Hushed Guardian: Brandon's Story

by Shandi Boyes

  “I won’t go to Tiburon…” the excitement flaring through her eyes dims when I add, “… if you go on my behalf.”

  25

  Brandon

  “Hurry the fuck up, Grayson. How long does this shit take?”

  “Are you serious, punk? If it’s so fucking easy, why didn’t you hack in?” he replies, whispering.

  While accepting a coffee from Isabelle, I smile like she didn’t bust me requesting a fellow agent to hack into the Bureau’s mainframe to interrupt surveillance at HQ. When she disappears to deliver the rest of the coffees to our teammates, I jump up from my seat and make my way to the corridor for some privacy.

  “I can’t keep ears out of a room I’m in, that’s why I asked for your help, dipshit.”

  Grayson makes a pfft noise. “Whatever.” A few seconds later, he coughs up the words I’m dying to hear. “I’m in…” I would have preferred for them not to be followed by, “… but directing the feed to another server is proving problematic.”

  After glancing down the hallway, ensuring our conversation isn’t being overheard by anyone in my team, much less the IA agent approaching Isabelle near the coat rack, I squash my phone closer to my ear. “Can you terminate the feed altogether? Make it look like a glitch?”

  “Maybe.” Keys being frantically stroked sound down the line before Grayson says, “I think I can take it offline—”

  “Think or can?”

  He’s most likely hiding out in a storage closet on the Bobrov compound, but it doesn’t stop his frustrated growl vibrating down the line. He’d rather risk his cover being blown than lose the chance to announce how much I annoy him. “Either way, the interview you’re hoping to be a part of is about to commence, so if you are planning to join it, move your ass, dickface.”

  The nerves in my gut are heard in my reply, “Get eyes and ears out of the room for me, Grayson. I don’t just need them off Izzy, I need them off me as well.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  When he hits the end button, I switch off my phone, then make my way down the corridor buzzing with hyped activity. As Phillipa predicted, Internal Affairs was brought in within hours of Isaac’s arrest Friday afternoon. Although they didn’t immediately request to interview Isabelle, we all knew today’s event was going to occur at some stage. Isabelle has a lot to answer for, but at the moment, IA agents are the only ones who can ask the hard-hitting questions without placing our entire division under the spotlight.

  Unwanted scrutiny is the sole reason I stayed away from Isabelle the entire weekend. I can imagine how bad she’s feeling after she was forced to arrest Isaac, but I’m surrounded by so much controversy right now, I have to thoroughly examine every step I take before taking it. It sucks, but it’s also necessary.

  The mood in the main hub of HQ is noticeably subdued. IA didn’t just stir the pot by sending an interstate crew to investigate claims Isabelle aided and abetted a criminal by supplying Isaac with official government documents. They sent the ex-supervisor of this division—Theresa Veneto.

  Phillipa broke protocol when she told me the charges IA was planning to pin on Isabelle, but considering she’s currently on a flight back from Tiburon with a file I’m dying to get my hands on, her secret is safe with me. I won’t let her be prosecuted for helping me any more than I won’t let Isabelle be impeached because a scorned woman wants revenge. If Theresa has issues with how Alex took her down, she should be taking it out on him, not one of his rookie agents.

  My teeth grit at my double standards. I’ve been striving for months to topple the Gottle entity by gunning for the bottom prong in his organization, so how is what Theresa is doing any different?

  Realizing now isn’t the time for a fucked-up riddle, I put on my game face. I make it to the conference room in just enough time. Theresa is seated across from Isabelle, but the recorder they brought with them hasn’t been switched on.

  Theresa’s evil eyes snap up to mine when I knock on the glass door. She appears pissed by the interruption. Isabelle looks relieved. “As the union representative for this division, I need five minutes to talk to Ms. Brahn before her interview commences.” I keep my tone neutral and strong, revealing I’m not seeking permission to speak with Isabelle. I’m telling them this is what’s happening.

  Theresa looks like she wants to chew me up and spit me out when she grinds out through clenched teeth, “Five minutes.”

  After gesturing for her male partner to leave the room before her, Theresa’s eyes drift to mine. They’re full of unvoiced warnings and skin-heating scorn. For a woman who has everything to lose, she doesn’t act like it. Her gall would be impressive under different circumstances.

  When the glass door of the conference room closes with Theresa and the unnamed agent on the other side, Isabelle’s wide-with-panic eyes lock with mine. “Wha—”

  “Be quiet, Izzy.”

  She’s taken aback by the abruptness of my tone but brushes it off as a side-effect of a long week. “I—”

  “Shut up, Isabelle.” I mutter a curse word under my breath. I hadn’t meant to take my frustration out on her. I’m annoyed by the blinking red light still flashing in the security camera mounted in the corner of the room, not her. I thought Grayson would have switched off the feed by now.

  Like magic, two seconds later, the frustrating blip of red stops.

  “What the hell?” Isabelle murmurs to herself as stunned as I am relieved.

  Her shock grows when I advise her to follow the plan of attack Phillipa and I plotted late last night while FaceTiming and eating dinner. “I strongly advise you to plead the fifth—”

  “I don’t have anything to hide.”

  Usually, I’d welcome her determination, but now isn’t the time for her to grow a backbone. “Please don’t be stupid. They’re here to charge you with conspiracy in aiding and abetting a criminal by supplying him with official government documents. If you don’t plead the fifth, you’re looking at over twenty years in jail.”

  “Why?” She looks incapable of sucking in an entire breath. “I’ve never given Is—”

  “Shut up! I can’t guarantee they don’t have ears in here.” I press my hands onto the white melamine tabletop before tilting closer to Isabelle. “Plead the fifth, then I’ll do everything in my power to help you through this.”

  The plan Phillipa and I devised is risky, but the massive web I mentioned months ago grew tenfold over the weekend. It affects more people than we realized, including Isabelle. Her pleading the fifth won’t stop Theresa’s witch-hunt from occurring, but it will bide us some time to sort through the huge conspiracy that’s been clouding my judgment the past umpteenth years.

  Isabelle doesn’t appear pleased with my suggestion. However, she lowers her chin, agreeing to do as I suggested. Her agreement eases the knot twisted in my stomach, grateful she trusts me enough to know I wouldn’t push her to do this unless it was vital.

  “I’ll stay with you during your interview, but no matter what they say or do, continuously plead the fifth.”

  The color drains from her face as she once again nods.

  Not long after that, Agent Theresa and her partner re-enter the room. “Your five minutes are up.” Theresa arrogantly motions her head to the door, giving me my marching orders.

  The haughty gleam in her eyes douses when I disclose, “Isabelle has requested a union representative be present during her interview.”

  Theresa’s eyes snap to Isabelle’s. “Is that correct, Isabelle?”

  Isabelle’s nod this time around is more affirmative than her previous two. “Yes, that’s correct.”

  With her growl hidden by her frantic breaths, Theresa closes the door with force before moving toward a stack of chairs to gather me one. Once she rams it into my thigh, she joins her partner on the other side of the desk. When she ribs him with her elbow, her eagerness to conduct her interview is exposed, much less what she says next. “Are you in a relationship with Isaac Holt?”

&
nbsp; Smugness swells my chest when Isabelle responds, “I plead the fifth.”

  As Theresa’s brow shoots up high on her face, she wiggles her index finger in her ear. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  “I plead the fifth amendment,” Isabelle repeats, her tone higher and more confident than what it was seconds ago.

  Never one to back down when sitting across from a woman as equally smart as her, Theresa switches tactics. “Are you in a sexual relationship with Isaac Holt?”

  It’s the fight of my life to hide my cringe when Isabelle says, “I plead the fifth.” Her declaration this time around wasn’t as confident, and Theresa is more than willing to use it to her advantage.

  “Have you had physical contact with Isaac Holt since your placement commenced in this division of the FBI?”

  “I plead the fifth.”

  There she is. Back stronger than ever.

  When Theresa spots the smirk I’m unable to conceal, her eyes rocket to mine. “She’s clever. A rookie agent knowing to plead the fifth. Who would have thought?”

  My smirk grows, loving that she believes this plan was solely my idea. That means she has no clue not even agents from her department like her.

  After returning her slit gaze to Isabelle, Theresa asks, “Are you planning to answer any of my questions, Ms. Brahn, or will you continue pleading the fifth amendment?”

  Her partner chuckles when Isabelle parrots, “I plead the fifth.” I realize I underestimated her as much as Theresa when she adds, “I choose not to answer your questions on the consideration that I may be unwillingly incriminating myself.”

  I’m tempted to wiggle my finger in my ear like Theresa did earlier when the feet of Theresa’s chair scrape across the worn floorboards. After removing the sweat from her hands by dragging them down her stiff-as-a-board blouse, she gathers a manila folder from a briefcase cracked open on the edge of the boardroom-size desk. “You read a law book during your training… impressive.” She uses Isabelle’s seated position as an intimidation tactic by towering over her. “So, you’re aware prostitution is illegal?”

  “I’m well aware of that.”

  Even lost as to where Theresa is going with her investigation, I squeeze Isabelle’s thigh, wordlessly advising her to stay on track. Theresa wants her to slip up. She won’t do that if she continues pleading the fifth.

  An indication on Theresa’s game plan slams into me when she mutters, “Just because he didn’t leave money on your bedside table when he was finished, doesn’t make it any less of a crime.”

  She sets down a piece of paper in front of Isabelle. It appears to be a signed lease. Even from my side of the room, I can see the name scribbled across the owner section of the document. It’s Isaac Holt, our target.

  Fuck!

  Isabelle clues on to Theresa’s ruse as quickly as me. “I pay rent for my apartment in full every month.” She ignores me squeezing her thigh to add, “The owner’s details were not disclosed when my application was processed.”

  The relieved gasp I sucked in at her admission is quickly breathed out when Theresa replies, “I thought you might say that, so I dug a little deeper.” She hands Isabelle a second piece of paper. It has a list of addresses with monthly figures jotted at the side. “The same two-bedroom apartments in your building rent for over three thousand dollars a month. You pay twelve hundred. That’s not even half.” She slants her head to the side as her lips tug into a rueful smirk. “Do you get a friends-with-benefits rate?”

  Isabelle balls her hands into fists as she grinds out, “I plead the fifth.”

  Theresa continues to interrogate her with the fierceness of a shark. “Then, there’s this.” She slides a third piece of paper across the desk. “A charter for a private jet booked under Isaac Holt’s name.” I snatch the flight manifest out of Isabelle’s hand before she has the chance to read it. “How romantic, most men don’t take their mistresses on holidays with them,” Theresa drones on.

  “Isabelle’s name isn’t even on the manifest. That’s explicit conjecture. Everything you’ve presented thus far is speculation.” Over her attempts to ignore Isabelle’s right to remain silent, I lock my eyes with Theresa’s before sneering, “Isaac Holt owns over half of Ravenshoe, so it would be virtually impossible for Isabelle to rent anything in this town that didn’t belong or have an association with him.” I stand from my seat so fast, I knock it over. “This interview is over. If you speak to Isabelle again without a lawyer present, I won’t hesitate to contact my father, who, in turn, will have a word with your superior officer.”

  I remove Isabelle from her seat with a tug on her arm before guiding her out of the conference room. I almost crack under pressure halfway down the corridor, but mercifully, Grayson’s constant ribbing about Alex rigging HQ with motion-activated cameras stops me. There are only two places safe from his watchful eyes. The washrooms, which I can’t use since Agent Clarkston just burst through the doors like he does every morning when his laxative-laced coffee reaches his colon, and the supply room.

  Supposedly, Alex always leaves one room free from surveillance. Grayson argues it’s so he has a place to convene with his teammates in private. I believe it’s in case a pretty blonde attorney pays him a visit in the middle of the night. Trust me when I say, he and Regan were fans of unusual hook-up locations when they were a couple.

  Once we arrive in the supply room, I rake my fingers over my scalp while sucking in some big breaths. It’s clear from Isabelle’s fish-out-of-water response that she had no clue Isaac owns the apartment building she’s living in, but I need to be sure as this is about more than Isabelle’s job. It’s way deeper than that.

  “You didn’t have a clue about any of that, did you?”

  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when Isabelle shakes her head while saying, “I plead the fifth.”

  Is she maintaining her rights because she doesn’t trust me, or does she use humor to reflect her anguish? I don’t know her well enough to give a definitive answer. I know her, I just don’t know know her if that makes any sense.

  Even uneased, one thing is clear—she needs to be more cautious than she has been. “You need to be vigilant about anything you say or do over the next few days.” When she nods without hesitation, I test her trust to the extreme. “Is Isaac Holt Mr. Unattainable?”

  I watch her with uneased restlessness, knowing her answer but unsure if she trusts me enough to share her secret.

  When she nods for the second time, I breathe out my relief that she trusts me. “Jesus, Isabelle. How long?”

  Hesitation crosses her features first. It’s quickly chased by honesty. “Officially, a little over a month.” When the color drains from my cheeks, she rushes out, “But I met him before I knew he was being investigated.” She lowers her girly squeal before revealing, “I’m petrified of flying.” She takes a breather like just talking about her fear has made her scared. “I was working up the courage to enter the boarding area at the airport when my push off the railing had me crashing into Isaac.” A smile replaces her frown. “Isaac took care of me. He iced the bump on my head before offering up a pain reliever for my throbbing head. I didn’t think I’d see him again, so you can imagine my surprise when I was seated next to him for my flight to Ravenshoe. If that wasn’t already shocking, it was a business-class seat.”

  Business class?

  “You flew business class?” Nothing but shock registers on my face, even more so when Isabelle nods. Nothing against Tobias, but he left a good chunk of debt behind when he passed. He took out a thirty-year mortgage on his house to buy Isabelle. He still had a decade worth of payments left to make, and I’m not going to mention the funds he wasted on an apartment he never lived in, or you’ll be looking at me as if I’m a rich schmuck when you discover I paid off his debt with some of the money my grandfather left me. I couldn’t bring Tobias back, but I could make things a little easier for Isabelle as I wish I could have for Melody years earlier.

  “Who p
aid for your flight?”

  Isabelle glares at me like I’m stupid. “The Bureau.”

  I almost roll my eyes as if to say, duh. I might look young, but I’m not stupid.

  “Did you request for your ticket to be upgraded to business class?” When she shakes her head, my suspicion grows. “Did Isaac have any way of knowing you were on his flight?” He’s doing some shady shit right now that will impact Isabelle, so who’s to say he wasn’t back then?

  Isabelle gets in half a head shake before her brows pull together. “Isaac collected my belongings from the floor, so he may have seen the boarding pass I had printed earlier that day, but it would have only been for the quickest second—” Her words stop when the supply room door rockets open.

  Alex enters the room, killing our conversation in an instant. Although I trust him, it isn’t enough to update him on the information Phillipa and I have unearthed the past three days. I haven’t even told Grayson yet.

  A tick impinges my jaw when Alex’s eyes land on mine. They’re as arrogant as his comment. “It’s after eleven, and the report I requested first thing this morning is still not finalized, yet you have time for a chit-chat with Isabelle in the supply room. Perhaps I need to increase your workload?” The report he’s requesting landed in his inbox before he arrived at the office this morning. This is just his way of telling me to piss off.

  After diverting his focus to Isabelle, Alex says, “I need to see you in my office.” Confident she’ll jump when demanded, he pivots on his heels and stalks to the door, his brutal pace only slowing when Isabelle doesn’t immediately jump to his command. “Now, Isabelle.”

  His clipped tone launches Isabelle into action. After straying her panicked eyes to mine, she races out of the room, falling in step with Alex’s long strides within seconds. While she most likely will be placed on suspension, I dig my phone out of my pocket to call Grayson. When my call goes unanswered, I try Phillipa’s number. Her plane was scheduled to land right around the time Isabelle’s interview commenced.