and Phillipa and I will run recon. As much as I want to advise Isabelle of our plans, Phillipa talked me out of it. Until we can prove there are no links between Isaac and the Castros, we have to keep quiet because, for all we know, the down payment Isaac made to the Popovs last week could have been for anything, so we can’t take any additional risks. Isabelle is an agent, she topped her classes, outranked every agent during marksmanship training, and is on suspension. Phillipa is right. She’s the perfect choice.
I just need my stomach to get on board with our plans.
The jittery response of my stomach weakens when Isabelle swings open her apartment door. She’s dressed casually like me and smiling brightly. I wait for her to stop soaking in my designer outfit before pulling out a bouquet of yellow roses from behind my back. I hadn’t planned to arrive with anything when Phillipa and I stepped through our plan of attack, but the florist on the corner of Hyde called to me when I exited my vehicle. I’ve never officially dated, so I need all the help I can get to convince Isabelle to slip out of Isaac’s grip for just a day.
“Brandon, you shouldn’t have.” Isabelle’s eyes shine as brightly as the crystal vase the roses are in when she accepts them from my grasp.
“I thought they’d brighten your day.”
I pat myself on the back when she leans in to place a kiss on my cheek, then I grimace when my cheeks inflame partway through her friendly gesture. I’m not aroused from her childish peck. I am being burned at the stake by Hugo, who’s standing behind Isabelle’s shoulder, glaring at me. I told Isabelle to fly under the radar. She can’t do that and associate with a man whose movements have been as ghostly as Castro’s the past five years.
My lips purse when Isabelle gives Hugo a warning look in the process of placing her gift onto the entryway table. She twists and turns the vase a handful of times before offering to take my jacket. Eager to establish whose side she’s on, I join her in the coat closet. The tight quarters increase Isabelle’s florally scent while also doubling the odd heat bouncing between us. She must be struggling this week as her responses are usually cooler than they are.
“Isn’t he Isaac’s bodyguard?” I stumble over my last word. Even reading the transcripts from Hugo’s court case hasn’t unearthed who Hugo really is.
He’s as enigmatic as Isaac.
Isabelle shrugs. “He isn’t Isaac’s bodyguard. He’s more an associate of his.” Smiling, she crosses the room before offering up an introduction. “Hugo, this is my friend, Brandon.” I don’t miss the way she emphasizes ‘friend’ any more than Hugo. “Brandon, this is my… friend, Hugo.”
While smirking at Hugo’s frustration about being placed on the same team as me, I join them in the middle of Isabelle’s living room. “It’s nice to meet you.”
When I offer him my hand in greeting, Hugo accepts it, although hesitantly. “Pleasure.” His ability to lie is as bad as his acting skills. He’s not happy about my visit, not in the slightest, but for some reason, he doesn’t believe he can express that to Isabelle, proving they’re more work colleagues than friends.
That pleases me more than it should.
Nothing against Hugo, from what I’ve read, he was fucked over by my father as well as I was, but you can’t excuse a lifetime of mistakes on one person. If you could, I would have stopped feeling guilt a long time ago.
My eyes stray to Isabelle when she mumbles, “When did I become Ms. Popular?”
Guilt floods her attractive features as quickly as amusement does when she catches Hugo’s and my gawp. I don’t know why Hugo is gawking at her. I’m staring because I am glad sleeping with the enemy hasn’t changed her quirks. She was busted talking out loud many times her first six months on the job, but this is the first one I’ve heard since she was seen going home with Isaac.
Over our prolonged stares, Isabelle splays her hands across her cocked hip and arches a brow. “All right, spill, what are you two up to?”
It’s the fight of my life not to roll my eyes like a child when Hugo mutters, “I’ve got nothing better to do with my time anymore, so I may as well hang out with you.”
Although I’m confused by his statement, Isabelle has no