puberty yet. My voice is loud and cringeworthy.
“I’m assuming at one stage, but he doesn’t anymore. Excluding the old reels I found buried beneath a pile of junk, none of the files dated the year of Melody’s birth gave any indication they were associated with her.”
“Did you check dates after their home invasion?”
Phillipa’s brows pull together as she shakes her head. Her confusion is understandable. I only recognized Tobias’s method of filing when I returned to remove Isabelle’s file from its slot. The number didn’t correspond with Isabelle’s date of birth. It was the date Tobias purchased her.
“Where are you going?” Phillipa asks when I scoot across the bed.
“I’m feeling a little unwell. Perhaps some Tiburon sun will make me feel better.”
“You can’t go to Tiburon, Brandon. You just can’t.”
“Why not?” Forgetting that she can see everything I’m doing, I tug off my shirt before lowering my free hand to the waistband of my sweatpants.
My brain clicks back on when Phillipa chokes out, “You do realize your walk-in closet has a mirror, don’t you?”
I inwardly curse when I spot the cause of the nervous tickle in her throat. Although my head is swamping most of the frame, the mirror behind me is in the far back corner, meaning she can see every inch of my naked backside, and we won’t mention the bits dangling between my legs, or I may face a new set of charges.
After dumping my phone onto a shelf that’s mercifully minus any mirrors, I pull on a pair of briefs then slide my feet into dark trousers. Once I’m dressed in my standard work gear, I discover the reason for Phillipa’s silence. I accidentally muted her while endeavoring to save her from seeing my bits.
“Sorry, I muted you.” I cringe down the line when her panicked rant about how I can’t go to Tiburon roars through my speakers, startling the shit out of me. “What were you saying?”
“You can’t go to Tiburon.”
I exit my walk-in closet and take a left into the bathroom so I can scrub the fur off my teeth from eating too much satay. “We established that part of your debate. We’ve just yet to mosey over the reason why I can’t go.”
“Because your team is about to have a major breakthrough.” The high pitch of her tone reveals she doesn’t like giving me this information, but she understands she has to if she wants me to hear her side of the objective. “The arrest warrant has been approved. Isaac Holt is going to be arrested sometime tomorrow. Alex just has to finalize some stuff first.”
“Like what?” I have a mammoth load of questions I’m dying to ask, but I went for the simpler one since my mouth is full of minty gunk.
Phillipa’s reply is just as simple, “Stuff.”
“Like?” When my question is met with silence, I try another approach. “Does it have anything to do with your visit to HQ today?” Since I’ve spat out my toothpaste, my question is crisp and precise.
She does a weird shrug. “A little.”
Over the annoyance of two highly intelligent people incapable of having an intellectual conversation, I say, “Unless you can give me a good reason as to why I shouldn’t go to Tiburon tonight, I’m catching the next available flight—”
“You’re the union rep for the Ravenshoe chapter of the Bureau. You’ll most likely be needed if Isaac’s arrest has a carry-on effect to any members of your team.”
Hearing what she doesn’t say the loudest, I push, “Isabelle?”
Phillipa breathes in deeply before nodding.
“Could she face repercussions from Isaac’s arrest?” I had wondered the same thing myself the instant Philippa disclosed Isaac’s arrest warrant had been granted.
Nothing but remorse rings in Phillipa’s tone when she says, “I can’t tell you that, Brandon. The information is confidential—”
“You’re on a suspension.”
Her mouth falls open. “That doesn’t mean I can flap my gums about another agent’s case.” She slaps her hand over her mouth instead of her eyes this time around. “Stupid, stupid wine.” When I fail to hold in my chuckle about her childish rant, she lowers her hand from her face so it doesn’t conceal her glare. “This is your fault. I’ve never had a dinner invitation rejected before. My ego was hit so bad it needed an immediate recovery mission.”
“I didn’t reject your invite because I don’t find you attractive. It’s because—”
“You prefer informants over agents, I get it,” she interrupts, evening the playing field between us. It’s a low blow but also effective.
“Ouch. You don’t hold