Chapter Forty-One
Isabella
Heathrow appeared through a veil of mist as Steele’s jet began its descent. After months in Tuscany’s warmth, London’s gray palette felt oppressive, almost ominous. I shifted in my seat, one hand instinctively covering my stomach—a recent habit I’d developed ever since learning that Colton was the father.
“Stryker has arranged for a security team to monitor the penthouse,” Colton said quietly, closing the dossier he’d been reviewing during our flight. “No bank surveillance detected. No unexpected visitors. As far as the world is concerned, I’ve been dealing with a family emergency at my brother’s estate.”
I nodded, taking comfort in the thoroughness of our preparations. Every detail had been considered, every contingency planned for. But still, anxiety crawled beneath my skin like raw electricity looking for a conduit.
“And as far as the world is concerned,” I said, watching raindrops streak across the window, “I’m either still with my ‘owner’ or dead.”
Colton’s hand found mine, his grip firm and reassuring. “Which gives us an advantage.”
The town car waiting on the tarmac was nondescript but armored, another one of Steele’s influences. The driver nodded once to Colton but asked no questions as we slipped into the backseat, the rain drumming steadily on the roof.
The city passed by in a blur of buildings and wet streets, so different from the sun-drenched hills we’d left behind. I tried to focus on our plan rather than the growing apprehension beginning in my belly. We were returning to the heart of danger, deliberately placing ourselves within reach of the people who had orchestrated my disappearance.
“The access codes to the bank’s system have been updated,” I noted, reviewing data on the secure tablet we were using. “But the authentication patterns are the same. Sloppy.”
Colton’s lips curved in a slight smile, yet it held no humor. “Arrogance, not sloppiness. They don’t believe anyone would dare challenge them. We both went against them and lost. They think they’re untouchable now.”
Colton’s building loomed ahead, its upper floors disappearing into the mist. My pulse quickened as we entered the private parking garage, the concrete walls suddenly feeling too close, too confined after Tuscany’s open spaces.
“Stryker’s team did a complete sweep this morning,” Colton said, noting my tension. “No bugs. No surveillance. The security system has been entirely rebuilt. Steele also made sure to remove your possessions from your old apartment before your landlord got involved.”
I nodded, but found little comfort in the assurance he provided or by the fact that my belongings had been saved. It wasn’t physical danger that troubled me, it was the reality of what we were undertaking. The knowledge that any mistake could be fatal.
I’d finally found happiness with Colton, but our return to the scene of the crime made me realize how precarious our life together was. One wrong move, and we could lose everything we’d built together over the past few months.
Colton helped me out of the car, glancing around to make sure there were no other residents in the garage. Satisfied, he guided me toward the lobby, his arm around my waist.
Still possessive, even back home in London.
The elevator was specifically designed only to access the penthouse, and it required both biometric confirmation and a six-digit code that changed daily. By the time the doors opened on the penthouse level, I’d mentally cataloged three alternate escape routes, two potential weapons, and calculated the exact time it would take the nearest security team to reach us in an emergency.
I would never be a victim again.
The penthouse itself was exactly as I remembered from months ago—minimalist luxury with walls of glass overlooking the city. But Stryker’s security team had transformed part of the space into what looked like a command center. Multiple monitors lined one wall of the study, displaying security feeds, data analytics, and communication channels.
“Panic room is behind the bookcase,” Colton explained, leading me through a tour of our new fortress. “Complete communications available inside, independent power supply, enough provisions for a week if necessary. Stryker insisted on military-grade encryption for all communication systems.”
I took it all in with professional assessment, noting the careful balance of security and comfort. This would be my world for the foreseeable future—a cage, but one of our own design.
“I’ve scheduled an OB appointment for next week,” Colton continued as we reached the master bedroom. “Doctor Eisenberg is completely trustworthy, she’s worked with Steele before. She’ll come here for privacy.”
The security panel near the door chimed softly, interrupting him. He checked the display, his expression shifting subtly.
“Sari’s here,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Right on time.”
We’d discussed this step extensively in Tuscany, the calculated risk we needed to take. The ally we needed to secure. Colton had been hesitant at first, but I convinced him that her help would be invaluable.
“Sari’s always punctual,” I said, moving to the security monitor to see Colton’s executive assistant waiting in the private garage. Her professional posture revealed nothing of her true role as an Interpol agent.
Sari and I had been relatively close before I was taken, working together to track irregularities in shipping manifests. But trusting anyone now carried significant risk.
“You’re still certain about this?” he asked, eyes meeting mine.
“We need her,” I confirmed. “She doesn’t know that you know about her Interpol role. Doesn’t know I’m alive. Doesn’t realize we’re now all working together. That needs to change if we’re going to coordinate effectively.”
He nodded once, the decision made. “I’ll bring her up. I don’t want her to make a scene in the garage when she sees you’re okay. You wait in the study.”
I positioned myself slightly out of sight, where I could observe Sari’s initial reaction. Through the security monitors, I watched Colton meet her in the garage, their exchange appearing completely ordinary—an executive and his assistant reviewing urgent matters after hours.
When the elevator doors opened on our floor, I heard Sari’s voice, controlled and efficient.
“I appreciate the urgency, Mr. Moreau, but these documents could have been reviewed at the office tomorrow. The board is expecting your official return in the morning.”
“Some information is too sensitive for the bank’s surveillance,” Colton replied, maintaining the firm tone I knew all too well. “What I’m about to show you requires absolute discretion.”
They entered the penthouse, Sari following a few steps behind Colton. I could see her mask slip slightly as she registered the security setup, the monitors, the obvious preparations for something far beyond normal corporate operations.
“Mr. Moreau,” she began, a new wariness in her voice. “What exactly is—”
“Before we continue,” Colton interrupted, “I need to be certain we understand each other completely.” He turned to face her directly. “I know who you really work for.”
The change was instantaneous. Sari’s posture shifted, her hand moving subtly toward what I suspected was a concealed weapon. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but—”
“Your Interpol operation has been running for years,” Colton continued calmly. “Investigating financial irregularities at Devereux Bank.”
Sari went utterly still, her composure cracking for just a moment before she recovered. “How long have you known?”
“Long enough.” Colton moved toward the study doorway. “But perhaps it would be better if we explained together.”
That was my cue. I stepped into view, one hand resting lightly on my stomach.
Sari’s reaction was everything we’d anticipated and more. The color drained from her face, her eyes widening in genuine shock as she recognized me. For several seconds, she simply stared, her training momentarily overwhelmed by the impossibility of what she was seeing.
“Isabella,” she whispered, my name sounding almost like a prayer on her lips.
“Hello, Sari,” I said quietly, a genuine smile forming despite everything. After months of hiding, seeing a familiar face—a friendly face—was more affecting than I’d expected.
“You’re alive,” she breathed, taking an involuntary step forward before catching herself. “How is this—I thought—”
“It’s a long story,” I said, gesturing toward the study. “One worth hearing, I promise.”
Sari looked between us, her training visibly reasserting itself as she processed this new reality. “You both knew,” she stated, a new calculation in her gaze. “About each other. About me.”
“I told Colton about our arrangement in Italy,” I explained. “After he rescued me.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes as she followed us into the study. “So your disappearance wasn’t what it seemed.”
“The kidnapping was real enough,” I said, my hand tightening protectively over our child. “But so was the rescue.”
“And now you’re planning something,” Sari concluded, her analytical mind already working through the implications as she took in the monitors and security setup. “Something that needs Interpol coordination.”
“Something that needs to happen soon,” Colton confirmed. “Please, sit. This will take some time to explain properly.”
Sari took the offered seat, but her eyes remained fixed on me. “Isabella...” Her gaze dropped to my stomach, understanding dawning. “You’re pregnant.”
I nodded, resting my hand more visibly on the slight curve. “Another reason why our timeline has accelerated. We can’t wait much longer.”
For a moment, her eyes widened in shock, a smile playing at her lips, revealing the friend I’d known before everything went wrong. “I thought you were gone,” she said softly. “When you disappeared...the evidence suggested...”
“That I’d been sold through the same channels we were investigating,” I finished for her. “I know. That was their intention.”
Sari’s focus sharpened, her training reasserting itself. “You’ve been investigating for years,” I said. “Gathering evidence, building a case for fraud. So have we.”
“Yes.” She didn’t bother denying it now. “But the organization is careful. Meticulous. Every transaction looks legitimate on the surface. The trafficking operation is hidden behind multiple layers.”
“Which is why we need your help,” Colton explained. “Your Interpol connections are crucial for coordinating international raids. And inside the bank, you can move more freely than I can. After my absence, they’ll be watching me carefully.”
Sari studied us both. “Why reveal yourselves to me now? Why take this risk?”
“Because time is running out,” I said simply, gesturing to my stomach. “My pregnancy won’t stay hidden forever. And Rodger is accelerating shipments in Rotterdam, Hamburg…Marseilles. We need to dismantle the entire network simultaneously.”
“You have evidence?” Her interest was clearly piqued.
In answer, I turned to one of the laptops, bringing up files we’d carefully organized during our time in Tuscany. Shipping manifests with anomalous temperature controls. Financial transactions flowing through shell companies. Travel records correlated with disappearances.
“More than evidence,” Colton added. “We have a plan.”
For the next hour, we laid it all out for her—the surveillance, the server access, the coordinated raids we envisioned across Europe. Sari’s questions were precise, incisive, revealing both her investigative training and her deep knowledge of the case.
“This could work,” she finally said, reviewing the timelines we’d proposed. “But the coordination will need to be flawless. If they get even a hint that something’s wrong before we have the evidence secured...”
“They’ll destroy everything and disappear,” I finished for her. “We know.”
Sari looked up at me, really seeing me for the first time since the initial shock. “They think you’re either dead or still captive.”
“An advantage we intend to leverage,” Colton confirmed. “As far as the bank is concerned, I’ve been dealing with a family emergency. I return to work tomorrow, resume my role as their dutiful counsel.”
“While gathering the final evidence we need from the inside,” Sari nodded, understanding the strategy. “And I’ll coordinate with Interpol to prepare for simultaneous raids once we have everything we need.”
“Can your team authorize the resources without raising flags?” I asked. It was the critical question, one that had troubled us throughout our planning in Tuscany.
“Interpol has been building toward this for years,” Sari confirmed. “The moment we have concrete evidence linking the board members to the trafficking operation, we can mobilize teams across Europe.”
“And until then, we maintain absolute secrecy,” Colton stressed. “As far as the bank is concerned, nothing has changed.”
Sari’s eyes moved to my stomach again, a new softness briefly replacing her professional detachment. “How far along are you?”
“About four months,” I answered, feeling the now-familiar mix of wonder and terror that accompanied the thought. “Another reason we can’t afford to wait much longer.”
She looked between us, her eyebrows rising slightly. “And...you’re...the father?” she asked Colton, the surprise evident in her voice.
“We’re married,” Colton said simply, his hand finding mine.
Sari’s mouth actually dropped open for a moment before she composed herself. “Married? But you two...” she trailed off, clearly remembering our countless arguments over authentication procedures and compliance reviews. How we’d seemed to irritate each other to no end during meetings.
“Circumstances change,” I said with a small smile, squeezing Colton’s hand.
“Apparently,” Sari replied, a hint of amusement in her eyes as she studied us. “I never would have predicted this. Mr. By-the-Book Moreau breaking all the rules.”
Colton’s expression remained serious, though I caught the slight tension in his jaw. “Some rules matter more than others.”
She nodded, decision made. “I’m in. But we’ll need secure communication protocols. Ways to exchange information without raising suspicion.”
“Already prepared,” I said, opening another file that detailed our communication plans. “Colton will bring data home each evening. I’ll analyze it here, coordinate with Steele’s operational teams. You’ll be our bridge to Interpol and our eyes inside the bank when Colton’s movements are restricted.”
“Steele being...?” Sari asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Former art thief with an extensive network,” Colton explained. “His expertise in acquisitions and international connections has been invaluable. And Stryker, my trainer, handles all our direct security protocols.”
“And another reason the bank can never know I’m here,” I added. “If Rodger realizes the connection between Colton and Steele’s organization...”
“He’ll suspect everything,” Sari finished, understanding immediately. “Their entire operation would go dark.”
For a moment, we sat in silence, each contemplating the risks of what we were undertaking.
“It starts tomorrow,” Colton finally said. “When I return to the bank.”
Sari stood, picking up her briefcase. “I’ll prepare the access protocols. But we’ll need to establish a cover story for our meetings.”
“The art division audit,” I suggested. “After my...disappearance, it would be natural for Colton to investigate irregularities in authentication procedures.”
“Good. That explains both the server access and our frequent consultations.” She gathered her tablet, her eyes lingered on me with unmistakable relief. “I should go. Being seen here too long would raise questions.”
Colton escorted her to the elevator while I remained in the study, already turning my attention to the monitoring systems. By the time he returned, I had all feeds active, the bank’s external cameras already providing data on security patterns.
“Well?” I asked, watching as Colton leaned against the doorframe.
“She’s good,” he admitted. “Smart. Focused. And genuinely committed to taking them down. But do you trust her?”
I considered the question carefully. “More than most. We worked closely before all this happened. Her reaction to seeing me alive was genuine, she couldn’t have faked that.”
Colton nodded, coming to stand behind my chair. His hands settled on my shoulders, then he bent down and placed a soft kiss on the top of my head.
“Tomorrow it begins,” he said quietly. “I become their counsel again. Their solution to messy problems.”
“While gathering everything we need to destroy them.” I leaned back against him, drawing strength from his solid presence. “Just be careful. They’ll be watching you closely after your absence.”
“Let them.” His voice held a dangerous edge I was still getting used to—the sound of the corporate lawyer becoming something far more deadly. “They won’t see what matters.”
Outside, London’s rain continued to fall, washing the city in shades of gray. But here, in our fortress high above the streets, we had created something neither of us had dared hope for after everything we’d been through.
A plan. A purpose. A future.
Now we just had to survive long enough to claim it.