The receptionist blinked, the smile faltering. “He’s with someone right now. Was he expecting you?”
“No,” Garrett said evenly, his voice edged with steel. “But he’ll want to see us. We have some questions about his missing son.”
Alarm flickered in the young man’s eyes, breaking through the polished front. His hand fumbled for the phone on the counter, and he turned slightly as he pressed the number. Isla watched the muscles tighten in his jaw, watched his gaze shift nervously toward them as he spoke low and fast into the receiver.
She couldn’t hear the words, but the air seemed to hum with tension all the same. Garrett’s expression stayed unreadable, but Isla felt unease ripple through her. She hated not knowing what Randall was saying on the other end of that call. Hated not knowing if he was already scrambling to come up with an excuse not to face them.
The receptionist was still murmuring urgently into the phone when Isla’s gaze snagged on a door across the room. Randall’s name gleamed in etched gold across the frosted glass. Her pulse kicked hard. Without thinking twice, she crossed the space in brisk strides.
“Wait—ma’am, you can’t—” the receptionist called out, but Isla already had her hand on the handle. She shoved the door open.
And got an immediate eyeful.
Randall stood behind a wide mahogany desk, the phone pressed to his ear. But he wasn’t alone. Paula Benton was there, standing just to his side, her face flushed, her hair a little mussed. Her blouse wasn’t smoothed down all the way, and Randall’s shirt looked just as out of sorts, the collar open, the sleeves wrinkled.
The air practically vibrated with vibes of sex.
Isla froze in the doorway, shock, and for one jagged second, she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The receptionist’s voice was rising behind her, calling out for her to stop, but the damage was already done.
Randall’s eyes widened, embarrassment and a flicker of anger colliding in his expression. Paula’s hands twisted together at her waist, and she wouldn’t quite meet Isla’s gaze.
Isla didn’t need details. Judging by the way they looked, by the way the energy in the room clung heavy and intimate, something had just happened here. Something that had nothing to do with a missing child and everything to do with secrets.
Well, this was a turn of events that she sure as heck hadn’t expected.
Garrett’s presence filled the doorway a heartbeat later. Isla didn’t have to look at him to know he’d taken in the scene. She could feel it in the stillness of his body, in the sharpness that seemed to edge the air around him.
Her own thoughts tangled in a rush. Randall and Paula. Seven, maybe eight years between them. On the surface, they didn’t seem like likely candidates for an affair, but what else could she call the rumpled clothes and guilty expressions? If they were tangled up together in that way, then what else might they be teaming up on?
Randall cleared his throat and stepped around his desk, his voice tight. “This isn’t a good time. You should leave.”
Neither she nor Garrett moved. Silence stretched, charged and heavy.
Paula broke first, her voice catching. “I came here because I can’t go home since the CSIs are there. And I didn’t want to be there, not after what Anais said. Those lies about Harris being at my place. About me aiming a gun at her.” She twisted her fingers harder, her eyes shiny with nerves. “I thought Randall could help me sort it out.”
The words landed, but they didn’t erase what Isla had seen. She kept her gaze fixed on Paula, suspicion prickling sharp across her skin.
Randall’s movements were jerky, his agitation spilling into every step as he crossed the room, ushering them into the office. He shut the door with a hard click, then tugged at his shirt, tucking it in as though the neat lines could erase what Isla and Garrett had already seen.
He dragged in a breath. “Paula and I are… close.” The pause in his voice carried weight, but he didn’t go so far as to name it for what it was. “We’ve been thrown together over the years because of Harris. And because…” His jaw tightened. “Things aren’t good between Leah and me. They haven’t been for a long time. She doesn’t believe in divorce, so we live very separate lives.”
The admission hung heavy in the air. Isla caught the flicker of embarrassment in Paula’s eyes, but the woman stayed quiet, letting Randall shoulder the explanation.
Garrett’s voice came, low and steady. “Leah told us that you took Harris.”
The words landed like a blow, cutting through the stale air of the office. Isla’s gaze fixed on Randall’s face, waiting for the crack or the denial that would come next.
Randall’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing. For a moment Isla thought he might come at Garrett, but then he let out asharp, bitter laugh and shook his head. “That’s Leah being Leah. She’s always had to stir the pot, create something out of nothing. She knows exactly how to twist things when she wants someone else to look guilty.”
The dismissal rang hollow to Isla’s ears, too quick, too smooth, as if he had said it a thousand times before.
Paula stepped forward, her face flushed with anger. “How dare she?” Her voice trembled, not with fear, but with indignation. “Randall would never do something like that. Never. Leah has no idea what she’s talking about. She’s projecting, as usual.”
The woman’s hand hovered close to Randall’s arm, like she wanted to touch him but thought better of it with Isla and Garrett standing there. “You know how difficult she can be. Randall’s the one who’s carried the grief, who’s kept searching.”
Isla watched them both carefully, her stomach twisting. Loyalty and defensiveness could look a lot like collusion. And right now, they looked like a united front.
The muffled sound of the receptionist protesting reached the office door, and Isla’s pulse jumped. She slid her hand toward her weapon, seeing Garrett do the same. The door burst open, and Anais strode in, her copper hair a wild halo around her flushed face.
