The Mystery Unmasked: Enigma, #3

by Shandi Boyes

  Isaac

  “Boss,” Hugo greets me, his tone brusque.

  When I hear Isabelle’s soft breaths meddled with car honks, my anger gets the better of me. “Take me off speakerphone.”

  Hugo instructs for Isabelle to stay in the car before a door creaking open sounds down the line. “I’m alone,” he informs me a short time later, but it’s the words he doesn’t speak that are the loudest of all.

  “Enough with the attitude, Hugo. You need to remember who you work for.”

  He sighs but doesn’t repudiate my statement.

  “Where are you taking her?”

  I hear him scrub at the stubble on his chin. “We’re heading to the airport. She wants to go home.”

  “She’s afraid of flying. That’s why she drove here.”

  “I know,” Hugo interrupts. “But she said her greatest fear has already happened, so what’s the harm in facing another one?”

  I stay quiet, unable to comprehend what Isabelle means by her statement. She said earlier that the gentleman at the gala didn’t scare her, so why is she afraid?

  “Her greatest fear was losing you.” The weight on my chest is more crippling than Hugo’s desolate tone. “What did you do, Isaac?”

  “I made a mistake.” One that I’ll regret every day of my life. “Please keep her safe, Hugo. You can’t let anything happen to her.” My tone makes my request come out more like a plea than a demand.

  “I will.” His voice isn’t as harsh as it was earlier.

  “Thank you.”

  Just as I’m about to disconnect the call, Hugo’s deep voice shouts my name. I press my phone back to my ear in just enough time to hear him say, “Not all mistakes are unfixable. If you work hard enough, even the most broken things can be repaired.”

  He can say that because he didn’t see the look in Isabelle’s eyes when she said goodbye. It cut me like a knife. Nothing has ever hurt as much as hearing those words seep from her lips.

  When the creak of the suite door opening resonates into the living area, I strengthen my stance, pretending my heart wasn’t just ripped out of my chest.

  “Hey.”

  Hunter strolls into the living room, dumping his hemp bag near the sofa on his way. While scratching his scraggly beard, he takes in the space, paying dutiful attention to the half-eaten food on the coffee table. After his eyes shoot to the French doors, they drift back to me. “Where’s Izzy?”

  Ignoring the low hit his question smacks my stomach with, I gather the dishware off the coffee table to place them on the waiter’s trolley. “She and Hugo have gone back to Ravenshoe.” My tone is as gruff as Hunter’s beard.

  “I thought she was staying here until Monday?”

  The dishware breaks when I throw it onto the stainless-steel trolley with more force than needed. While scrubbing my hand across my tired eyes, settling my fury, I turn around to face Hunter. “Her plans changed.”

  He watches me curiously with a puzzled expression clouding his gaze. His pupils widen when his eyes zoom in on the red welt Isabelle’s hand left on my face. “Did she find out about our trip to Vegas?”

  I shake my head, confusing him more. “She found out about the tenant staying in my apartment.” My words are so hoarse, it’s as if my throat has been cut with shards of glass.

  My proclamation doesn’t ease Hunter’s confusion. If anything, it intensifies it.

  “My apartment on Hyde.”

  “Oh fuck…” he breathes harshly, finally clueing on.

  He knows about my indiscretion as he was the first and only man I called when I woke up with Clara in my bed. He accessed every security camera in my building to substantiate that there was some type of error, that what I saw with my own two eyes couldn’t have been true.

  The only error that morning was my abysmal lapse in judgment.

  Clara is one of Cormack’s younger sisters. I’ve known her for nearly as long as I’ve known Cormack. He introduced us when she visited our dorm on the first family visit at our college over nine years ago. She’s undeniably beautiful with long golden hair, bright blue eyes, and flawless skin, but she reminds me so much of Cormack, all I see is him when I look at her. That alone meant I’d never look at her in the same light that she looks at me.

  I know she’s had a crush on me for years. She’s tried numerous times to make our relationship something more than a friendship, but I never looked at her that way. I never saw her as anything more than a friend. That’s why I’m so shocked. The day I got arrested, I spiraled out of control, but even in the most demanding situations, I usually maintain a collective mentality.

  Obviously, that day my moral compass was way askew.

  “Did you explain the situation to Izzy?” Hunter asks.

  “What’s there to explain? I got rip-roaring drunk the day you arrested me, then woke up the next morning in bed with another woman having no recollection of the night before.”

  Hunter pulls at the collar of his shirt. He’s back to his standard jeans and t-shirt combination. “I probably wouldn’t use those words, but if you explain what lead to it, she might understand.”

  My disbelieving chuckle booms in the quietness of the living area. It’s a laugh that expresses the pain tearing through my chest.

  “Explain that you didn’t purposely deceive her. It was just the wrong-time-wrong-place shit.” His concerned eyes glance into mine. “You were dealing with some bad shit that day, Isaac, and this proves you’re a mere man and not the myth everyone thinks you are. People make mistakes all the time. You had a lapse in judgment. That doesn’t make you a terrible person.”

  I shake my head. Blaming my poor choices on a drunken mistake is the easy way out. I’m more capable than that. I fucked up. I made a mistake, but if I’m being entirely honest, when I woke that morning, I wanted Isabelle to feel the betrayal I felt when I discovered she had lied to me for months on end. I wanted her to suffer through the broken trust I was dealing with. It was only when guilt surfaced, and my drunken haze lifted, did I realize I had made a colossal mistake. A blunder so mammoth our relationship may never come back from it.

  When I found out Isabelle didn’t deceive me, I should have come clean before begging for forgiveness. Instead, I acted like a coward by sweeping it under the rug. I used Megan’s incident as a distraction from telling her because I knew she wouldn’t forgive me, but I couldn’t give her up.

  I can’t give her up.

  She’s my addiction.

  She’s my everything.

  She’s mine.

  I will make this right. I just need time to work out how.

  Chapter 28

  Isaac

  “Good afternoon, Isaac.” Tina leans over the bar so far, her cleavage is dangerously close to spilling out. “A gentleman is waiting for you in your office.”

  While gesturing with my head that I heard her, I continue my brisk strides. I’m not surprised when I enter my office to discover my chair facing the window. Henry Gottle, Sr. has been a building watcher for as long as I’ve been born. Even living in a city with an abundance of scenery, he never stops absorbing every architectural structure and landscape around him.

  “Henry.” I sling my jacket over my coat rack before spinning around to face him. His dark blue suit is only just visible on the arm of my leather chair, but a man with characteristics like Henry doesn’t require me to see his face to know it’s him. I can sense it in my bones.

  “You’ve always had a fascination with arches, Isaac. The curve and the design of this window is marvelous.”

  He waves his hands to the curved brick window in my office before swiveling the chair to face me. His dark blue suit is impeccably tailored, but he wears it with an edginess that makes him appear younger than he is. His wavy black hair, mocha-skin coloring, and icy blue eyes make him the spitting image of his son, although, obviously, he’s a few years older than him. Not many—just a few.

  Henry became a father at the tender age of seventeen. People b
elieve their rift is because Henry put his empire above his son, but that isn’t the case. Henry loves his son. He loves him so much he refused to let him live the lifestyle he was raised in.

  Henry was born to be the man he has become. It was his destiny. Being the first-born son of the world’s most notorious mob boss guaranteed he’d have a viable reputation, but the difference between Henry and others in his industry is that he isn’t a monster, and he most certainly isn’t ruthless. He commands respect, but he does it without the underhanded and brutal tactics of his competitors. Everything I’ve learned the past nine years, I learned from Henry. He’s a second father to me.

  “It’s a similar arch to the one you have in your bedroom window. Yes?”

  Smirking, I nod. “It was done by the same architect. If I look hard enough from my bedroom window, I can see the Dungeon from there.”

  Henry smiles. “The king overlooking his empire.”

  I glance out the window. Before Isabelle, my every accomplishment was measured by my wealth, my business, and my reputation. Now, it all seems worthless. While running my hand along my cropped beard, my gaze shifts back to Henry. He’s studying me with as much concentration as he used on the architecture of my office. “Did you get the photos?”

  His eyelid gets an involuntary tick. “Yes.” His short reply doesn’t allude to his findings. He’s skilled at keeping his cards close to his chest. Another point that makes him brilliant in his industry.

  “And?”

  “You forgot a photo.” He stands from my chair and ambles toward me. “This one.” When he hands me the picture of Isabelle I left in the top drawer of my desk, a fierce storm brews within me, surged on by my vital necessity to protect Isabelle. Sensing my vicious composure, Henry stills. The chill of his icy gaze runs over my face, absorbing the turmoil scorching my veins. “She’s your Katarina?”

  Katarina was Henry’s one and only love. She’s also Henry, Jr.’s mother. Not only did Henry give up his son to save him from this lifestyle, he also gave up the love of his life as well.

  “Yes, she’s my Katarina.”

  Henry’s brows pull together as his eyes dash between mine. “Do you know who she is?” This time, he leaves his cards laying on the table fully exposed for me to see.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “Then you know she can’t be your Katarina. You dodged a bullet once with Ophelia. You can’t dodge it again with her.”

  I shoot him a wry look, warning him that he overstepped the mark with his comment. “She doesn’t have any association with Vladimir. She doesn’t even know him—”

  “Just like Ophelia was unaware her father was trying to sign you as his fighter for months before you started dating?”

  My jaw clenches tight. This isn’t the first time he’s accused Ophelia of being an elaborate ruse to force me to fight under Col. “Ophelia died, yet that still isn’t enough for you to stop harboring ill feelings toward her,” I snarl viciously. “You’re obviously more callous than your reputation suggests.”

  Henry flinches from my bitter words, and the anger fettering his face softens. “If you merge your empire with Vladimir’s, Isaac, you’ll never get out.” He paces closer to me as the concern in his eyes overtakes his fury. “Is she worth losing everything for? Your wealth? Your empire? And perhaps even your life?”

  “Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “She’s worth risking everything for.”

  Thick silence meets my response. Henry’s commanding stature doesn’t falter. He merely maintains control the same way he governs his empire—with sharpness and authority.

  I rein in my anger, emulating the man from whom I’ve learned many valuable lessons. “Was the signature at the junkyard him?”

  “Yes.” After dipping his chin, he strides to my office door. Just before he exits, he turns back to peer at me. “Tread carefully, Isaac. If you need me, I’m only a phone call away.”

  I issue my thanks with a lift of my chin.

  Once my office door closes, I dig my phone out of my pocket and dial a familiar number. Ryan answers a few seconds later. “Ryan Carter.”

  “Ryan, it’s Isaac—”

  “Now isn’t a good time. Can this wait?”

  His voice is strained with worry, but I’d rather pass on this message now. “It will only take a minute.”

  A doctor being paged to the intensive care unit bellows down the line along with Ryan’s shuffling feet. My brows furrow, wondering why he’s at the hospital, let alone an intensive care unit.

  “If it’s regarding Isabelle’s case, the bullet recovered from Megan’s crime scene is being removed from the DA’s evidence. The CSI officer in Hopeton agreed that the bullet did not pass through human matter.”

  Relief washes over me. “Does that mean their case against Isabelle has been dropped?”

  Ryan sighs. “Not yet, but we’re close.” His voice muffles for the quickest second before he tells me he has to go.

  “Before you do—”

  He sighs again, louder this time.

  “You’ll want to hear this.” He doesn’t say anything, but the fact he hasn’t hung up tells me I have his attention. “The two police officers who assaulted Isabelle—”

  “Yes.” Now he’s invested enough to speak.

  “They’re dead.”

  “Fuckin’ hell, Isaac.”

  “It wasn’t me.” My tone gets an edge of anger to it.

  “But you know who it was?”

  “Yes. If you can meet with me, I’ll explain everything.”

  “I’ll be at your office in an hour.”

  Not waiting for my reply, he disconnects the call.

  Chapter 29

  Isabelle

  A nightmare wakes me from my sleep at 3:35 a.m. I gasp in quick breaths to suffocate the scream attempting to break out of my parched mouth. My body is coated with sweat, and my heart is erratically beating. This dream was much worse than any I’ve had previously. The vivid scene from the barn has come back full force, but my wondrous imagination multiplied the horrific image.

  The gruesome scene I witnessed that morning has been plaguing me since I left Isaac at the hotel four nights ago. I’ve tried clearing my mind of negative thoughts before going to bed as recommended by Dr. Clarke, but nothing has worked. Every night, without fail, before I fall asleep, my mind wanders to the last time I saw Isaac. Add that to my upcoming murder trial and suspension from the Bureau, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for nightmares. I’m beyond exhausted, heartbroken, and numb. I’m a fucking wreck.

  My gaze floats to the bedside table holding the turned-off and most likely dead cell Isaac gave me last week. Even beyond pissed, my heart yearns to know Isaac isn’t hurt like my dreams portray. I loved him from the moment I crashed into him at the airport, so I can’t just switch off my feelings no matter how hard I pray.

  Instead of making a costly mistake I can’t take back, I put on my dressing gown and pad into Regan’s kitchen. When Hugo and I flew back to Ravenshoe, I begged him to take me to Harlow’s apartment. My pleas fell on deaf ears. Hugo said we either go to Regan’s house or he’d pay for a hotel out of his salary.

  Isaac pays his staff very well, but I didn’t want Hugo to pay for my stubbornness, so, with reluctance, I walked back into Regan’s apartment, ignoring the door opposite the one I was entering. I’d love nothing more than to scratch my nails down Clara’s disgusting face, but since that would have her believing she won, I’ve kept a cool, collective approach—for now.

  I fill a glass of water to the brim before gulping it down, hoping it will dislodge the lump in my throat. The water eradicates the dryness in my mouth, but it does little to alleviate the ache in my chest.

  When something suddenly moves in the corner of the room, I startle. I clutch my chest, which is struggling to contain the mad beat of my heart. “You scared the shit out of me.”

  Hugo grins before pushing off the wall his shoulder is propped against. He’s wearing a pair of dangerousl
y low-riding blue cotton pants. I say dangerously low as nearly every portion of his impressive ‘V’ muscle is on display.

  His lips tug into an uneasy grin as he takes in the sweat-drenched collar of my shirt and wide, panicked eyes. “Another nightmare?”

  I nod before sharing the details of my dream. It’s another tactic Dr. Clarke believes will alleviate the stranglehold my nightmares have on me.

  Hugo remains quiet, nodding at specific parts of the story while cringing at others. “If it makes you feel any better, Isaac is safe. I was talking to him before I heard your door open.”

  Relief is the first thing that washes through me. It’s closely followed by worry. Why was Isaac calling Hugo so early in the morning?

  As if he heard my inner monologue, Hugo says, “He was calling to make sure you hadn’t had another nightmare. He does that same thing every morning.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  Even though I already know his answer, I want Hugo to spell it out for me. He’s loyal to a fault, but I don’t believe his loyalty to Isaac is solely because Isaac pays his staff well. My intuition is telling me it’s much deeper than that.

  Hugo rubs at a kink in his neck. “I said you were sleeping well.” He drops his hands before intertwining his fingers. “He hung up before I heard your door open.”

  “Are you planning to call him the instant I go back into my room?”

  “Nah.” He flashes me a mischievous grin. “I’ll wait at least a minute or two.”

  His chuckles bounce around the kitchen when my elbow becomes friendly with his ribs. After a final stink-eye, I head back to my room. I don’t even make it into the hallway before overhearing part of Hugo’s phone conversation with Isaac. “She’s okay… it didn’t seem as bad this time. Yeah, I will. She has another appointment with Avery at ten this morning. I promise you, Isaac, nothing will happen to her.”

  I shower and dress before hurrying out of Regan’s guest bedroom. Because it took me so long to settle after my nightmare, I overslept my alarm, and I’m now running late for my second appointment with Dr. Clarke.