Razor's Edge: Men in Blue, Book 2 (20 page)

Isabella stole one last glance at Razor’s room over her shoulder, swearing she wouldn’t cry until she had made it away. Until she’d removed him from danger. She tucked through the opening and balanced on the sill while grasping the outside of the casement with her fingertips.

The longer she hesitated the more likely she was to lose her balance and fall. So, without analyzing the situation too much, she hopped to her left and shoved off the pipe toward the oak tree. The branch caught her a little higher than she expected. She’d almost missed her mark. It slammed into her ribs, knocking the wind from her. She managed to cling, draped unceremoniously over the bark.

Air flooded into her chest with a painful wheeze, distracting her from the inferno in her fingertips, a product of clawing the limb for dear life like an unwise kitten out of its league.

She had to hurry.

Isabella scooted toward the trunk of the tree. She made quick work of stepping down the spiraling branches until she hung from the lowest one. She dropped the remaining four feet below her dangling heels, rolling into a somersault to avoid absorbing the full impact on her recovering ankle.

Tears streamed over her cheeks when she peeked at Razor’s apartment. She’d never forget that man. Not a difficult feat since she didn’t stand a chance of lasting through the week.

Maybe her father would listen to reason this time?

She jogged toward the road, hoping to spot a taxi to drive her to her father’s estate. Otherwise, she’d head for the gas station she’d glimpsed yesterday to beg for a phone call.

Isabella hadn’t crossed more than twenty paces when someone shouted her name.

How could she have forgotten Razor’s friends? She hadn’t detected them lurking in the yard, but they’d maintained their watch. Instead of slowing, she sprinted in the opposite direction from the noise. As she neared the front of the building, someone streaked around the corner, nearly bowling her over. She dodged the pursuer. When she twisted to check his proximity, she plowed straight into a sturdy male chest.

A chest she’d recognize anywhere. “No!”

“Oh yes, princess. It’s too late to run. You’re not going anywhere.”

She lashed out, kicking at Razor’s shins until he grew sick of her antics and tossed her over his shoulder. No matter how hard she squirmed, she couldn’t break free of his relentless hold.

“Be still.” The raw command shocked her more than the stinging swat of his palm on her ass.

She obeyed, slackening in his hold. Why fight anymore?

She’d lost on every count.

“What the hell is this about?” Razor shoved a photograph in her face.

There’d be no point in denying it now. “Blackmail.”

The last trace of her selfless lover from the night before vanished behind a stony mask. “You admit it?”

Tears choked her, preventing her from responding.

“How fucking hard did you laugh behind your sugary mask last night? You manipulated me into lying there and behaving myself, didn’t you? You loved towering over me, being on top while I fucking let you do whatever you damn well pleased.”

The self-loathing twisting Razor’s lush mouth into a vile sneer spurred her into action despite the raised eyebrows and bugged eyes of the other men in blue.

“Hold on. You have this wrong.” She reached for him, but he evaded her like she had the plague. “Can we talk about it in private?”

Her cheeks flamed.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? No one around to smack some sense into me. Alone, you could con the fucking loser who gets jerked around by his cock all the time?”

“Stop saying those things about yourself.” Isabella’s temper rose to the surface, escalating with his insults.

“Or what? You’ll bring me to heel? Teach me a lesson or two?
Mistress
?”

Oh, crap!

“You think
I’m
the woman in those pictures?” She slapped her fingers over her gaping mouth. One of the other men, she thought it might be Mason, laid a restraining hand on Razor’s shoulder.

“Is it you, Isabella?” This time JRad interceded.

“No! No, it’s not me.” She stared straight into Razor’s gaze, shuttered behind lowered lids. The understanding he’d promised had vanished. “How could you think that?”

“What little there is visible of the Domme looks an awful lot like you.” Jeremy continued to mediate, navigating them through the tricky situation. “If it’s not, why didn’t you show these to Razor? If your husband is cheating on you, mistreating you, the kid would help you. We all would. Tell us what’s going on. Who did you plan to blackmail? Why?”

“I can’t say.” She dropped her face into her hands. It did look bad. Really bad. “It’s my mess. I can’t live with involving anyone else…hurting anyone.”

“You don’t think it’s a little too late for that?” Everyone turned from her to Razor at JRad’s question.

His chest heaved. Bunched muscles quivered beneath the steadying hands of two of his comrades. A pang squeezed her heart.

“Don’t try to turn this shit around.” Razor refused to believe her.

She didn’t blame him. The thought of losing her only ally drove her to desperate measures.

“Okay, I admit it. When we met, I didn’t confide in you because I didn’t know who to trust. My husband and my father aren’t opposed to greasing palms. How should I know which cops they’ve bought?” She winced when the guys grimaced.

Before they could object to the insulting implication, she hurried on. “And when I decided for sure none of you were on the take, I couldn’t stand to repay your kindness by putting you at risk. Malcolm’s watching me. He’s waiting. Biding his time. He’ll come for me. And he won’t care about collateral damage. Damn it, you were there last night. You saw what he’s capable of. He doesn’t play fair. None of you will stand a chance.”

JRad slouched onto the cushion next to her while Clint reached out to cup her knee.

“Don’t fall for her bullshit.” Razor’s rejection stung more than she could have imagined.

“Kid. Enough.” Mason cut him off before he could rant, but the grooves around his clamped mouth made her realize words alone could never persuade him. She’d fucked everything up.

Her lungs filled to bursting before she sighed.

“I can prove this isn’t me.” Isabella clenched one of the pictures—the one of the whip lodged between the Mistress’s legs—in her shaking fingers.

Razor glared at her. No matter what she said, he wouldn’t budge. Determination etched into the grim lines of his face. He seemed ten years older than he had the night before.

“How, Isabella?” Clint knelt in front of her to peer directly into her eyes. Mason tensed behind him. The spark of hope and trust she glimpsed in Clint’s gaze bestowed the courage to do what she had to. Maybe then they’d understand.

“I’m a virgin,” she whispered. The coppery tang of blood blossomed on her tongue. “James can examine me.”

“Oh, no. Oh
hell
no.” He recoiled, almost crushing Tyler in his haste to backpedal.

“You’re serious?” Clint unclenched her fingers from the couch cushion, enfolding them in his solid grip. JRad claimed her other hand.

Despite their support, she found it impossible to glance away from the horror contorting Razor’s face. “This is another trick. She knows I can’t resist. I’m easy. I’ll wedge my fingers in that tight pussy and forget about everything else. I’m not doing it.”

“Razor!” Matt barked the ineffectual reprimand.

Isabella cursed the tears spilling over her cheeks. “I don’t blame him. Just release me, please. Don’t lock me up where Malcolm can attack me like a caged animal. Please. I trust you. But not everyone on the force is as honorable as you guys. Don’t send me where they can hurt me. You don’t know what I had to do to escape last time. I’ll never break free again.”

A flicker of regret shifted across Razor’s face. He shook his head as he turned his back on her degree by degree.

“I’m sorry, baby, we can’t allow you to leave.” JRad squeezed her numb fingers.

“Please, I’ll tell you everything.” She swallowed hard.

“Convenient.” Razor’s bitter sneer launched shivers along her spine. “Had enough time to construct an elaborate story, huh?”

She drew a shuddering breath then scanned over each cop in turn—Tyler, Mason, Clint, Matt, Jeremy. “He won’t believe me until one of you checks. I understand why. I don’t care about modesty or pride anymore. My word is all I have left. Someone do it.”

Each man avoided her laser vision as she fixed it on them until Tyler broke the silence. “We need to know the truth.”

Isabella sighed, “Thank you. Can we use the other room? Or do you all want to watch?”

“Whoa, I’m not volunteering.” He fanned his hands in front of his chest. “Lacey would kill me. Mason’s out too.”

“If we do this, does it guarantee anything?” Clint rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

“I’m not really sure.” Mason rubbed his chin. He turned to Tyler, asking, “You’ve taken a virgin before. Could you tell?”

“Definitely. I don’t know if you always can though.”

“Maybe we should phone-a-friend,” Clint suggested.

JRad nodded as he faced her. “Lacey is a nurse. She would know.”

Matt tossed the handset of Razor’s cordless phone to Mason. Isabella clamped her eyes shut and tried to ignore his conversation.

“Hey doll, how’s your day going?” Pause. “Yeah, everything’s good here. I have a kind of weird question for you.”

Isabella winced.

“Can you tell if a girl is a virgin by feeling her up? Yeah, that’s what I meant…manual examination of her hymen.” He chuckled, “I know, not what I thought I’d be doing today either. So, talk to me…”

After a series of ominous sounding affirmations, he ended the call with, “That’s sort of what we thought. Thanks, doll. I love you. Yep, I’ll tell him. Bye.”

“What’s the verdict?” Tyler wondered.

“She loves you too.”

The two men stared at each other with stars in their eyes a moment before returning their attention to the room.

“Lacey says a manual exam is not definitive. Especially not when someone untrained tries without the proper tests. She also said, if the hymen is intact it’s a pretty sure thing, though it’s elastic. She warned we’re more likely to obtain a false negative or some shit. Basically, there are things that could have caused it to rupture besides sex.”

Isabella’s face had heated enough to fry eggs by this point. She spoke up anyway. “I’m telling you I can meet the highest burden of proof. Will you at least agree to that?”

“Uh, yeah. That whip is shoved deep. No woman could take it and have a full hymen left.” Mason cleared his throat when he caught her wince. “Sorry, Isabella.”

“I-I’ve heard of…reconstruction.” Everyone’s head swiveled in JRad’s direction. “What? I have the Internet. I read stuff. But, yeah, that seems drastic even here.”

Tyler choked a little before adding, “We can have an official exam performed later. We need to know now if she’s telling the truth before we follow any deeper into her explanations. We’ve been here before, guys. It’s too easy to believe what you want to hear.”

“You’re fucking crazy. All of you.” Razor slammed his fist into the wall. Still, he didn’t call them off. “JRad, take her in my room.”

She glanced at the computer specialist and nodded, trying to maintain a brave face when she wanted nothing more than to cower beneath the sofa or dash out the door. If she thought she had any chance of slipping past the squad of ultra-fit men in blue, she would have attempted it.

“For the record, I trust you right now.” Jeremy brought her fingers to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I’m so sorry for this.”

They rose together, neither one rushing as they shuffled into the bedroom.

“Razor.” Mason froze them all with his stern address. “Go with them. If she’s brave enough to do this, you should be too.”

Isabella expected her partner to object. Instead he approched, his possessive snarl surprising the hell out of her. “If you insist. But when JRad is sporting a black eye
you
can explain it to the chief.”

“Hey, don’t deck the messenger.” Jeremy tried to lighten the mood. He failed miserably.

“Keep it together.” Tyler clapped Razor on the shoulder as he passed by. “Allowing your fear to blind you to the truth is as bad as believing a lie. Maybe worse.”

“Let’s finish this shit.” James stalked past her without sparing a single glance in her direction.

Chapter Fourteen

Razor strode around his bed to stick his head out the open window. The fresh air couldn’t clear his mind. Not when he studied the drop to the pavement below. His guts clenched at the hazard Isabella had endured to avoid dealing with him.

When JRad murmured reassurance to her in the background, Razor slammed the pane closed. Annoyance pummeled him. The racket caused her to jump several inches off the floor. A handful of damning photographs depicted her debauchery in black and white. How on earth could he feel guilty about the fake kicked-puppy thing she had going on?

Why did he ache to believe her act despite the evidence? Christ, how could she have played him so bad the night before? Maybe he’d drunk more than he thought?

JRad hesitated, giving Razor a what-the-hell-do-we-do-now glare over Isabella’s head. Fuck if he knew. He absolutely refused to touch her. He shrugged.

“Quick is best. Like a Band-Aid, right?” Before either of the guys could approach the little con artist, she’d shucked her sexy pajamas, complete with torn knee and tree-bark stains.

Razor cursed himself for wincing at the matching scrapes on her knees, the rivulets of blood running down her shin and the bruise already forming along her ribs, below her breasts. None of those things had marred her perfect skin the night before.

“Jesus. Isabella, you’re hurt.” JRad’s resistance didn’t fare as well as Razor’s. She had his fellow officer sucked into her deceptions already. Good thing he had come along, otherwise the witch would probably have talked JRad into confirming she had her cherry without so much as one poke.

“I’m fine.” She held her chin up, her defiant scowl causing his moronic cock to stir.

“What happened here?” JRad brushed his fingertips over the faint scratches remaining on her taut abdomen.