“You’re married to him,” Garrett reminded her.
“I married him when I was barely eighteen,” Leah said. Her tone carried both bitterness and resignation. “And I don’t believe in divorce.” Her phone chimed. Leah glanced at the screen, her expression shifting in a flash. “I have to go.”
Before Isla could say more, Leah turned and strode down the hall, heels striking the tile until she disappeared around the corner.
“Didn’t expect her to throw her husband under the bus,” Garrett muttered.
Neither had Isla, and she wondered how long Leah had felt this way about her husband. Or why she was just now allowing the suspicions to come to light?
“Thanks for keeping Leah out,” Garrett told Jackson.
“Anytime,” Jackson assured him.
She and Garrett went inside Trudy’s room and found her propped up slightly against the pillows. Her skin was still pale, her breaths shallow, but her eyes were open and sharper than before. She tried to smile when she saw them.
“How are you two?” Trudy asked, her voice frail but urgent. “I heard you were injured, and I’ve been worried sick.”
Isla went to her side and took her hand. “We’re all right. A few cuts and bruises, nothing more.”
“We’re fine, Trudy,” Garrett added. Only then did his expression harden. “Leah was outside your door just now. She says she thinks Randall took Harris.”
Trudy’s eyes flickered, then closed briefly as if she were gathering strength. “It’s possible,” she admitted at last. “Randall always had that… controlling streak. He didn’t have Leah’s family money, but he carried himself with this confidence, like he knew more than he should. More than he had a right to at that age.”
Isla frowned. “If he did take Harris, do you think Leah knows where? Or who he would have given him to?”
Trudy’s hand twitched against the blanket. “That’s the question, isn’t it? He’d have chosen carefully so Leah might not even know.”
“She left before we could ask,” Garrett went on, “but I think it’s a good idea if Isla and I have a chat with Randall.”
Isla couldn’t agree fast enough.
Trudy’s eyelids were already beginning to droop again, the pain and medication pulling her back under, but she still managed to squeeze Isla’s hand. “Be careful,” she whispered. “I know you’ll watch out for each other.”
“We will,” Isla promised. She smoothed the blanket once more before she and Garrett quietly slipped out.
Jackson was still standing guard when they came out. “She’s in good hands,” he assured them. “Nobody gets in without your say-so.”
“Not Leah, not Randall, not Paula,” Garrett emphasized.
Jackson nodded. “Already got their photos logged.”
“Add Anais,” Garrett said. He pulled up his phone, tapped quickly, and sent the image over. A moment later, Jackson’s phone pinged. Garrett’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not to step one foot inside that room unless we approve it.”
Jackson studied the photo and gave a firm nod. “Understood.”
Isla lingered a second, her gut twisting. “Anais might be trying to cover for one of her parents. She could be as dangerous as either of them.”
“Then she’ll stay out,” Jackson replied. His voice left no room for doubt.
With that reassurance, Isla and Garrett turned toward the exit. The mid-afternoon sun spilled across the hospital parking lot, too bright, too ordinary for the storm that churned inside Isla’s chest.
When they slid back into the SUV, Garrett started the engine, but Isla reached over, touching his arm lightly. “Let’s try Randall’s studio. At this time of day, he’s more likely to be there than he is at home. At least, according to everything I dug up on him.”
Garrett gave her a quick look, one brow arched. “Studio?”
“On the outskirts of San Antonio,” she explained. She pulled out her phone, typing quickly until the address popped up on the screen. “Half an hour, maybe a little less with traffic.”
She tapped the screen and plugged it into the GPS, the electronic voice immediately mapping out the route.
