Izzy? You’re looking into his past, digging through hispersonallife.”
“I’m not prying into his personal life.”
I jump, startled when Hugo slaps down a surveillance photo of Isaac taken seven years ago onto the wooden tabletop, followed by another, and another, and another.
“You’re not prying into his personal life, hey, then what the fuck is this?” His voice is drenched with anger. “He isn’t a criminal, but you’re treating him as if he is, not the man you’ve agreed to marry.”
The pain in my chest amplifies when his eyes dart to the engagement ring on my hand. I inhale a big breath while slipping my hand into the back pocket of my jeans to remove the photo Brandon gave me yesterday. The pulse in my neck thrums as I carefully unfold the picture. Hugo remains quiet, but I hear his jaw ticking in the uncomfortable silence.
When I hand him the photo, my hand rattles. His brows scrunch as he absorbs the picture, certain what he is seeing can’t be true. His breathing quickens as his eyes shift between the crinkled photo in his hand to the photos on the tabletop.
Once he thinks he has his facts straight, he returns his disbelieving eyes to me. “This can’t be true.”
“It is.” My lips quiver as I battle to hold in my tears. “This file proves it is. Ophelia is alive, and she’s been living in Tiburon the entire time.”
Ignoring the firm clutch on my heart, I place the photo Brandon supplied me with next to the photo of Isaac and Ophelia on a date at a café the night of her ‘accident.’ Even though Ophelia is older in the new photo, the similarities are identifiable—the turned-up nose, the light brown translucent eyes, and the same shaped face, but the small heart-shaped mole in the crook of her neck is by far the most damning evidence.
I point to the white church in the photo. “I gathered she was here because that’s Old St. Hilary’s Church on Esperanza Street in the background. It’s a well-loved landmark of Tiburon.”
“Jesus Christ,” Hugo mumbles under his breath, his eyes lifting from the photo to me. “Does Isaac know about any of this?”
I shake my head. “No, I wanted to come and see for myself. I couldn’t risk hurting him if it weren’t true. If it weren’t really her.”
His nose screws up. “If it’s her, are you planning to tell him?”
I lift the latest photo of Ophelia off the dining table before nodding. The strain hampering Hugo’s face lessens from my agreeing gesture. “I just need to investigate everything first. To make sure I'm giving Isaac facts, not speculations. This photo is over four years old. When my uncle died, all updates on her also ceased. I can’t even guarantee she's still in Tiburon, let alone if she's still alive.”
