Page 63 of Isabelle’s Forbidden Love

“Does she know everything that happened back then?”

He shook his head. “Do you?”

32

Despite being tired after spending all night in search of Isabelle and Orlando on Samson’s orders, Cooper couldn’t sleep. He was tossing and turning, the anonymous note he’d found in Orlando’s car playing a prominent role in his dreams. He’d seen that handwriting before, but he couldn’t remember where.

Knowing that he couldn’t sleep anyway, he got up in the early afternoon and took a shower. He was living on his own. In fact, he’d been living on his own for several years now, yet not far away from his parents’ house near Coit Tower, which was far too small for four adults. Lydia had moved into her own flat not long after him. She, too, lived close to where they’d grown up together.

He wasn’t expected at Scanguards before eight pm, but he had to do something. He needed to speak to Isabelle. After what Samson had revealed to him the previous night, he’d done his own research. He’d found numerous newspaper articles referencing a massacre that had taken place in Montreal, Canada, in February 1981, for which Orlando was the prime suspect. An entire family, six people, had been brutally murdered.

He couldn’t imagine that Isabelle knew about these killings, or she wouldn’t be with Orlando. Isabelle had been raised with the same values as all other hybrids born to Scanguards staff members. She lived by those values, and wouldn’t compromise them. Therefore, the only explanation was that Orlando hadn’t told her about his past. It was Cooper’s job to find her and warn her. She would do the same for him were the circumstances reversed.

And he knew exactly where to start: with Isabelle’s best friend, Lydia, his sister.

Cooper didn’t bother taking his car out of the garage, since there was never any street parking around Lydia’s place. It was faster to walk there than look for parking. He took a shortcut by using one of the many stairs in the neighborhood, stopped at a coffee shop on the way to pick up some pastries, and twenty-five minutes later he reached the three-unit-building where Lydia lived.

He looked at his watch. Given that Lydia had performed at the Mezzanine the previous night, she wouldn’t be too happy to be woken at this hour, but that’s what the pastries were for. His sister had a sweet tooth, and he could normally pacify her if he plied her with sweets.

Cooper pulled his spare key for Lydia’s flat from his pocket and unlocked the front door. Inside the building it was quiet. He took the stairs to the lowest level, where Lydia’s two-bedroom flat was located. Hers was actually the one with the largest terrace overlooking the entire neighborhood, the water, and many of the tourist attractions that drew people from far and wide to this foggy city.

He listened for sounds from the inside of Lydia’s flat, before he put the key in the lock and let himself in.

“Lydia? It’s me. Are you up?” he called out. “I have pastries, and I got you a caramel latte.”

He heard a sound coming from Lydia’s bedroom, then the sound of bare feet on the wooden floor, before the door opened, and Lydia stepped out in a short red robe, her long blond curls in a mess, her mouth twisted into a thin line. She gave him an annoyed look.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Sure.” He looked at his watch. “It’s—”

“That wasn’t a question. That was a curse.”

“If that was a curse, you’re not doing it right, sis.” He grinned. “I can teach you.”

She let out an exasperated sigh and walked toward him. “I really have no idea why Mom and Dad wanted a second child.”

He smirked and pressed the caramel latte into her hand. “You would’ve gotten bored if you hadn’t had me to boss around.” After all, Lydia was four years older than him, and he’d been at her mercy.

Lydia sipped from her latte and sat down on the sofa in the living room, one leg folded underneath her, while she reached for the bag of pastries Cooper had brought, and fished a Danish out of it.

“What are you doing here at such an ungodly hour?”

“I’m looking for Isabelle.”

She bit into the Danish, and he recognized it for what it was: a way to buy herself some time before she had to answer.

“Everybody is looking for her,” she finally said.

He knew his sister all too well. She hated to lie outright, but she was very good at constructing her responses so that they weren’t lies, but rather careful omissions.

“Have you seen her?”

Another bite into the Danish, then some slow chewing, followed by a sip of her coffee. “I don’t know where she is.”

“That wasn’t what I was asking.”

“You sound like you’re the police and you’re grilling a murder suspect.” She tipped her chin up in defiance.