Chapter Ten
Isabella
I sat behind my desk and rolled my shoulders, staring at paper trails that wavered like a mirage before me. My skin still tingled where Moreau’s hands had steadied me, the memory making it hard to focus on documentation and evidence.
“You look terrible,” Julia announced from my doorway, wielding a cup of coffee like a sacrificial offering. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Define sleep.” I accepted the cup, breathing in the dark roast and trying to shake off memories of Colton’s warmth, his concern, and the way his voice had roughened when he’d promised to be there if things went wrong.
“Were you here all night with Mr. Chief Counsel? The cleaners said both your offices had lights on past three.”
I shot her a warning look. “Working on the Durand acquisitions.”
“Right. Just working.” She sat on the edge of my desk. “Nothing to do with how he fills out those suits lately.”
“Julia—”
“Or how he watches you in meetings when he thinks no one’s looking.”
I set my coffee mug down harder than necessary. “He watches because he doesn’t trust my methods.”
“Oh please.” Julia leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Maybe before. But in the past month…I saw how he jumped to your defense in yesterday’s board meeting when Harrison questioned your department’s authentication process. That’s not distrust, that’s...” She lifted her eyebrows suggestively.
“That’s him protecting bank interests.” But the memory of his fierce defense made something warm curl and settle in my chest.
“He could have let his team handle it. Instead, he personally spent three hours preparing a detailed response. And then stared at your ass in the elevator after delivering it.” She grinned. “Face it, Isabella. Colton Moreau has a thing for you lately.”
“A thing for making my life difficult, maybe.” I turned back to my work, but the manifests blurred into memories of last night—his hand on my shoulder, his cologne mixing with my perfume.
“You know,” Julia said thoughtfully, “I’ve worked here for five years. Never seen him break a single rule. Never placed a toe out of line. But lately...” She studied me over her own coffee cup. “Lately he’s been different. More intense. More of a wildcard.”
“We’re both just doing our jobs,” I said firmly. “Auditing some irregularities.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Julia stood, her expression softening. “But Isabella? Maybe some ‘irregularities’ are worth exploring. You’ve been alone the entire time I’ve known you. Maybe it’s time for you to open up a bit. But, it’s your life.”
I couldn’t tell her that work had become my shield after my father died. That burying myself in cases and clients meant I didn’t have to face another loss. Dating meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant pain. Every relationship had an expiration date; I’d learned that along the way. It was simpler to focus on what I could control: canvas and brushstrokes.
She left me with that thought, and with memories I couldn’t shake. Colton’s voice in the low light of his office. His promise to keep me safe.
A message popped up on my screen, Rodger requesting an urgent meeting about recent acquisitions. My stomach tightened. More and more, his questions felt pointed, dangerous.
“Miss Delacroix?” Sari appeared in my doorway. “Mr. Moreau asked me to deliver these files personally.” She handed over a thick folder, then hesitated. “He also said to remind you about your promise.”
My promise not to investigate certain leads alone. Not going to Rotterdam. Of course he’d send a messenger rather than come himself after last night.
“Tell Mr. Moreau his concern is noted but unnecessary.” I took the files without looking up.
“He’s in a meeting with the board all morning,” Sari continued. “But he said to call him if you find anything in those files.”
Since when did Colton Moreau ask people to call him? The man usually required everything in writing, and in triplicate. Always a digital paper trail.
I waited until Sari left before opening the folder. Inside, nested between legitimate bank documents, was a handwritten note in Colton’s precise script: “ Watch your back with Rodger. Something’s not right. ”
The warning made my heart race. Not just because it confirmed my own suspicions about Rodger, but because Colton had risked writing it down.
For me.
“Well, he’s finished up with the board meeting,” Julia said, reappearing with fresh coffee. “Practically lived at the bank since you started that auditing project.”
“He’s dedicated to his job.”
“To you, you mean.” She sat again, ignoring my glare. “I’ve worked with plenty of lawyers, Isabella. None of them transform themselves into James Bond for ‘bank interests.’”
I thought of his changed physique, his new intensity. The way he moved now, like he was preparing for something. “He’s just taking care of himself.”
“Right. And those private combat training sessions are just casual workouts?”
My head snapped up. “What combat training?”
Julia’s smile widened, obviously excited to share gossip that she’d been sitting on. “My brother works at that exclusive gym near Canary Wharf. Says our straight-laced chief counsel started showing up there months ago, training with some American instructor every morning. Quite the transformation from the man who used to consider golf strenuous exercise.”
I stared at the warning note, remembering how steady his hands had been last night. How confident his movements had been lately. How different from the rigid man who’d once relied solely on words and regulations.
“He’s different,” Julia said softly. “Question is, why?”
My phone buzzed again. It was Rodger, growing impatient. The screen showed three missed calls already.
“I have work to do.” I started gathering files, needing to escape this conversation. To think. To stop remembering how safe I’d felt when Colton’s hand brushed mine after we left the client viewing area the other day.
“Isabella.” Julia’s voice turned serious. “Whatever you two are investigating...be careful. People are noticing.”
“There’s nothing to notice.”
“No?” She stood, straightening her skirt. “Then why does he watch the door every time you leave a room? Why does he position himself between you and Rodger in meetings? Why does he—”
“Enough.” But my voice lacked conviction. “We’re colleagues working on a sensitive audit. Nothing more.”
“If you say so.” She headed for the door, then paused. “But Isabella? Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if there was something more. You deserve someone worth fighting for.”
I looked at the manifests again, but the numbers spun into images of him. Training before dawn, preparing for unknown threats. Writing warnings in his tidy script, breaking rules he’d always followed. Watching doors, monitoring threats, positioning himself between me and danger.
The work ahead felt overwhelming—gathering evidence, exposing this horror, avenging my father’s death. But for the first time since starting this investigation, I wondered if I truly had to face it alone. Some rules, I was learning, deserved to be broken. Some risks were worth the potential cost.
My phone buzzed again with Rodger’s increasingly demanding messages. I gathered the files and headed for the elevator, feeling Colton’s warning note like a brand in my pocket. Passing his darkened office, memories of last night flooded back—the solid warmth of his body near mine, the roughness in his voice as he promised to keep me safe, the way he’d looked at me as though I was a mystery he was trying to unravel.
“Focus,” I muttered, jabbing the elevator button sharply. I had work to do…a meeting to survive, evidence to analyze, a trafficking ring to expose. I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of distraction or feelings, couldn’t permit myself to need anyone, regardless of how protected they made me feel.
Yet, Colton’s presence lingered in my thoughts—the trust he inspired, the ghost of his touch on my skin.
The elevator arrived and I stepped in, squaring my shoulders. I needed to be professional and focused, everything my father had taught me to be. But a part of me yearned for something different, to be someone who could embrace these feelings, someone who could trust.
Rodger waited in one of the bank’s smaller conference rooms, pristine in his black suit. Meticulously styled with gel, his dark hair complemented the calculating gray eyes that missed nothing as they scanned the documents before him.
“Miss Delacroix.” His forced smile hadn’t changed since our elevator encounter. “Thank you for making time in your busy schedule.”
“Of course.” I took a seat across from him, keeping the door in my line of sight. The metallic undertone of his cologne seemed stronger in the enclosed space.
“These authentication reports are quite impressive.” He slid a folder across the table. “Particularly the attention to...detail.”
I opened the file, scanning quickly. All the recent pieces I’d authenticated, including several I’d flagged as suspicious. “Documentation is crucial in our line of work.”
“Indeed.” His finger traced the edge of a report. “Though sometimes one can be too thorough. Too...precise in recording certain irregularities.”
The threat was there, concealed within formal pleasantries. “The bank hired me for my expertise.”
“Yes.” He leaned back, studying me with those too-knowing eyes. “Your late-night meetings with our chief counsel, for instance. Very...thorough.”
“If you have concerns about my methods—”
“Oh, I have many concerns.” His smile remained frozen even as his voice took on an edge. “About your methods. Your attention to certain shipping details. Your...extracurricular research.”
There it was. The hidden threat, thinly veiled.
“Again, the bank hired me because I’m the best,” I said carefully. “Part of my expertise is attention to detail.”
“Like your father’s attention to detail?” His smile turned deadly. “We all know how that ended.”
My hands wanted to shake. I kept them steady through sheer power of will. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Ross?”
“Threatening? No.” He gathered his papers, his harsh eyes never leaving mine. “Just reminiscing about past employees who got too...curious. Who asked too many questions about things that didn’t concern them.”
“Interesting that you’d bring up my father.” I stared at him, unblinking, though my heart hammered.
Something registered in Rodger’s bearing, and he shifted. “Your father was quite renowned in certain circles.”
“And which circles would those be?”
“The kind that understand discretion.” He stood, moving to the window. “The kind that know how to handle...complications.”
The threat hung in the air between us, choking me. Through the conference room’s glass walls, I could see bank employees going about their day, oblivious to the dangerous dance happening in this room.
“Is that what I am, Rodger? A complication?”
“That depends.” He turned back to me. “On whether you’re as smart as your father was. On whether you understand when to stop asking questions.”
“I understand plenty.” I straightened my files, fighting the urge to storm out of the room. “Including the fact that you’ve been monitoring my computer access.”
He smiled, the kind of smile that made my skin crawl. “Just doing my job. Risk management is crucial in banking.”
“And what risk am I posing, exactly?”
“That’s what I’m trying to determine.” His eyes raked over me, assessing. “Your recent interest in shipping manifests. Your conversations with Moreau. Your...late night research.”
“You’ve been watching me.”
“We watch everyone, Miss Delacroix. It’s what keeps institutions like Devereux running smoothly.”
I stood, matching his posture. “Smoothly enough to hide trafficking behind art acquisitions?”
The words left my mouth before I could stop them. Stupid. Reckless. Everything Colton had warned me against.
Rodger didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Just smiled that terrible smile again.
“Careful,” he said softly. “Some questions can’t be taken back.”
“Some answers can’t be hidden forever,” I countered, though every instinct screamed at me to stop pushing.
“Everything can be hidden with the right documentation.” Rodger moved closer, his cologne harsh and chemical. “Your father understood that, in the end.”
My phone buzzed on the table, Colton’s name lighting up the screen. Rodger’s eyes flicked to it, a frown finally replacing that sinister smile.
“Your guard dog calling to check on you?” He picked up my phone before I could reach it. “How sweet. Tell me, does he know what happened to the last person who looked too closely at our shipping operations?”
“Give me my phone.”
“Of course.” He set it down with exaggerated care. “Just remember, Moreau’s position at this bank is...valuable. It would be a shame if his career suffered because of misplaced loyalty.”
The threat to Colton sparked something fierce in my chest. “Leave him out of this.”
“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” Rodger gathered his papers. “Clean up the authentication reports. Stop asking questions. Focus on your actual job.”
“Or what?”
His smile returned, crueler than ever. “Or history repeats itself. Heart attacks run in families, I hear.”
He left me standing in the conference room, shaking with rage and fear. My phone rang again.
I answered without thinking.
“Where are you?” Colton’s voice was tight with concern. “Julia said Rodger called you into a meeting.”
“I’m fine.” But my voice betrayed me, wavering slightly.
“Stay there. I’m coming down.”
“No.” I forced strength I didn’t feel into my tone. “We can’t be seen together right now. Rodger is watching.”
A pause. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing that matters.” Everything that matters. “Just normal bank business.”
“Isabella.” The way he said my name, soft and worried, made my chest ache. At some point, we’d dropped the formalities, but I couldn’t exactly pinpoint when it had happened. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I have to go.” I gathered my things, needing to escape the shrinking conference room. To think. To plan. “Just...be careful, Colton. Some people at this bank aren’t what they seem.”
“I have to go to Italy this weekend, but meet me Monday night,” he said suddenly.
I should have said no. Should have maintained distance. Should have protected him from whatever storm was coming.
“Nine o’clock,” I heard myself say instead. “Don’t be late.”
I hung up before he could respond, before I could change my mind. Rodger’s threats echoed in my head as I walked back to my office.
My father’s sudden death had never felt right. A healthy man, meticulous about his health, struck down by a heart attack while investigating shipping discrepancies. The official explanation was too neat, too clean, like everything else at Devereux Bank.
Now I had a choice, to back off and let more girls disappear into the night, or keep digging and risk everything.
Risk Colton.
But as I sat at my desk, staring at manifests that held too many secrets, I knew there was no real choice.
Some things were worth risking everything for.
Even if that everything included the man I was trying so hard not to care for.