31. Isaac
Chapter 31
Isaac
I adjust my binoculars, tracking Thomas as he struts across the sandy beach like he owns it. The humid air sticks to my skin as I lean against the hostel's rickety balcony railing.
"Look at this douchebag," I mutter to Dom. "His wife's supposedly missing and he's here living it up in fucking paradise."
Dom settles into the chair beside me, unpacking our surveillance equipment. "That's because he doesn't give a fuck unless its money or hookers."
Through my lens, I watch Thomas order what's probably an overpriced cocktail from a bikini-clad server. "You'd think he'd at least pretend to be concerned. Keep up appearances."
"He's too arrogant for that." Dom connects wires to a small monitor. "Thinks he's untouchable."
The senator lounges by the pool in designer swim trunks, typing away on his phone. I zoom in closer. "Got his room key card visible. Suite 1242."
"Perfect. We'll bug it tonight when he goes to dinner."
I lower the binoculars and scan our shabby surroundings – peeling paint, rusty fixtures, questionable stains on the walls. "Quite the contrast from his five-star digs."
"Better vantage point though." Dom points to Thomas's balcony directly across from us. "Clear line of sight."
"True." I grab a bottle of water, the warm liquid doing little to combat the oppressive heat. "How long you think before he makes contact with his associates?"
"Won't be long. He's not here for the amenities." Dom checks his watch. "We just need to be patient."
I nod, settling in for another long surveillance shift. At least the view isn't terrible – crystal blue waters stretching to the horizon, palm trees swaying in the breeze. Could be worse places to stake out a corrupt senator.
I lean back in my chair, running a hand over my tattooed scalp while watching Thomas schmooze with what appears to be Asian businessmen through my binoculars. "Dom, you seeing this?"
"Yeah." Dom adjusts his own surveillance equipment. "Looks like our intel was right. He's playing both sides."
"Fucking amateur." I set the binoculars down with more force than necessary. "This is exactly why I told Esteban working with politicians was a bad idea. They get greedy, start thinking they're smarter than they are."
Dom pulls out his phone, snapping photos. "Think these guys are Yakuza?"
"Triad more likely, based on what our contacts said." I grab my water bottle, wishing it was something stronger. "Either way, this complicates things. We don't need an international incident."
"No shit." Dom lowers his camera. "We should call Esteban, tell him we need to get him money quick and to cut ties now before this blows up in all our faces."
He heads off in the direction of the bedroom to call Esteban.
"Your days are numbered Mr. Cope," I say with a smug grin. "Soon your oasis will be a 6 by 6 cement cell, not a coastal paradise.
Two hours later, and a bottle down, I pour another shot of whiskey, watching through our surveillance setup as some bleach-blonde in a dress that barely covers her ass stumbles into Thomas's suite. Dom raises his eyebrows at me over his own glass.
"What's that make - third one tonight?" I ask, my Irish accent thickening with the alcohol.
"Fourth." He says as he adjusts the audio. "Two escorts, one waitress, and now whatever this one is."
"I mean, you've seen Tatum," Dom adds, refilling our glasses. "Why the hell would he need all these cheap thrills when he's got her at home?"
"Because he's a fuckin' idiot." I lean back in my chair, stretching my legs. "She cooks, cleans, takes care of that whole house by herself…"
"Not to mention she's gorgeous."
"Exactly." I gesture at the monitor where Thomas is now pawing at his latest conquest. "Meanwhile this arsehole's slumming it with whatever walks by."
Dom shakes his head. "Some men don't know what they have until it's gone."
"In this case, he doesn't even care that it's gone." I drain my glass. "Bastard hasn't shed a real tear over her being 'kidnapped.' Just using it for publicity."
"And a chance to party without her around to witness it."
"Makes our job easier though, doesn't it?" I tap the surveillance screen. "He's so busy getting his dick wet, he's not even thinking about security."
"She really deserves better than this piece of shit," Dom mutters, eyes fixed on the monitor. "She's so fucking funny, how she lights up the room, the way she moves... er… in the kitchen."
My head snaps toward him. Something in his tone catches my attention. Too intimate. Too familiar.
"The way she moves?" I set my glass down slowly. "You seem to know a lot about how she moves."
Dom freezes for a split second – barely noticeable, but I catch it. His shoulders tense before he tries to play it casual. "Just from observing her at the house, you know?"
"Right." I lean forward, studying his face. "And what exactly have you been observing?"
He meets my eyes, then looks away. Guilty. "Look, it just happened, alright?"
My stomach drops. The whiskey turns sour in my throat. "You slept with her."
It's not a question. He doesn't deny it.
"On the jet," he admits quietly. "When we went shopping."
I stand abruptly, needing space. My fists clench at my sides as I process this information. The image of them together floods my mind unbidden.
"Fuck." I run a hand over my tattooed scalp. "This complicates things."
"It doesn't have to."
"Like hell it doesn't." I pace the small room, trying to sort through the surge of emotions. Jealousy burns hottest, which makes no damn sense. She's not mine to be jealous over.
"We're professionals," Dom says. "We can keep it separate from the job."
I bark out a harsh laugh. "Nothing about this job has been professional since the moment we brought her home."
I'm about to light another cigarette and launch into my spiel on how he's not the only one entranced by her when he grabs my arm. Through our surveillance equipment, I watch as a well-dressed couple approaches Thomas's cabana. The woman's auburn hair and confident stride are eerily familiar.
"Holy shit," Dom hisses. "Those look like Tatum's parents."
My stomach drops as I zoom in with the camera. The resemblance is unmistakable – same aristocratic features, same entitled air about them. "What the hell are they doing here?"
"Call her. Now." Dom's voice carries an edge I rarely hear.
I pull out my burner phone, dialing Tatum's number while keeping my lens trained on the scene unfolding below.
The phone rings twice before she picks up.
"Everything okay?" Her voice carries that lilting tone that makes my chest tighten.
"Call your father's cell. Now." I keep my voice steady despite the tension coursing through me.
"Why? What's going on?"
"Just do as you're told, lass." The Irish in my accent thickens with frustration. "Questions later."
She huffs into the phone. "You're such a grump sometimes, you know that?"
"Tatum." My warning tone must convey enough urgency because I hear her fingers tapping on her phone screen.
Through my lens, I watch her father reach into his tailored suit pocket as his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, then shows it to his wife. My jaw clenches as he declines the call and slides the phone back into his pocket.
"The mother fucker hung up on me," Tatum says, disbelief coloring her voice.
Dom leans closer to our surveillance equipment, adjusting dials while I process what we've just witnessed. Her own parents, here with Thomas while their daughter is supposedly missing. The pieces click into place, painting an even uglier picture than we'd imagined.
"What the fuck is going on, Issac?" Tatum's voice trembles through the phone.
My jaw clenches as I watch her parents schmoozing with Thomas through my binoculars. "Your parents are here. Meeting with Thomas."
The line goes so quiet I check to make sure the call hasn't dropped. The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken pain.
"They're..." Her voice cracks. "They're there? With him?"
"Yes." I resist the urge to soften the blow. She deserves the truth, as brutal as it is.
"I have to go." Her words come out barely above a whisper.
"Tatum, wait?—"
The line goes dead. "Fuck!" I slam my hand against the balcony railing.
My chest tightens with an unfamiliar ache. The urge to jump in the car and drive straight back hits me hard. She shouldn't be alone right now. Not after learning her own parents are complicit in this charade.
But watching Thomas laugh with her father, clinking glasses like they don't have a care in the world, reminds me why we're here. The best thing I can do for her isn't offering hollow comfort – it's making sure these bastards pay.
I turn back to our surveillance equipment, channeling my anger into focus. "Alright you privileged pricks, let's see what other secrets you're hiding."
Dom raises an eyebrow at my sudden intensity. I ignore him, adjusting dials with renewed purpose. The sooner we gather enough evidence to bury Thomas, the sooner Tatum gets her freedom. That's worth more than any temporary comfort I could provide.