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