The Final Chapter: Enigma, #4

by Shandi Boyes

  “Your men are good.”

  I hear Henry’s cheekbones rising over the line.

  “Are we good?”

  “We’re good,” he replies without pause. “You know good people, so I trust your instincts.”

  “He was raised by a monster, but he had good intentions. He just went about it the wrong way.”

  “Perhaps I should have sheltered him under my wing instead of shipping him off to Russia.”

  I smile. “He’ll be safer there.”

  “No extradition,” we say in sync.

  After Isabelle fell asleep in my arms last night, I investigated her brother as I stated I would. The two-hundred-thousand-dollar payment Enrique secured from Col for kidnapping Isabelle was wired into Isabelle’s bank account yesterday afternoon. If he’d intended to harm her, he would have never transferred the money to her account, or he wouldn’t have gained access to it.

  Hunter also discovered that the bullet that killed Col Petretti was not from a government-issued pistol. It was from the gun Enrique had pointed at me. I have no doubt the forensic reports will show Col’s gun wasn’t even fired before he was shot by Enrique because he wanted to protect his sister as stoutly as Isabelle fought to defend him last night.

  What Enrique said about needing to use Isabelle as a ruse to force Col out of hiding was true. Col’s usually impenetrable qualm was gravely faltering. He was making sloppy rookie errors that gained unwanted attention from his unforgiving competitors. His desire for revenge was nearly as great as my desire to protect Isabelle, but it was his recklessness that blinded him from seeing who Enrique really was.

  After talking to Regan, she advised that the DA would only consider a plea bargain if Enrique gave them everything on Vladimir. That would have made him a dead man walking, even with an offer of protective custody. Talking from personal experience, Enrique wouldn’t have lasted a week before someone in Vladimir’s crew found him. That’s why I invoked Henry’s favor that's been precariously dangling between us the past seven years.

  Although hesitant in working with a member of the Popov entity, Henry agreed to get Enrique out of the country. He supplied him with a passport, a new identity, and a healthy bank balance to get him established in his new hometown in Russia. Cooper snuck into Enrique’s room last night to finalize the documentation. He must have mentioned details of the ruse to Enrique because Henry generally keeps the finer details on the down-low. “The less you know, the less chance you'll have of incriminating yourself” is a saying he regularly quotes.

  “Even though you've handed in your last card, you're still my family, Isaac. Don’t become a stranger.” Not waiting for me to reply, Henry disconnects the call. He may be a mob boss, but just like in any industry, there are good and bad people. He's one of the rare good ones.

  I house my phone into the breast pocket of my jacket while walking around the corner. Isabelle has her shoulder propped up against the wall. When she notices my approach, a smile spreads across her weary face. I was hesitant with her wanting to talk to Enrique this morning because I was unaware of Henry’s intentions, and I needed to ensure she wasn’t around when his plan was executed.

  I also couldn’t guarantee how much Enrique knew about my business dealings with Vladimir. Although I'm planning to disclose everything to Isabelle when I can, at the moment, some things can’t be fully divulged until they're set in stone. Isabelle doesn’t need more instability in her life.

  I increase my pace, eager to get Isabelle away from this perilous lifestyle she doesn’t belong in. My life has never been anything close to ordinary, but Isabelle instills balance. She keeps me level and reminds me that my empire isn’t the most important thing in my life. She is.

  My brows furrow when I stand next to her. Her gaze is hazy, and she's a little unsteady on her feet. “Are you okay?”

  After I brush away strands of hair that have fallen in her face, she nods. “Yeah.”

  I arch my brow and peer into her glassy eyes.

  She swallows again. “I’m a little bit dizzy.”

  Once I have all the hairs removed from her sweat-drenched face, I press the back of my hand on her forehead. She doesn’t have a fever, but she certainly doesn’t look well. Suddenly, her pupils widen as her hand shoots up to slap her mouth. When she spots the women’s restroom halfway down the hall, she pushes off the wall and paces toward it. Her strides are wobbly and slow.

  I scoop her into my arms and clutch her close to my chest.

  “I’m going to be sick,” she mumbles through the hand covering her mouth.

  “I know, baby.”

  A young nurse wearing hospital scrubs with tongue compressors and stethoscopes printed on the faded material peers at me with bulging eyes when I enter the bathroom. She takes one look at Isabelle’s ashen face before advising she’ll return with a doctor. I kick open the stall door and hoist the toilet seat up with my shoe before shrugging off my jacket to lay it on the tiled floor.

  Isabelle drops to her knees and leans over the bowl, her back bending harshly as she heaves the minimal amount of food she snacked on while issuing her statement. I hold her hair back with one hand, while the other rubs in a circular motion on her back. Goosebumps follow the trail my hand makes, but I’m too worried to pay them any attention.

  Once her stomach is empty, Isabelle leans back until her bottom is resting on the balls of her feet. I rip off two squares of toilet paper from the roll then hand them to her. “Thank you.” She runs the paper along her bottom lip before dumping it into the bowl and flushing the toilet.

  By the time I have gathered her back into my arms, Jae enters the bathroom. “From the student nurse’s description, I thought it sounded like you.” Her eyes drop to Isabelle. “Has she rested at all today?”

  “No. She had court this morning and now this—”

  Sighing, she shines a flashlight into Isabelle’s massively dilated eyes. “She was severely concussed, Isaac. If she won’t rest, I’ll admit her again.”

  “It’s not Isaac’s fault,” Isabelle mumbles, her voice relaying her queasiness. “I insisted on coming here.”

  Jae’s lips twist as the sternness in her eyes eases. “Have you taken any pain relief since this morning?”

  The strictness returns to her face when Isabelle shakes her head. Any excuse I attempt to formulate is cut off from Jae’s wry look. She is usually a happy-go-lucky type of woman, but she’s a stickler when it comes to matters relating to personal health.

  “Let me complete a more thorough examination of her in my office. If she passes those tests, you can take her home. If she fails, I’m going to admit her.”

  Chapter 11

  Isabelle

  An hour later, after having a full check-up by Dr. Jae and an impromptu visit with Hugo, I'm bundled into the passenger seat of Isaac’s car. I don’t need to ask him where we're going. I can devise a response just by looking at him. His every desire and want is pouring out of him, making the interior of the car sticky with a damp mugginess, while also making my insides quiver with anticipation.

  When we enter the I5 highway, Isaac slips his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket, producing a folded-up piece of paper. I eye him inquisitively when he gives the document to me. As I carefully open it, his eyes shift between the road and me.

  Air traps in my throat when my eyes lock in on the picture. It’s a photo of Enrique entering a private jet. The date illuminated in orange in the bottom corner of the frame is time-stamped an hour after he was ushered out of his hospital room.

  My tear-filling eyes lift to Isaac. I don’t need him to confirm he helped Enrique. The truth is relayed in his beautiful, unique eyes that are watching me cautiously, worried I’ll take the news of his involvement in an illegal activity well.

  Although I once declared I'd never get my hands stained, I lied. I’ve learned since that day that when you love someone, you do anything in your power to protect them. I haven’t seen Enrique in twenty years, but that doesn
’t mean I don’t love him. When I looked at him, all I saw was the little boy with big chocolate eyes and a dirty face that stared up at me in awe.

  “Where’s he going?”

  “I can’t tell you that, Isabelle.” Regret is heard in his tone. “There are still some things I can’t disclose yet, but I guarantee you he's safe, and once I can give you more details, I will.”

  I nod before lowering my gaze back down to the photo. Enrique is smiling because not only did Isaac save him from prosecution that might have earned him twenty years in jail, he saved him from the clutches of our father. It might have been twenty years after I was saved, but from the huge grin on Enrique’s face, I don’t think he cares. He looks happy and free.

  “Thank you.”

  When I lean over to press a peck on his unshaven jaw, Isaac’s cheekbones rise. “You’re welcome.” He nudges his head to the glove compartment. “There's a lighter in there. I need you to wind down the window and burn the photo. We can’t have any proof we know what happened to Enrique.”

  I eye him suspiciously. “Who are you, really?”

  He doesn’t answer my question, but the most delicious smirk carves on his mouth. I open the glove compartment to remove the lighter and destroy the evidence as requested. Burning papers float through the air like a scattering of fireflies in the fading night sky. It’s a surreal experience, like all the negative energy is floating away in tiny sparkles of orange, red, and yellow embers.

  The remainder of the trip home is made in silence, but I’m feeling more alive than I have the past month. The fact Isaac is inviting me back into his personal space has my heart swelling. Him bringing me back here means he’s rebuilt his trust in me.

  I love Isaac, he owns every piece of my soul, so I believe my intuition when it says I can trust him too. Our relationship was built on a rocky surface of lies and deception, so it never had the chance to be strong, but if we wipe the slate clean and start again without the secrets, I truly believe we will build a relationship that will weather any storm.

  I turn my gaze to Isaac, who is inputting a security code in a box on the wrought iron gate that surrounds his property. “Do you want to play a game?”

  He flashes me a flirty wink.

  “Not that type of game.” I roll my eyes. “Sex fiend.”

  He chuckles a hearty laugh. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t need to,” I retort, elbowing him in the ribs.

  The blood surging through my heart spills over when he grabs my wrist so that he can kiss my palm. He then rests it on his thigh before guiding his car up the long driveway of his home. “What game do you want to play?”

  “Hugo said the best way to get to know someone is by playing twenty questions.”

  “That sounds like something Hugo would say. Did you two play?”

  “Yes, but we only made it through three questions. I thought his baby was a safe question. It wasn’t.” His thigh muscles bunch when I slide my hand up his trouser-covered leg. “That was really sweet of you to do.”

  Remaining quiet, he parks his car in the multi-car garage, then assists me out of the vehicle. Accepting praise isn’t a strong point of his. My heart whacks my ribs when he opens the carved French doors of his home, then gestures for me to enter before him. My eyes eagerly absorb the foyer and hall as I step inside. If I hadn’t witnessed the damage with my own eyes, I would have never known the FBI had destroyed his property during their horrific search.

  “Do you want to go first or shall I?” Isaac assists me out of my trench coat before storing our jackets into the coatroom. “Is it twenty questions each or in total?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe we should just keep asking questions until we have nothing left to answer?”

  He stops undoing his cufflinks. “All right, but you have to understand some things I can’t answer yet.”

  His body language reveals he isn’t happy about needing to be evasive, but I trust that he will be honest when he can.

  I smile while nodding. “That’s fine, but that means I get to ask the first question.”

  His strengthened posture relaxes. “Deal.” He grins before grasping my hand in his. “But first, we need food and an expensive bottle of wine.”

  The first handful of questions are the standard generic ones most people generally ask. What was your favorite subject in school? What pet did you have growing up? How many siblings do you have? What music do you like? Etc. etc. But as the night moves on, and the wine bottle is emptied, our questions get a little more daring.

  I’ve been relishing every second we’ve spent together. I love that I'm one of a rare few who get to see Isaac like this—so raw and open. He's a guarded man who keeps his cards held close to his chest, but the more time I spend with him, the more information he's sharing. I discovered why he's so fierce in ensuring his brother is safe and protected and how he met Cormack. I even got small snippets on how his empire started from the investments he made fighting in the underground fighting ring.

  I snag a handful of grapes off the cheese and fruit platter on the coffee table, needing something to distract myself from getting all teary-eyed and sentimental. I pop a grape into my mouth as Isaac ambles into the room with a new bottle of wine. He's donning the same suit he was wearing this morning, except no jacket, vest, or tie. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, showcasing his smooth, tan chest, and the front is crinkled from me lounging over him the past three hours.

  “How do you even know Regan has a sex swing?”

  A grin tugs his lips as he fills the spot next to me. “Who do you think arranged to have it installed?”

  I screw my nose up. “That’s only slightly odd. Hey, boss, I want a sex swing, can you arrange it for me?” My impersonation of Regan’s voice sounds more like a twelve-year-old hormonal boy than the sexy, throaty purr I was aiming for.

  Isaac laughs. It’s a husky chuckle that has my toes curling and my libido awakening. “She didn’t ask quite like that. I own her apartment, so she sought my approval before she had a support beam placed in the roof.”

  I pop another grape into my mouth. “You need a support beam installed?”

  “Oh, yeah, if you're doing it right, you do.”

  Energy crackles between us, sparking the air with the pungent aroma of lust. My throat burns from swallowing the grape whole when I catch his searing gaze staring at my lips. Even though he’s only had a few glasses of wine, his gaze is misty and glistening like he's tipsy. It isn’t alcohol causing the glimmer in his eyes, though. It’s the drunken haze of lust.

  Feeling playful, I pop another grape into my mouth, chewing it slowly before delving my tongue out to lick its juicy residue off my lips.

  Isaac growls. “You’ll pay for that tease later.”

  “Oh, yeah, if I’m doing it right, I will.” My tone is laced with cheekiness since the wine heating my blood is making me more daring than normal.

  Isaac shifts his position so he's sitting nearer to me. “If Jae didn’t enforce a no physical-activity stipulation on your discharge paperwork, I would have had you bent over this couch with your perfect ass high in the air, plunging my cock deep inside your greedy pussy well over an hour ago.” I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting hard not to squirm from his lusty gleam when he moves in even closer. “But since I’m under strict doctor’s orders not to touch you, we better continue with our game.”

  I huff, my lower lip dropping into a pout. Isaac smiles, happy he returned the sexual frustration baton back to me. We’ve been playing a game of ping pong with it all afternoon. Little teases, flirty comments, and brief touches have my inner vixen begging for him to touch me, but no matter how many times she pleads, Isaac remains a safe distance.

  Surprisingly, the score in our provocative game is even. It’s enthralling knowing a man with such tantalizing sexual appeal as Isaac’s finds plain, little old me as arousing as I find him.

  Isaac sets down his glass of wine. “Since yo
u asked two questions, I'm going to ask you two sets of questions.”

  “Okay.”

  My breathing stills when he glides his index finger down my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in the wake of his touch. “Do you want to install a sex swing here?”

  My pulse quickens as my pussy clenches. While nodding, I return his lust-riddled gaze, ignoring the hollering my insides are doing.

  “Say it.”

  “Yes.” I squeeze my thighs together, lessening the intense throb between them.

  “Okay. I’ll arrange it.”

  The thump of my pussy grows dangerous. His sexual prowess has always been astonishing, but the idea of trying something new with him has my inner vixen gyrating in excitement.

  “You have one more question.”

  In an instant, his composure goes from teasing to driven. The mask I’ve seen him wear several times, usually during business meetings, slips over his face. Blood teems through my veins, wondering what’s caused his sudden shift in demeanor. The sparkle of lust is still in his eyes, but something more antagonizing is dulling them.

  Not requesting permission, I climb onto his lap and straddle his splayed thighs. After draping my arms around his shoulders, I stare into his clouded gaze, offering him quiet comfort. I feel his pulse surging through his veins from our closeness, but it has nothing on the thump of my heart when he asks, “Marry me, Isabelle?”

  My nose tingles as moisture rushes in my eyes. “What?”

  “Marry me?” he repeats.

  The words ‘it’s too soon’ are sitting on the tip of my tongue, but no matter how many times I try to force them out, my mouth won’t relinquish them. Denying his request is the logical thing to do, but my heart doesn’t want to listen to reasonings. It knows when Isaac and I are together, time doesn’t matter. We don’t notice if an hour, a week, or a month has passed. It’s just us—two people fighting against a world wanting to tear us apart.

  While returning his penetrating stare, I realize it isn’t drive sparking his eyes. It’s fear. Fear that he's opening himself up, and that I’ll shut him down by saying no. Fear that I’m not bound to him as tightly as he is secured to me. Fear of living his life without me.