as evidence. Not just for his fellow marine who killed himself, but on how people who appear stable can flip their personalities at a flick of a switch.
When I told him that isn’t normal, he replied, “The only difference between psychotic and iconic is how they got what they wanted.”
Nothing he said made any sense, but that’s not unusual. He’s had our father whispering in his ear the past seven years. That’s enough to turn anyone insane.
I stop glancing at my clenched hands when Alex asks, “Is that the woman from the report you uploaded weeks ago?”
After joining him near the large tinted glass wall that stretches the entire length of HQ, I peer down at Megan Shroud. Talking about psychopaths, she’s an A-grade lunatic. I lift my chin before giving Alex a brief rundown on Megan. He knows most of it from my report, so I keep my update brief.
“How long has she been sleeping in her car?”
I twist my lips. “She hasn’t the past few weeks. She usually leaves not long after lock-up and is back bright and early the following morning….” My words trail off when, in the corner of my eye, I spot Detective Carter leading Albert into the conference room of HQ. Their slow track is being shadowed by Agent Russell. Seeing local law enforcement cooperating with Internal Affairs of the FBI isn’t just shocking, it has my stomach twisted up in knots, but before I can ask Alex what the fuck he’s playing at, I’m startled to within an inch of my life.
“What’s going on?” Isabelle asks, stopping to stand next to me.
When her narrowed eyes dart between the agents laughing at Isaac’s deranged once-lover scuffling with the head bouncer of Isaac’s nightclub, I clue on to which disaster she’s referencing. “Megan Shroud. She’s brought out so much crazy today, even Alex is taking notice.”
We’ve noted Megan outside of Isaac’s club many times the past few months, but today is the first time she’s gone full-blown skitzo like she is now. She’s kicking and thrashing against the brute of a man who usually stands on the door of Isaac’s dance club. She’s tiny, but even the man who’d easily be six-foot-five is struggling to keep her contained.
When she breaks free from the bouncer’s hold for the second time, Isabelle paces closer to the window. “Why isn’t someone calling the police?” Her crackling voice exposes her worry. “She’s clearly unstable and not just a threat to the public. She’s a threat to herself.” When no one jumps in to ease her worry, she strays her big brown eyes to Alex. “You need to call the police.”
A flashback of Leesa’s wide, panicked eyes in the minutes leading to her turning rogue whiz into my mind when Isabelle runs her hand down Alex’s arm. It’s clever to use her femininity to her advantage if she were using it on anyone but Alex. Just like me, he’s immune to anyone who isn’t his soulmate.
“Isaac made his bed, now he has to sleep in it.”
While Alex frustrates the agents hovering around the window by lowering the blinds, Isabelle locks her eyes with mine. She stares at me, wordlessly begging for direction. I honestly don’t know what to do or say. I don’t want to encourage her to do one of the many dangerous things I see in her eyes, but I also don’t want her to hang around here. Albert has been Vladimir’s right-hand man for longer than Isabelle has been born. If they cross paths, he could recognize her.
When I shrug my shoulders, truly unsure about what to do, Isabelle makes a beeline to her desk. She removes her Bureau-issued pistol from her second drawer before scanning the room. Once she’s confident she isn’t being watched, she secures her revolver to her ankle. I wait for the hem of her pants to touch her shoes before nudging my head to the corridor, so we can have a private word. I have no clue what I’m planning to say, but I have to say something, don’t I?
Isabelle agrees to my request but raises her finger in the air, requesting a minute. Although my curiosity is piqued, I make my way to the corridor, awarding her a trust I don’t often give anymore.
Approximately thirty seconds later, Isabelle joins me in the corridor. She looks like she has something important to say, but I talk before she has the chance. “I’ll follow her.”
Her face screws up. “They’ll know you’re gone, Brandon.