Chapter Forty-Four
Isabella
I heard Colton arrive home after midnight, moving silently through our darkened penthouse. The security system disarmed under his touch—a complex sequence of codes to keep us safe.
He found me in his study, where I’d curled up in his leather chair with multiple laptops surrounding me. I could feel his eyes linger on me, studying how the blue light from the screens cast shadows across my face and highlighted the new curves pregnancy had added to my frame.
“You should be sleeping,” he said softly, setting down his briefcase.
“I could say the same about you,” I replied with a tired smile. We both knew why he was late. Working past midnight was part of his cover—the driven lawyer who’d never leave at a reasonable hour, especially on his first day back. The longer he stayed, the more convincing his role.
“Had to maintain appearances,” he confirmed, loosening his tie. “But it worked. The security team is used to me keeping odd hours. No one questioned why I was still there when everyone else had gone home.”
He moved behind the chair, his hands settling on my shoulders. I could feel his concern in the gentle pressure of his fingertips as he found the knots in my muscles.
I leaned back into his touch, feeling some of the tension drain away. “How bad was it?”
“Exactly as expected.” His thumbs worked at the base of my neck, where worry had hardened into painful knots. “Rodger watching every move. Montgomery testing responses. Everything is proceeding according to plan.”
“Everything is wrong.” I closed my eyes as his hands moved higher. “The cameras in your office?”
“Positioned exactly where Sari said. Their surveillance is...thorough.”
I allowed myself a tiny smile. “Did they suspect?”
“They suspect something.” His voice stayed calm, though his hands tightened slightly on my shoulders. “But they can’t prove anything yet.”
I turned the chair to face him, meeting his gaze. In the dim light, I could see the fatigue etched around his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw that spoke of a day spent in careful performance. His usually clean-shaven face showed hints of stubble. “What did you find?”
He pulled a small drive from his pocket—anything larger would have triggered the bank’s security. “Server access logs for the past two months. Shipping manifests. Board meeting minutes.”
I immediately reached for the drive, but he caught my hand.
“Tomorrow.” He pulled me to my feet, and I swayed slightly with exhaustion. “You need rest.”
“I need to work.” But I let him lead me toward our bedroom. “Every day we wait—”
“Is another day we gather evidence.” He tenderly guided me through the penthouse, his arm around my waist supporting me. “Another day we build our case.” He pressed his forehead to mine, sharing breath, sharing pain. “But we do this right. We do this thoroughly. One mistake and they’ll know.”
I broke then, tears spilling as I clutched his shirt. He held me close while I breathed in his familiar scent mixed with the metallic tang of the bank.
“I hate this,” I whispered against his chest. “Hiding. Waiting while they—”
“I know.” He stroked my hair, and I felt my trembling slowly ease. “But we’re close. The server access Rodger granted today, it’s exactly what we needed.”
I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.” He traced my cheekbone with his thumb, wiping away tears. “Interpol’s program is already mapping their network. By next week—”
“A week?” Fresh tension filled my frame. “Colton, the shipping manifests—”
“Show three containers moving through Rotterdam.” His voice stayed steady, though I could hear the rage beneath each word. “Temperature controlled.”
“They can’t keep doing this.” My hands fisted in his shirt again. “More lives they’re destroying while we wait. While we plan.”
“While we gather evidence to destroy them completely.” He tilted my face up, making me meet his eyes. “Not just stop one shipment. Not just save three girls. End it. All of it. Forever.”
I studied him for a long moment, reading the truth in his face. “You found something today. Something big.”
“Maybe.” He guided me towards the bedroom, and I knew he was right about me needing rest, even if I hated to admit it. “The server logs show connections to other banks. Other institutions.”
“I want to see.”
“Tomorrow.” His voice was firm but gentle. “When you’ve rested.”
In our bedroom, Colton helped me into one of his soft shirts that I’d claimed as sleepwear. While I changed, he disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a glass of water and the prenatal vitamins Dr. Eisenberg had prescribed.
“You missed today’s dose,” he said quietly, holding them out to me.
The simple act—him remembering when I’d forgotten—made my throat tighten with emotion. “Thank you.”
After I took the vitamins, he guided me to sit on the edge of the bed. Kneeling before me, he began to massage my swollen feet with careful hands.
“You don’t have to do that,” I protested weakly.
He looked up at me, the intensity in his eyes silencing any further objections. “Let me take care of you. Both of you.”
His hands moved with careful precision, easing away the day’s strain. “You’ve been standing too much today.”
“Sitting, actually. Hunched over computers.”
“Which explains the neck pain.” He finished with my feet and moved to sit behind me on the bed, his fingers once again finding the tension in my shoulders. “Dr. Eisenberg said you need to change positions more frequently.”
“I forget,” I admitted. “When I’m focused on the data...”
“I know.” His voice held no judgment, only understanding. “That’s why I need to remind you.”
As the tension eased from my muscles, exhaustion rushed in to fill the void. I leaned back against him, letting his strength support me.
“I found a heating pad,” he said, reaching for the bedside drawer. “For your lower back. You mentioned it was bothering you yesterday.”
The thoughtfulness of the gesture brought fresh tears to my eyes—pregnancy hormones making me more emotional than I’d ever been. “I’m afraid of losing you,” I confessed, the words slipping out unplanned.
His arms tightened around me. “Nothing they do can keep me from you now. From our family.”
He helped me settle into bed, arranging pillows to support my back and growing belly before covering me with the duvet. Once I was comfortable, he moved to the other side of the bed and stretched out beside me, one hand coming to rest warmly on my stomach.
“Have you felt any movement?” he asked, his voice softening as it always did when he spoke of our child.
“Maybe a little flutter.” I placed my hand over his. “Especially when I was going through the shipping manifests. Almost like they understood what was at stake.”
His mouth curved in a tired smile. “Already fighting for justice.”
We lay in comfortable silence as early morning light fought through London’s perpetual rain. His thumb traced small circles on my stomach, the gesture both protective and reverent.
“What if they suspect?” I asked finally, voicing the fear that haunted me. “What if Rodger realizes...”
“Then I handle it.” His voice was rough. “I’ve changed, and now I get to use it against them.” His expression remained gentle but determined. “Let them think I’m still on their team. Let them believe nothing’s changed.”
I traced the stubble marking his chin. “Everything’s changed.”
“Yes.” His hand curved more firmly around my stomach. “Everything that matters.”
I began to drift toward sleep, lulled by his steady presence and the gentle stroke of his hand on my belly. The last thing I remembered was him pressing a kiss to my forehead and whispering, “Rest now. I’ll be here when you wake.”
And for the first time in days, I slept without nightmares.