Chapter Ten
Isla mentally repeated what Leah had just said. She certainly hadn’t expected Leah to point the finger at her own husband.
“Why would Randall take Harris?” Isla couldn’t ask fast enough.
Leah’s eyes glittered, sharp with conviction. “Because Randall would have wanted to choose the family who raised his son. He wouldn’t have wanted to leave that to social services. He’s controlling. Secretive.” Her mouth tightened. “That’s who he is.”
“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.
The SUV rolled forward, the hospital fading behind them as the highway opened up. Isla stared out the window for a moment, collecting her thoughts before she went on.
“Randall does some portraits, but most of his money comes from commercial work,” Isla explained.
“Logos. Packaging. Ad campaigns. It pays, especially when you’ve got the right connections.
And Leah’s connections are the reason he made it work.
She gave him a huge infusion of cash to get the studio up and running. ”
“So without her, he might not have gotten off the ground,” Garrett threw out there.
“Exactly,” Isla said. She tipped her head back against the seat, her mind spinning with what Leah had confessed. “Money, opportunity, the ability to pick and choose clients… Randall owes most of it to her. And yet she’s the one pointing the finger at him now.”
The miles slipped by, the voice of the GPS cutting in now and then, but the air in the SUV felt heavy with the weight of what they might find when they reached Randall’s studio.
The GPS droned out the next turn, but Isla hardly heard it. The quiet inside the SUV stretched long, heavy with thoughts neither of them had voiced. She turned her head, watching Garrett’s profile, the hard line of his jaw, the way his knuckles were tight on the wheel.
She cleared her throat. “About that kiss,” she said, letting the words come out light, almost playful. “I don’t want you beating yourself up over it.”
His gaze flicked her way for a second before returning to the road. “Isla—”
She held up her hand. “Don’t. We were always a little mindless when it came to each other.” She smiled, though there was a nervous hitch to it. “Half the time we didn’t know if we were fighting or flirting. Sometimes both.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek, but he didn’t say anything right away. The silence filled with memories of late nights, stolen touches, laughter that had turned to kisses before either of them thought it through.
Isla shifted in her seat, eyes still on him. “It doesn’t have to mean more than it does. I’m not saying it didn’t knock me sideways, but… well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but his hands stayed firm on the wheel. She couldn’t quite tell if he was amused, exasperated, or something else altogether.
Garrett finally let out a low breath, almost a laugh but not quite. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “Mindless fits. You had a way of turning my brain to mush.”
That tugged a real smile out of her. “Still do, apparently.”
His eyes slid her way again, longer this time, before he returned his attention to the traffic ahead. “Guess some things don’t change.”
The warmth of that settled in her chest, surprising her.
She had expected him to brush it off or smother the moment under all that guilt he carried.
Instead he had let it sit there between them, the acknowledgment of what they had always been—wild and reckless with each other, hearts too tangled to be careful.
Isla tucked her hands into her lap, staring out the window at the blur of highway and trees. “Well, for the record, I don’t regret the kiss,” she said softly.
Garrett gave another of those not-quite laughs.
“I don’t regret it either,” he admitted, his voice low.
“But I know I should.” He tipped his chin toward the bandage on her head, then lifted his arm just enough to remind her of the fresh graze.
“A good kiss can distract. Can overtake what shouldn’t be overtaken. ”
Her smile thinned, but she managed a small nod. “True,” she said, even though the word caught in her throat.
What Isla didn’t say aloud, what pressed hot and undeniable against her ribs, was that it wouldn’t stop them from kissing again.
The barriers they had kept so carefully stacked between them had been yanked down, dissolved into dust, and in its wake was the same heat that had always been there, smoldering, waiting for the smallest spark.
And the spark had already happened.
No way to undo that.
Isla forced her thoughts back where they belonged. Not on Garrett’s kiss. Not on the heat still curling in her chest. On the road. On the man they were about to see.
The GPS guided them off the highway and into the outskirts of San Antonio.
They passed newer developments, manicured landscaping, and finally turned into a lot edged with stone planters and tall glass windows.
The building ahead was sleek, modern, and unapologetically expensive.
It was both a studio and gallery, Randall’s name etched in polished steel on a sign near the entrance.
Garrett pulled into a space, killed the engine, and together they walked toward the front doors. Inside, Isla’s eyes adjusted to the soft lighting, and she took in the place.
The place was tasteful, elegant in a way that spoke of both money and careful curation.
Polished floors reflected recessed lights above.
Wide walls held paintings in heavy frames, some portraits, some more abstract pieces, all clearly crafted to impress.
A glass counter at the far end displayed brochures and business cards, and beneath the faint scent of lemon polish and expensive coffee lingered the unmistakable air of wealth.
Everything about it told her that Leah’s infusion of money hadn’t gone to waste. Randall’s art world wasn’t struggling. It was thriving.