Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I understand,” I say into the phone, tapping a pen against the countertop. “So you haven’t seen him since last year?” The contact on the other end—a former colleague from a private investigation firm—confirms it. “All right, thanks. Keep me posted if anything changes.”
I hang up, grabbing the slip of paper I’d been scribbling notes on. Yesterday’s digging turned up a handful of old addresses, a few known associates, and the rumor that Morris has been spotted near Chicago in the last month. Could be nothing. Could be everything. Either way, it’s a lead.
A clatter from the stove draws my attention. Isabel’s bustling around the kitchen, hair pulled up in a messy bun, wearing a T-shirt and a pair of lounge pants. She’s got a spatula in one hand and a determined look on her face. Something smells amazing—bacon, yum.
“I didn’t know you cooked,” I say, stepping closer to peek at the pan.
She throws a glance over her shoulder, a wry half-smile curving her lips. “Surprised? I’ve had to fend for myself a lot over the years.”
I can hear the undercurrent of pride in her voice. It’s not defensive, exactly, just a quiet statement of fact. Part of me wants to ask for details, but I hold off. I’m still piecing together the mosaic of who Isabel really is—beyond the fierce, take-no-prisoners professional side I’m used to seeing at Maddox Security.
Instead, I set the notes on the kitchen table, next to my laptop. “Thanks for cooking. I usually live off protein bars and black coffee on the job.”
She snorts. “Sounds healthy.” Then she points with her spatula at the bacon. “I hope you like it crispy. That’s the only way I make it.”
“Crispy’s fine,” I say, sliding into one of the wooden chairs.
She piles bacon onto a plate lined with paper towels, then starts in on some scrambled eggs. The crackling sound and the mouthwatering smell is enough to make my stomach rumble. It’s all so… domestic. Strange, considering we’re here because she’s in real danger. But at least we can pretend for a moment that things are normal.
As she works, I glance out the big window above the sink, which frames a sweeping view of pine trees and the faint silhouette of mountains in the distance. If not for the tension humming beneath the surface, this place could pass for a cozy weekend getaway.
“So,” Isabel says, shutting off the burner, “did your calls turn up anything useful? Or are we still stuck at square one?”
I lift the slip of paper. “Morris Rolfe’s last known location might be Chicago. My contact couldn’t confirm it, but I’d wager if he’s got ties there, he might have gone back to old stomping grounds.”
“Chicago,” she repeats, a slight frown creasing her forehead. “Then again, Chicago is a big place. He could vanish in a crowd pretty easily.”
“True.” I watch as she takes two plates out of the cupboard, spooning eggs onto them. “But if he is there, we’ll have ways of finding him—friends of mine, or maybe even your brother’s old network. You’re both Chicago natives, right?”
Isabel nods, busying herself with the food. “Yes. Dean and I didn’t exactly grow up in the best neighborhood, but it taught us a lot about how to get by on almost nothing. And since Dean always had a knack for hacking, we never went completely without. He and his best friend—Xavier Stone—used to mess around with security systems. Next thing I knew, they were outsmarting half the city’s alarm companies.”
I let out a low whistle. “That’s quite a skill set.”
She shrugs, setting a plate in front of me and sliding into the chair across the table. “It paid off, I guess. Once Xavier had some money to invest, he gave Dean a chunk to start Maddox Security.” Her expression turns distant, like she’s remembering the early days. “We went from living in a tiny two-bedroom apartment to buying nicer gear, renting an office. Next thing we knew, we were landing big-name clients.”
I pick up a fork and scoop some eggs onto a piece of bacon. “I knew part of the story, but not all the details.”
She grimaces playfully. “Well, let’s just say there were some interesting lessons learned along the way. I can remember Dean staying up all night, tinkering with old computer parts, building prototypes. And I’d be there with a flashlight, trying to help any way I could. Usually by handing him screwdrivers.”
I chuckle softly, picturing a young Isabel—scrappy and determined—hovering beside her genius brother. “Sounds like you two made a good team.”
She raises a brow. “We made an unstoppable team. But he’s still my big brother, so yeah, we argue and butt heads. Kind of like we do now.”
A warm jolt of recognition goes through me. “You have the same dynamic at Maddox Security. It’s almost funny how you two still go at it sometimes.”