by Shandi Boyes
Over our game of detective and victim, Regan rolls her eyes. I’m not willing to give in as easily. Three incidents, I can brush off. I watched her like a creep at Substanz five years ago. I was on the clock, but my behavior was borderline creeper. Theresa admitted she had agents following Regan before her case was assigned to me, and I’ve been actively shadowing her the past six weeks.
Three incidents make sense.
Four. . . I'm not down with four.
Four is wrong.
Four is a recipe for death—Regan only said that an hour ago.
Four I will not accept.
“For a guy who is five seconds from losing an eye, you ask a lot of questions.” I’m forced to eat my rebuttal when Regan quickly adds on, “Although it shouldn’t be any concern of yours, excluding you and your sneaky glances over a newspaper, I'm reasonably sure there have been four incidents total."
Before I can utter a syllable—or even a growl—a commotion at the side gains our attention. Isaac glides into the room. His face is awash with concern, his eyes wide.
“Jae called me when she saw your name on the admissions board. What happened? She heard rumors you knocked heads with some bozo in the elevator?”
I cough unexpectedly, regrettably shifting Isaac's attention from Regan to me. "Bozo. Nice to meet you," I greet, recognizing my cover has been blown.
I thrust out my hand, hoping my scruffy beard, bad need of a haircut, and the forty pounds of muscle I’ve put on since our last meeting will conceal my identity from him as well as it has fooled Regan.
A smirk crosses my lips when he accepts my gesture. I clearly have him deceived. Isaac’s handshake is firm, tight, and as austere as his eyes. He's grateful I helped Regan seek medical attention, but annoyed he isn’t the only alpha in the room. I had wondered a few weeks ago if he and Regan were more than friends. Now I know without a doubt their interactions only occur in one room—the boardroom.
Isaac is so desperate to be top dog, he'd never date a woman as fierce as Regan. He doesn't want a prudish wallflower, but he needs a woman willing to hand over the control. If I could look past my inane dislike of him, I could see a lot of similarities between us. He needs control. I have it. He wants to rule the world. I already do. He's successful. So am I—in my own way. All alphas have their own place in the world. Isaac's is in a jail cell. Mine is in Regan's bed.
What the fuck?
I snatch my hand away from Isaac's, panicked he heard my inner secrets. It wasn't his hand tightening around mine alerting me to his suspicion. It's the distrust in his eyes. He has the jealous, untrustworthy look down pat. He doesn't want Regan shouting his name, but that doesn't mean he'll let any random water her turf either. I understand. I interrogated my sisters' boyfriends all the time. It was so much fun watching them sweat, I even had the "talk" with boys not dating her.
Outside of work, I’d accept Isaac’s challenge with a smile. Alas, I’m on the job. I shouldn’t be conversing with him, much less without Theresa’s permission. If she finds out we’ve been formally introduced, my head will be on the chopping block. This isn’t a probability. It's a given.
I shift on my feet to face Regan. It only takes two seconds to gain her focus since her eyes were bouncing between Isaac and me as if watching a tennis match. Her pupils are massive, apparently as fascinated by Isaac’s inflated chest as I am.
The confusion slashed across her gorgeous features vanishes when I say, "I'll be sure to jot down the correct apartment number before attempting another visit to my friend's home. Would hate to have more elevator incidents than necessary."
Isaac’s stern gaze shifts to Regan when she mutters, “Where’s the fun in that?”
Even an immense amount of egotism pumping through his veins doesn’t impede Isaac from registering the disappointment in Regan’s tone. He just lost a point in our game of tit for tat. I shouldn’t be grinning like a newbie actor accepting an Oscar, but I am.
I nearly ask Regan for her number before I remember this isn’t a game I can play. Although she hasn’t done anything illegal in the time I’ve had her under surveillance, she still sits on the opposite side of the law. I am a lawman who follows the rules to a T. She's a lawyer who bends them at every possible opportunity at the request of her client. We would never work out. So instead, I dip my chin in farewell, pivot on my heels and bolt.
Any leverage I gained in our alpha male showdown is lost when Isaac’s chuckle is the last thing I hear. He thinks he won our latest battle. I’m inclined to believe him.
Chapter Nine
“Seriously?”
Isaac's wide-with-suspicion eyes drift to mine. When I lift my brow, silently demanding he return his phone to his suit jacket, pain scuttles across my face. I have no clue why my body is registering pain. I shouldn't be feeling anything. I'm so doped up on sedatives, I mistook Alex's concern as something much greater.
He wasn't attentive because he felt the crazy current surging between us. He washed my wound as he was sickened with grief. The way he hightailed it out of here like his ass was on fire as soon as Isaac arrived was a clear indication of my ill-informed assumptions. He saw an out, and he ran for it.
My mood worsens when Isaac asks, “Name?”
He only mutters one word, but it’s a harrowing reminder of his rigid security. Isaac is a protector. From the day he aided in my escape from Substanz, to last week when he ran a background check on a guy I planned to meet from Tinder, my safety has always been a top priority on his to do list.
At times, I thought his concern was due to the sister/brother comment he made years ago, but his interaction with Alex has weakened my hypothesis. He wasn’t just parading his naturally engrained authoritativeness; he was marking his scent all over me.
Most of Isaac’s behavior centered around two alpha males being in the same room, but a part—a very minute part—had nothing to do with business, and everything to do with me.
Call me cocky, but I'm confident in my assumption. I've never seen Isaac balk the way he did when Alex offered him his hand to shake. He seemed more interested in spitting at his feet than accepting his greeting. And then, not even two seconds after Alex fled, he yanked his cell phone out of his pocket. It isn't the standard run-of-the-mill cell you'd expect every twenty-seven-year-old businessman to have. It's an ancient phone — the one he only uses when he's causing trouble.
Isaac buckles down for a fight when I slip off the bed to get dressed. “Two seconds, Regan, and Hunter will know every aspect of Bozo’s life.”
“No.” I bob down to gather my clothes neatly folded on the floor, ignoring the fury radiating from him. Although peeved my designer babies were left defenseless, I’d rather them be friendly with a sterile environment than be hacked to shreds.
“Regan?”
I pivot around to face Isaac, laying my clothes on the crumpled bedding on my way. “I don’t want to know every aspect of his life.”
“Only last weekend, you had Hunter run ten suitors through his system,” he rebuts, visibly frustrated.
“That’s different—”
“How?!” He sounds more annoyed at my sudden revoke of personal scrutiny than my reasoning behind it.
I take a moment to work out how to express my next words without sounding whiny. I shouldn’t have bothered. I could only sound more whiny if I were a baby overdue for a bottle. “They were men I intended to use for visual stimulation. Bozo has no interest in warming my sheets.”
“Huh?!”
I’m saved from hearing Isaac’s laughter in an echo when the lack of walls in my bay sends it bellowing down the corridor instead.
“If I hadn’t arrived when I did, not even a concussion would have stopped him.”
He stops gleaming when I snarl, “Then why did you come rushing in, Kill-Joy-Tate? I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. ”
“Well, excuse me for caring, Ms. Vibe-Rator.”
I snort, loving that his woeful mood didn’t stop him from us
ing my favorite nickname.
“Besides, I was under the assumption you ‘didn’t need a man to get you off.’” He air quotes one of my frequent sayings, forcing laughter to bubble in my chest.
Alex’s naturally cocky demeanor must have done a real number on him. I’ve never seen a man as dominant and as in control as Isaac use air quotes before.
“I’m more than capable of getting the job done.” I graze my teeth over my lower lip before issuing Isaac a flirty wink, ensuring his nightmares are well stocked the next two days. “But an occasional mix-up never hurts anyone. He could have been fun.”
After working his jaw side to side, Isaac growls, “Even more reason to have Hunter look into him.” His eyes stray in the direction Alex just left. “Something about him is off, Regan. I don’t know what it is, but I’m not a fan.”
“Then give yourself a pat on the back, Hercules. I doubt he’ll line up for round two after your macho stance scared him away.”
When Isaac’s eyes snap to mine, full of narcissistic vanity, I drop mine to my clothing, praying it will hide the deceit blazing in them. Alex doesn’t seem like the type of man to back away when challenged. If anything, it might increase his determination.
God, I hope so!
I wasn't deceitful when I said I spotted Alex in the restaurant Isaac and I regularly dine at. He's a hard man to miss. He didn't just have my eye; he had many other female patrons’ and staff’s as well. I don't have issues with low self-esteem, so usually, if a man like Alex captures my attention, I approach him without pause for thought. But there's something about Alex that stopped me. It doesn't make any sense considering we only met this afternoon, but I feel like I know him, even though we’re strangers. I guess that's why I was so upfront with him? I don't see him as a stranger.
I’ve only had an instant connection like this once before in my life.
It didn’t end well.
Mercifully, the pain medication making my head woozy blocks tears from welling in my eyes. Not a day passes without Luca entering my thoughts, but as the years move on, the tears have followed them. You can mourn someone without crying—it just takes years of practice.
The small wins keep coming when it dawns on me that Alex’s undershirt caught most of the blood oozing from my wound before it could dribble onto my blouse. I would have hated tossing my favorite Oscar de la Renta feather-detailed blouse, but I would have had no other option. Whether on screen or in real life, I hate blood. Just the thought of my sister Raquel getting up close and personal with it makes me physically ill.
Raquel is well on her way to becoming a world-renowned surgeon. Just like me, she paid her dues at NY State before being accepted to medical school. Unlike me, she refuses Isaac's assistance in any form—money or contacts. In a way, I'm glad. I love working for Isaac. His empire broadened my skills years before I sat for the bar, but I'd rather he didn't need trauma surgeons at his beck and call.
If Isaac was aware of the secret I shared with Alex, he wouldn’t only have a state-of-the-art hospital on standby; he’d have an entire sheriff’s department tailing my every move. I’m not joking. That’s how protective he is.
“Spin.” I nudge my head to the curtain separating Isaac and me from the other dozen or so patients in the emergency department at Ravenshoe Private Hospital. Isaac and I have grown extremely friendly the past five years, but we’re not so chummy I’ll get naked in front of him.
When Isaac pivots with a playful grumble, I untether the cords pinching my neck. I don’t know who dressed me, but my god, even with the gown being three sizes too large, I’m on the verge of being strangled.
The events between bumping heads with Alex and waking up in a hospital bed with half a dozen stitches above my brow are a little fuzzy. It was only after the nurse gave me an in-depth description of the man who refused to leave my side until he was carted out by security did I realize Alex had brought me to the hospital. She figuratively painted him with as many panty-wetting details as females do when describing Isaac, but the addition of blond hair and heart-thumping blue eyes gave away my suitor's true identity.
Considering he lied in the lead up to knocking me out, I should have had security escort him out of the building. But for some reason, I asked the nurse to fetch him instead of giving him his marching orders. I don’t know why. He has an honest edge to him. . . well, when he’s not visiting imaginary friends and faking the demure life of an accountant.
There's only one way a man as fit and bulky as Alex could be an accountant—he works for a steroids company.
I grimace. My pained expression isn’t from my beloved blouse skimming over my stitches; it’s recalling Ayden’s declaration on steroid-using men. “It bulks up their muscles by stealing the nutrients from much more vital regions.”
I doubt Alex has an issue with his manhood. You couldn’t exude his choke-hazard confidence with a cocktail sausage for a cock. He’s packing heat. Unfortunately, I’m not solely referring to his crotch.
I was barely lucid in the elevator, but I was cogent enough to recognize the heaviness digging into my rib. He was carrying a weapon. Knowing he was armed should freak me out, but the pain medication at this hospital is top notch. Worry is the last thing on my mind. It doesn't even enter the equation when I spot a pair of blood-splattered shoes peeking through the curtain of the bay next to mine.
If it weren’t for my bent position, I would have never identified their owner. They are hard to forget since they were the last image I saw before a blistering of stars rendered me a blubbering idiot. Alex didn’t charge out of here to disentangle an accounting nightmare. He took up a spying station in the bay next to mine.
I should call out his lurking ways. Shame him for the stalker he is. But instead, I tug my skirt up my thighs, throw on my shoes, then spin on my heels to face Isaac.
His earlier frustration vanishes when I say, “It’s lucky you arrived when you did. My new friend was an accountant.” I heave so loudly, half the residents of Ravenshoe hear me. “You know what I think about numbers men.”
“The digits never stack up,” Isaac and I express at the same time.
Nodding, I mock, "I like tigers in the sack, big heroic men like you. Not a pussy who thinks a five-second tumble in the sheets makes every woman shatter."
Isaac’s eyes shoot my way. He’s shocked by my underhanded compliment, but the surprise in his eyes is barely seen through his skepticism. On the rare occasion my battery-operated dates aren’t cutting the mustard, I branch out to oxygen-operated ones. I don’t have a type. A handsome man is a handsome man. But Isaac is well aware I have a fondness for blushers. It’s cute seeing a man’s cheeks colored by something other than anger.
Isaac should take a page out of my book. I’ve only seen his cheeks blush twice. Both times he was fuming mad. Thankfully, his anger wasn’t directed at me, and I’d like to keep it that way. Even someone as confident as me would wither under his furious glare.
When Isaac arches a brow in suspicion, I grumble, “What?! Can’t a girl mix up her prerogatives occasionally? We women are extremely versatile. You should try a change in palate. An entirely new world could fall at your feet if you altered your routine a little.”
“New world or a new woman?” Isaac asks, hearing the innuendo in my tone.
I shrug, praying it will hide my smirk. “Whatever tickles your fancy.”
I expect Isaac to recant that world domination is the only item on his agenda. Shockingly, he remains quiet. That’s even more foreign than walking away from a man who spikes my heart rate as much as he does my apprehension.
Chapter Ten
“Did she say pussy or pansy?”
A gentleman with ghost-white hair and a face full of wrinkles notches his shoulder to his ear. He’s been glowering at me since I darted into his bay unannounced ten minutes ago.
When I fled Regan’s room, I had every intention of returning to my car to tail her home as I’ve done daily the past six weeks, but somethin
g changed my course. I want to say it was a solid hunch, but my reaction to being called a pussy or pansy or whatever the fuck derogatory word she called me, I’m reasonably confident I’m not donning a white doctor’s coat and an angry snarl for the decency of the bureau.
I knew Isaac would pry into my private life before I began my placement at Ravenshoe. That’s why I went to great lengths to ensure my information, along with the other three dozen officers on Isaac’s case, was hidden from view. I’m not talking a standard concealment any half-assed hacker could unravel. I mean buried—buried. Even the government would have a hard time locating us.
So although I’d like to use personal protection as an excuse for my loitering, I can’t. I wanted to hear what Regan had to say about me. Would she brush me off as some random she bumped heads with in the elevator? Or did the worry in my voice when probing her on her previous stalking cases compel her to decide we’re long lost friends?
She doesn't seem like a liar, so I was skeptical the latter would occur, but I never anticipated she'd refuse to give my credentials to Isaac. I've watched Regan so intently the past six weeks, I can confidently declare she isn't a woman who jumps at barked commands. But Isaac is her employer. She's paid to follow his command. Yet, she kept my identity on the down low. I won't lie. My chest swelled with smugness. I may have even done a little jig on the spot.
Unfortunately, the air was let out of my tires only a few short minutes later. Hearing Regan admit she wants a tiger in the sack should have made my dick swell like it did my chest, but since she referenced a man I wouldn't piss on if he was on fire, it had the opposite effect. It riled me up with so much anger, the curtains quivered from my fury.
Isaac isn’t a celestial being. He's a mockery to the very definition of an alpha male. He had a sniper lying in wait to take down federal agents. If that doesn’t make him the scum coating the showers of the seedy motels scattered along Route 66, he’s the dog shit every runner lands on at 5 AM when attempting to improve their fitness.
