Page 18 of Enigma: The Final Chapter
“Me? Where are we going?” I drift my eyes between three pairs staring at me like I have two heads on my shoulders instead of one daft one.
When Isaac leans in intimately close to my side, I wish we were alone. “Is it the concussion that's making you forgetful?”
I shake my head. Although I’m still a little dizzy and off-balance, I don’t have any other side effects from my concussion.
The heat of his breath tickles my earlobe when he murmurs, “It must be from me kissing you senseless then.”
I try to muffle my moan when he licks my earlobe, but it must be audible as Hunter excuses himself from the room, and Regan looks like she's about to be sick.
Eager to move our conversation along, Regan hands me an overnight bag. “I didn’t want to go through your belongings, so I packed you some of my clothes to wear today. We leave in ten minutes, so chop-chop.” She claps her hands again. “We can’t be late. We don’t want to give the judge any excuse to be mad at us.”
My mouth drops open. I completely forgot I'm due in court today. After pressing a quick peck to Isaac’s mouth, I dash into the bathroom. The thrashing of my heart matches the thumping of my head from my quick movements.
Five minutes later, I nervously walk back out. My hands are fisted in tiny balls at my side, and sweat is beading on my top lip. It isn’t my court appearance that has my insides juddering like a teenage girl who kissed the quarterback at the kissing booth, it’s the fact I’m wearing a black, studded Valentino shift dress and a pair of Jimmy Choo Romy pumps. Both items are gorgeous, but well over my budget if I get the teeniest stain on them. Even the dry-cleaning bill would cost a mint. Regan also included a black wool coat, but I'm perspiring so much with nerves, I’m overheated and don’t require a jacket.
Isaac’s head lifts when he senses my presence. The smirk carving onto his plump lips falters halfway when his eyes roam over my attire. I adjust the jacket over my arm, internally battling not to fidget from his vigorous assessment. I freeze, seared in place when his heavy-lidded gaze lifts to my face. His eyes are fiery, sparked by desire. He looks like a tiger about to go on the hunt, and he has his prey locked and loaded.
My pulse rings in my ears when he stealthily prowls toward me. He doesn’t speak a word as he wraps his arm around my shoulders and guides me out the hospital door, but I swear on my uncle’s grave, I hear him mumble “mine” under his breath when we walk past a pair of male interns in the hospital corridor.
An hour later, I'm tapping my foot on the polished tiled floor of the courthouse, waiting for my name to be called by the court bailiff. Although Isaac isn’t sitting next to me, his support is undoubtedly felt by the people surrounding me. Ryan is talking to Regan near Courtroom 4’s double doors. Hunter is talking on his phone to someone a few benches up from me, pretending he isn’t here with me, and Roger, Isaac’s driver-bodyguard, is standing in the hallway, ensuring no sneaky reporters accost me.
When Regan and I exited Isaac’s town car, we had to walk through a gauntlet of reporters screaming out a range of questions about Megan’s trial, my connection to Isaac, and if I had any comment on the news that Col Petretti was killed in an FBI operation yesterday afternoon. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized the details of Col’s death and my kidnapping were not linked.
Regan talked to the reporters at the top of the courthouse stairs. She issued a statement about what my court hearing is about and how justice will finally prevail when all charges are dropped after her client, aka me, is found to have no connection to Megan Shroud’s death.
It was impressive watching her in her element. She didn’t fluster when reporters probed her about my connection to Isaac and Col. She merely ignored them before answering a question from a reporter that pertained to my case. She didn’t even break into a sweat. I, on the other hand, was a sweating bag of nerves.
“Here.” Regan hands me a cup of coffee in a paper cup. “It’s bad, but it’s all they have.”
My nose screws up when the thick, ghastly taste of the poorly brew hits my taste buds. It isn’t that I have affluent tastes, but this coffee is so terrible, the undissolved beans cling to my tongue when my mouth refuses to swallow it.
When I dump the full cup into the bin I'm sitting next to, my eyes turn to the side of the room. The hairs on my nape bristle when they detected Isaac’s presence. My inner vixen is like an animal in the wild. She can sense her mate from a mile away.
A smile curves on my mouth when I spot Isaac standing at the end of the corridor. He's talking to a gentleman in a fancy black suit with a large briefcase in his hand. He doesn’t appear to have noticed my gawp, but his curving lip as he continues with his conversation reveals he has spotted me. He’s just playing it cool.
My attention is diverted from Isaac when the courtroom door swings open, and “Isabelle Brahn” thunders out of the mouth of the court bailiff. I suck in a big breath before pacing to the door he’s holding open. The last thing I see when I enter the courtroom is the flash of a smirk on an adorable face.
Chapter 8
Isaac
Iwait for everyone to enter before slipping into the courtroom where Isabelle’s proceedings are being held. Isabelle doesn’t turn around, but I know she feels my presence as her shoulders square and her breathing slows when I step inside the courtroom.
Wanting to ensure I don’t raise any suspicion, I take a seat in the back pew next to Hunter, but a few spaces over. My brows scrunch when a few minutes later, he slides a piece of paper across the polished wooden bench. ‘Watch Lucas’ I read off the paper.
When my wide eyes stare at Hunter, he waggles his brows before gesturing his head to the front of the courtroom. I turn to face the front of the courtroom, pausing on Isabelle when I notice her fidgeting in her seat. She’s always been undoubtedly beautiful, which ensures she acquires the attention of every male in the room, but when my eyes locked in on her wearing a dress on par with her million-dollar smile, all I could imagine was seeing her in nothing but black stiletto shoes with expensive diamonds draped around her neck. The image was so riveting if we weren’t attending this court session with the hope of having her charges dropped, she wouldn’t have made it out of the hospital room with her dress still intact.
My attention is diverted from Isabelle when the beep of a cell phone bounces off the stark white walls of the courtroom. I shake my head when my eyes roam over the abhorrent man seated across from Isabelle and his expensive Mr. Porter Kingsman suit. If Mr. Marco wants to survive the corrupt, unethical world he’s immersing himself in, he needs to be more inconspicuous. Displaying your achievements with lavish articles is fine if you can show you acquired your wealth legally, but wearing a suit and watch that costs thousands of dollars makes you look like a fool when you slide into a car that’s older than the woman you're falsely prosecuting.
If he’s secured my interest with all the mammoth tasks I’ve dealt with the past month, it means he has also gathered the attention of others in my industry. He may see that as a positive until he realizes what his request for a golden handshake fully entails. No favors are imparted in this industry without a ripple effect. It’s like throwing a stone across a pond—some skim along the top where others may sink.
Even the rock that immediately sinks still creates a wave on the surface of the water. Something that seems as simple as a signature on a document can quickly turn into an unscrupulous demand. If Lucas truly loves his family as his public image portrays, he needs to learn that his ideas about this industry are both unbecoming and incredibly inaccurate.
The bailiff snarls when Lucas’s cell buzzes again. “All phones are to be turned off.”
“Sorry,” Lucas grumbles as his hand digs into the pocket of his trousers. “I thought I turned it off.”
When he pulls his phone out, his eyes bulge. He yanks it in close to his chest as his wide eyes dart around the courtroom. His expression is panicked, his mouth formed into a large ‘O.’ I drop my eyes to my shoes to ensure he doesn’t spot me in the back row when he scans the courtroom.
