two weeks ago, but I’m never going to admit that to Grayson. He has a memory like an elephant. He never forgets anything, and he forever uses my neuroses against me.
“Remind me again why you need to listen in on my dinner date with Izzy?”
I wait for Grayson to respond before rapping my knuckles on the white door of Isabelle’s apartment. “Because she didn’t request you to get the file she did for no reason. There are too many loose threads for us to brush this off as a coincidence.”
He’s right—again. Still fucking sucks, though.
With Alex breathing down my neck, I didn’t put two and two together until much later than I care to admit. Annie’s father was a police chief. He hadn’t pulled over a rundown Mazda for a registration check in over two decades, so why the fuck did he do that the day he was killed?
If it wasn’t the first time he had done something odd on the job, I would have brushed it off as a cop not being able to step away from the role when he isn’t on the clock, but his name has popped up too many times the past two weeks to utilize that pathetic excuse.
Police Chief Langfield was the arresting officer cited on the non-doctored police file Isabelle requested. He was first on the scene when Marjorie Hawke, Hugo Marshall’s baby sister, was mowed down by suspected mafia associate, Roberto Petretti. Even with Langfield witnessing the accident, his name wasn’t on any of the official documents lodged with the court when Roberto was offered a plea bargain, nor was he brought forward as a witness.
If that isn’t suspicious enough, he was killed on duty only five short weeks later.
It happened to be the same day Roberto disappeared off the face of the planet.
Coincidence? Unlikely.
“Either Tobias trained Isabelle better than he trained us, or Isaac opened up to our Honey Pot. It’s the least he should have done after you revealed he’s a cheating scumbag.”
My jaw tightens as the memory of Isabelle’s whitening face fills my head. Alex didn’t have much luck tracking down Isaac’s whereabouts the weekend Isabelle went away with Harlow, but it was obvious Isaac was with Isabelle. Not only did she attempt to resign the day after they returned, Isaac was seen walking with her to her door. It was a mere two hours before he was spotted on a date with a mysterious blonde. I showed the image of them kissing to Isabelle the following morning, hopeful it would get her back on the straight and narrow. It seems to have worked. Reid, Alex’s head of surveillance, hasn’t logged any activity between Isaac and Isabelle in weeks.
I’m drawn from my thoughts when Grayson says, “Whatever the reason, we need to record your conversations to ensure our asses are covered if the shit hits the fan.”
“Recorded officially?”
“Fuck no,” he replies, his voice almost a roar. “We’ll let the Bureau know when they’re—”
“Privy to know.”
“Exactly,” Grayson pushes out with a laugh.
He stops chuckling in my ear when Isabelle throws open the front door of her apartment as astounded by Isabelle’s figure-hugging dress as me. Even with her not being on my radar doesn’t stop me from dragging my eyes down her body. She has an extremely enticing form.
When my eyes land back on Isabelle’s face, she greets me with a smile, acting oblivious to my gawk. “Brandon, hi. Come in.”
As my eyes float over her impressive crash pad, a whistle sounds from my lips. “Wow, Isabelle, swanky residence.”
She presses a hurried kiss to my cheek before guiding me into the foyer. Grayson makes gagging noises when I hand her a floral bouquet of irises and baby’s breath. He can forget the morals his mother instilled in him the instant he left for university because it was only his mother reciting them to him. I wasn’t so lucky. I didn’t just have my mother reminding me about how to be a gentleman, I had Melody’s mother as well.
“Thank you,” Isabelle replies before offering to take my coat.
Once she has it hung in the coat closet, I follow her into her state-of-the-art kitchen.
Grayson mimics my earlier wolf-whistle when we enter the modest yet well-fitted space. “Is the dodgy camera you installed in your button this afternoon playing tricks on me, or are they high-end appliances I’m seeing?”
Since I can’t reply to Grayson, I flick the microphone in the third button of my shirt to shut him up instead. People can have