Page 8 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
After digging her hand back into the greasy paper bag, she thrusts a gigantic cinnamon donut toward me. My stomach grumbles when its pleasant aroma invades my nasal cavities, and my mouth salivates just from looking at its deliciously rounded perfection, but I hesitantly shake my head. I’d have to run ten miles just to work that baby off.
Regina huffs before taking a big bite out of the donut she was offering me. A growl erupts from her lips as she attacks the donut with unbridled fury. Her pleasurable moans echo through the interior of her car, forcing my bottom lip to droop. Once she has devoured every last smidgen of the donut, she teasingly pops her thumb into her mouth, ensuring not one speck of cinnamon remains on her finger.
“Can you grab me a napkin?”
Prying my hungry eyes away from the donut-filled bag, I open the worn and battered glove compartment she’s pointing to. Numerous manila folders and a handful of napkins plummet into my lap when the old hinges crank open.
I grab a handful of napkins for Regina before collecting the folders so I can return them to the glove compartment. “Keep the gray one out,” Regina instructs. “I color-coordinated that one just for him.”
After shoving the non-required folders back into the overflowing glove compartment, I flick open the gray folder to eagerly scan the extensively noted documents inside.
“Page two.” Eagerness is clear in Regina’s voice.
My heart lurches in my throat when I turn the page. Piercing gray eyes, high and defined cheekbones, soft and plump lips, and a dimple in his chin, the very definition of a man is displayed in front of me.
Oh God.
“Can anyone say gorgeous?” Regina squeals, scaring the living daylights out of me.
She pulls on the steering wheel to correct her car from veering off the road since her eyes were too busy inspecting the photo in my hand. Confident we won’t have a fender bender, she says, “That unbelievably handsome man is Isaac Holt, a twenty-seven-year-old businessman who is unmarried, has no kids, has lived in Ravenshoe the past six years, and has one sibling named Nicholas Holt. He owns a handful of highly successful nightclubs within the state. His current estimated worth is forty-three million dollars.” Her brows waggle when she mentions his wealth.
My stomach rolls when I peer at the man who had me mesmerized mere minutes ago. There has to be a mistake. That incredibly captivating man can’t be the same person Regina is investigating.
“Why is law enforcement interested in him?”
“He’s twenty-seven years old and already a multi-millionaire. That alone warrants an investigation,” she replies coolly.
My eyes dart back down to the documents in front of me. The more I read about the elusive Mr. Isaac Holt, the more my interest is piqued. Although today he wasn’t evasive, he indisputably exudes mystery and intrigue.
“He made his first million before his twentieth birthday and before he even left college.”
Regina glances at me before nodding. “We had nothing on him the past four years, but an undercover agent has spotted him numerous times this past year entering an illegal underground fight ring. Normally, those types of functions don’t gain the attention of law enforcement, but this particular fight ring has some very notorious members.”
I continue to peruse the documents. Isaac is in several photos with two extremely large gentlemen. One looks like he’s been recruited from the military. His hair still has the same military-issued crew cut. He’s ruggedly handsome but lacks the mysteriousness that makes Isaac so intriguing. The other guy has blond hair clipped close at the sides but longer on the top. His eyes are ocean blue, and he’s smiling in nearly every photo. He’s also handsome but in a humble, boy-next-door way.
“The brunette remains anonymous, but the blond is Jacob Walters,” Regina informs me when she notices the photos in my hand. “We believe the brunette is either an associate of Isaac’s or his bodyguard. Jacob is his fighter. Isaac owns him.”
My eyes rocket to Regina’s. When she frowns and nods, my stomach churns.How can you own someone in the twenty-first century?I thought slavery ended years ago?
In silence, I flick through the extensive collection of Polaroid photos displayed in the gray manila folder.
“Col Petretti and Vladimir—”
“Popov,” I interrupt.
“You’ve done your research.” Regina seems impressed by my extensive knowledge.
Vladimir Popov and Col Petretti are two names frequently exploited during FBI training. My superiors used their names during numerous exercises and case studies while I was in training.
“What does Isaac Holt have to do with the mob?”
My heart erratically pounds my ribs as I wait for Regina to answer. She doesn’t keep me waiting long. “He’s one of them.”
“Who am I here for?”
My eyes return to the profile picture of Isaac, silently praying she doesn’t say his name. My prayers are left unanswered when she says, “The Bureau’s primary focus is Isaac. If we get anyone else, it’s a bonus.”
Nerves tap dance in my stomach. Who would’ve known the very first case thrust into my hands upon leaving FBI Headquarters would be to hunt down some of the country’s most notorious mob bosses, let alone a man who can ignite my senses with the simplest touch of his fingertip?
