Page 13 of Unraveling an Enigma
I must make this right. Harlow loves Cormack. She was only telling me that exact thing earlier this week.
“Nothing you say will make a difference, Izzy. I was conspiring to set you up with Isaac. That’s why Cormack is so mad at me,” she says, removing a packet of tissues from her handbag.
After blowing her nose and wiping the tears off her face, her pained green eyes lift to mine. “I met Cormack two weeks before we went out for your birthday dinner. His recording studio ordered a tray of sandwiches and cakes for a business meeting he was holding in the conference room of his office. Renee called in sick that day, so I went and delivered them myself. The instant I saw him….” She stops talking, so her face can express what her mouth can’t. She fell in love with Cormack at first sight, just like I did with Isaac.
“When I left his studio that day, I was shocked when I ran into Isaac on my way out. I went on a date with Cormack later that week, and I found out Isaac is his best friend, so I conspired a ruse to force you two together.”
She sucks in a mouthful of air before continuing, “I didn’t book a table at that restaurant the night we went out to celebrate your birthday because I knew Cormack already had one booked. Cormack had mentioned he and Isaac did the same routine every week. I saw the way Isaac looked at you, and I thought you both just needed a gentle push. Cormack didn’t know we were arriving that night, but I knew he was too much of a gentleman not to invite us to his table when he realized we didn’t have a reservation.”
She goes quiet as her eyes dart down to the Jimmy Choo shoes on her feet. The smallest smile curves my mouth. The black and gold Lana shoes do not match her bakery uniform at all, but I understand why she is wearing them. They are a piece of Cormack, and she is trying her hardest to cling onto him while he is pulling away.
“Please tell me you weren’t with Isaac just for the FBI,” she requests, her dour gaze lifting from the ground to glance into my eyes. “Because if you were, not only will Cormack never forgive me, I’ll never forgive myself.”
My eyes burn from the sudden rush of moisture forming in them. “I love Isaac, Harlow. I promise you my feelings for him have nothing to do with being an FBI agent.”
Isabelle
By the time I am preparing to leave the bakery, things aren’t back to normal between Harlow and me, but they're better than they were when I arrived thirty minutes ago. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure Cormack understands that Harlow is innocent in this whole situation. I don’t care if Cormack never wants to see me again, or despises me for the rest of his life, but he needs to take his anger out on me, not Harlow.
Upon exiting, a vehicle parked across the street halts my hasty exit. The blue sedan tailing me earlier is parked two spaces up from the entrance of Harlow’s bakery. I pivot my body so a majority of it faces the window at the front of the bakery before I increase my pace down the sidewalk to a brisk stroll. Within four steps, the blue sedan starts its ignition and follows me down the street. When I increase the pace of my strides, the car increases its speed.
Against my better judgment, I freeze on the sidewalk and turn to face the vehicle that has also come to a halt a few car lengths behind me. If they're going to blatantly follow me, I’ll make sure they know I am aware of their pursuit. Clenching my jaw, I step closer to the car. The instant my right foot steps off the pavement and hits the asphalt of the road, the car reverses down the street. Its tires squeal from the heavy compression of the accelerator and the smell of burning rubber filters in the air.
My heart is throbbing so fast, it feels like it is going to escape my chest cavity, but instead of pounding in fear, it is thumping with adrenaline. I’ve been getting pushed around enough so much the past few weeks that my usually calm façade is starting to crack.
* * *
Numerous pairs of curious eyes lift and track my every movement when I arrive at my bustling workplace. Ignoring the obvious tension plaguing the air surrounding me, I deliver the morning coffees to the agents as I have done every morning since I joined the team over six months ago. Since Alex isn’t in his office, I leave his black coffee on his desk.
Brandon is the only agent who acknowledges me during my deliveries. He is quiet for Brandon, but his eyes lack the judgment that every other agents’ eyes had when they glared at me.
After firing up my computer and storing my satchel in my bottom drawer, I walk back to the entrance door of the office to hang my wool coat on the coat rack next to the frosted glass door. When I spin around, I come close to losing my footing when I crash into a female agent I haven’t seen in this office previously.
“Isabelle Brahn?” Her blue eyes dart between mine.
“Yes.” My eyes convey my apologies for running into her.
“I'm Theresa Veneto,” she advises, offering me her overly manicured hand to shake. “I am from the internal affairs division of the FBI.” Her brow arches in a brash manner.
The slight tremor in my hand is paramount when I accept Theresa’s handshake. Her shake is robust and firm, nearly as strong as her lips, which are set in a fine, straight line. Theresa is an attractive lady if you can look past the harshness of her punitive glare. If I had to guess her age, I'd say early to mid-thirties. Her long blonde hair frames her well-carved face.
“How can I help you, Ms. Veneto?” I release my hand from her firm grasp.
It nearly takes me yanking Theresa’s arm out of its socket for her to relinquish my hand from her rigid clutch. Smirking condescendingly, her eyes dart around the diminutive office space. Nearly every agents’ eyes are eagerly watching our exchange, including Alex, who is standing next to Brandon’s now empty desk.
“Perhaps we should take this somewhere more private,” Theresa suggests, gesturing with her hand for me to follow her.
I follow Theresa into the dimly lit conference room, my knees wobbling. She motions for me to enter before her. My steps falter, shocked and a little apprehensive when I notice a male agent in the room. He is seated behind a camera set up on the table, which has been cleared of all the boxes I’d been scanning the past several weeks.
After drifting my eyes around the room, I realize my Uncle’s moldy storage boxes have been removed from the conference room. The male agent’s dark brown eyes lift to mine the instant I walk into the room. My brows narrow when he vigorously assesses my body in creepy detail.
“I can understand Isaac’s interest,” he mutters under his breath.
Ignoring the agent's statement, or perhaps she didn’t hear him, Theresa gestures for me to take a seat at the chair located across from the video camera. Just as I'm about to sit down, a loud knock rattles on the glass door. A sense of relief washes over me when I spot Brandon’s concerned face outside the glass door.
“As the union representative for this division, I need five minutes to talk to Ms. Brahn before the interview commences,” Brandon requests, his tone conveying that he is not seeking permission.
Theresa’s thinly slitted eyes shoot to Brandon before she huffs in annoyance. “Five minutes,” she retorts as her top lip forms into a snarl.
