Page 28 of Isabelle’s Forbidden Love

“Orlando, sorry to call so late, but I’ve got good news.”

Orlando listened up, his pulse drumming excitedly. “Yes?”

“I found a partial thumb print on the inside of the envelope, as well as what I think is an index finger in one corner of the letter itself. I’m running it through California’s AFIS.”

“Great. How long will it take?”

“A few hours for sure. I’m leaving the station now. I should be able to have something by tomorrow morning when I get in.”

“Thanks, Craig. I appreciate it.”

“Sure. Talk later.”

Orlando pressed the disconnect button and shoved the burner back in his pocket. This was good news. The writer of the note hadn’t been careful enough to avoid leaving fingerprints behind.

Orlando pulled up to the back of the Mezzanine, and parked in his usual spot. Patrick’s car was already there, as were those of two of the bartenders. He was still a few minutes early and remained sitting in his car trying to collect his thoughts.

* * *

It was already well past midnight, when Orlando switched from his post outside the front entrance to inside the club. He stood where he could overlook the club and its patrons. Anyone arriving now would have to walk past him, giving him a chance to make sure that no unsavory elements entered the club.

Lydia, a vampire hybrid about Isabelle’s age, was singing tonight. She’d already performed earlier, but this was her last set. She had a sultry voice and a sexy figure, and the clubbers loved her. She was also Isabelle’s best friend, and he’d often seen them together, chatting endlessly. He’d have to instill it in Isabelle later tonight that she couldn’t tell her best friend about what had happened between them—and what would happen again, because he couldn’t resist her for even a second.

The last song Lydia sang was a love song. The lights over the dance floor dimmed, and the dancers began to slow dance. He hadn’t done that for decades. Hadn’t held a woman in his arms to rock to the music, to just drift and enjoy the warm embrace. To let himself be lulled into a state where no pain and no fear existed.

From the corner of his eye, Orlando saw a movement and turned his head. Patrick approached him. As so often, he was dressed in dark pants and a light-colored shirt. He rocked the I’m-successful look. Well, being born to a father like Samson, he’d probably gotten everything to assure a good start in life: the looks, the brains, and the money. And of Isabelle’s brothers, Orlando preferred Patrick to Grayson. He was much easier going, which was probably a second-son trait.

“Hey, everything good tonight?” Patrick asked casually as he stopped next to Orlando and surveyed the dance floor, where the crowd moved rhythmically in sync with each other as if they were a wave in the ocean rather than a sea of people.

“Everything’s ok.”

“Have you made sure everybody is aware of the surprise birthday party for Naomi Friday night?”

“Yep, everybody knows to keep their mouths shut.”

“Good. Damian hopes she won’t find out in advance.”

“Considering that her birthday is on Saturday, not on Friday, she won’t expect it,” Orlando predicted.

“Well, technically the party is on Saturday. I mean, it starts right after midnight. So it’s actually Saturday.”

Orlando didn’t bother answering. Patrick was talking way too much, when he knew well enough that Orlando wasn’t one to chit-chat.

“So… who was that woman last night?” Patrick finally asked.

He should have known that his boss wouldn’t leave this alone. Orlando shrugged. “What woman?”

“The one you were kissing back there near the storage room.”

“Did you see a woman?”

“No, that’s why I’m asking.”

“If you didn’t see her, then maybe there was no woman.” Because he would certainly not reveal to Patrick that he’d been making out with his sister as if they were both teenagers at the prom and had entered a marathon kissing competition they were favored to win.

“Come on, Orlando. I won’t tell anybody.”

Orlando tilted his head to the side a little. “Guess what? I won’t either.” Then he gave a curt nod. “Excuse me, gotta do my rounds.”