Chapter 16: A Dead Man's Secrets...

Isabelle couldn't look away from the lifeless body slumped over the desk. The stark contrast of crimson against the polished wood sent a chill racing down her spine.

Hamilton was gone. Their lead—dead.

Damian stood motionless, his jaw clenched as he stared at the phone in his grip. The words on the screen burned into Isabelle's mind.

STOP LOOKING.

A warning. A threat.

She swallowed hard. "Damian... what do we do now?"

His expression darkened. "We find out who did this."

His voice was calm—too calm. The kind of controlled fury that sent a warning through her veins.

Isabelle forced herself to move, stepping closer to the desk. The air smelled of gunpowder, metal, and something more bitter—death. She glanced at Hamilton's still hand, fingers curled slightly. Something gleamed beneath them.

Her heart pounded as she reached out, prying his fingers open. A small USB drive rested against his palm, barely noticeable.

"Damian," she whispered.

He turned, his eyes narrowing as she lifted the device.

"Looks like Hamilton left us a parting gift," she said, voice shaky.

Damian took it from her, his gaze hard. "Then let's see if he died for something worth knowing."

They left as silently as they came, slipping through the shadows before the authorities arrived. Damian drove with calculated speed, eyes scanning the mirrors constantly.

Isabelle kept the USB drive clenched in her palm, as if afraid it might disappear.

"You think there's something important on this?" she asked.

"If Hamilton hid it in his hand while he was bleeding out," Damian said, "then yeah, I'd bet my life on it."

A lump formed in her throat.

It wasn't just a figure of speech.

They pulled up to a new safe house—another discreet apartment on the outskirts of the city. Damian wasted no time. He locked the doors, pulled down the blinds, and powered up a secured laptop.

He inserted the USB, and a single video file popped up.

They exchanged a look. Then Damian clicked play.

The screen flickered. A grainy image of Marcus Hamilton appeared, his face weary, eyes shadowed.

"If you're watching this," Hamilton's voice came through, rough and urgent, "then I'm dead."

Isabelle's breath caught.

Damian leaned forward, hands curled into fists.

Hamilton exhaled shakily. "I never wanted to get involved, but some things… some things are too big to ignore. Isabelle Monroe, if you're listening, I need you to understand—your father didn't just disappear. He was taken."

A sharp, cold stab of fear lodged itself in Isabelle's chest.

Hamilton continued, his voice lowering. "Three years ago, Christopher Monroe came to me. He was desperate, running from people with more power than he could handle. He had evidence—proof that someone high up wanted him gone."

Damian muttered a curse under his breath.

Hamilton's face blurred slightly before the video refocused. "I tried to help him, but he knew it was too late. He left me a message—a single name."

A brief silence. Then Hamilton leaned closer to the camera.

"Find Cameron Steele."

The screen went black.

Isabelle sat frozen, her pulse roaring in her ears.

"Cameron Steele?" she echoed. "Who the hell is that?"

Damian didn't answer right away. He pulled out his phone and started typing.

Isabelle's mind raced. "If my father had proof that someone wanted him gone, why didn't he go public?"

"Because some secrets," Damian said, eyes still on his screen, "are worth killing for."

A few tense seconds passed before he found something. His expression darkened.

"Cameron Steele," he said. "Former intelligence operative. Went off the grid eight years ago. No official records, no trace of activity—except for one thing." He turned the screen toward her.

A news article.

The headline made her stomach churn.

Man Found Dead in Warehouse Fire Identified as Cameron Steele.

Isabelle's throat tightened. "He's dead?"

Damian's lips pressed into a thin line. "Maybe."

She frowned. "What do you mean, maybe?"

"I've seen bodies disappear before," he muttered. "Sometimes, people want you to think they're dead."

A shiver ran through her.

"So what do we do?"

Damian's gaze locked onto hers. "We find out if Cameron Steele is really in the ground."

Hours passed as Damian worked his contacts, chasing leads that twisted into dead ends. Isabelle watched from the couch, trying to steady her nerves.

She wasn't naive.

Hamilton was dead. Cameron Steele was supposedly dead.

And whoever was behind this was watching them now.

A sudden buzz made her jolt.

Damian's phone.

He answered, voice cold. "Talk."

A pause. Then: "I might have something."

Isabelle recognized the voice. Reed.

Damian's expression didn't change, but she could tell he was listening intently.

"Steele's death wasn't an accident," Reed continued. "It was staged. His body was never found."

A sharp tension filled the room.

Damian exchanged a glance with Isabelle.

"Where was he last seen?" Damian asked.

Reed hesitated. "There's a rumor. A private facility. Off the books. If Steele is alive, he's locked up tight."

Damian's grip on the phone tightened. "Where?"

A beat of silence.

Then Reed spoke. "New Orleans."

Isabelle barely had time to process the words before Damian was already moving. He grabbed a bag, checked his weapons, and turned to her.

"We leave tonight."

The finality in his tone sent a shiver through her.

She stood. "You really think my father's still alive?"

Damian's expression was unreadable. "I think someone went to a hell of a lot of trouble to make him disappear."

Isabelle swallowed. "And Cameron Steele could be the key to finding out why."

A tense silence hung between them.

Then Damian said, "If Steele is still breathing, we're not the only ones looking for him."

The meaning was clear.

Someone else wanted Steele dead. And if they weren't careful… they'd be next.

Within the hour, they were on the road, the city lights shrinking in the distance.

Damian's hands gripped the wheel, his expression set in stone. Isabelle stared out the window, her mind tangled in a thousand possibilities.

Her father had been taken.

Someone wanted him erased.

And now, the only man who might know the truth was buried in a conspiracy so deep it had already claimed lives.

She turned to Damian. "Do you think we'll find him?"

His blue eyes flicked to hers. "We'll find something."

His voice was steady, but she could sense the weight behind it.

They weren't just chasing a ghost.

They were stepping straight into a war.