Chapter Four #3
Remi shrugged. “She’s rich. And still angry about her sister’s murder. Very angry,” she said with emphasis. “And she’s the kind of woman who doesn’t like loose ends. She’s hired more PIs than I can count over the past year trying to find Tarrant.”
Brody’s mouth thinned into a hard line. “And yet he’s still out there.”
“Yeah,” Remi muttered, the frustration knotting in her chest. “Which makes me think he’s been getting some help.”
Brody stared at the board for a moment, then turned, marker still in hand. “Who would help him? And who else would force us to find and kill him?”
Remi exhaled, riffling through her thoughts. “Tarrant had contacts—old associates from before his marriage to Grace. Dumped girlfriends or women he’d treated like dirt. There are also the lovers, and husbands of family members of those who got the dirt treatment from him.”
Brody cursed. “How the hell did he end up marrying an ADA like Grace?”
Remi got it. Sort of. Brody had those same been-there-done-that rock-star looks. The hot body. The cowboy charisma that felt as if he’d been born with it. What was missing, though, was that whole bad-boy vibe. None of that for Brody, but Tarrant had it in spades.
“I can pull all the names,” Remi offered, “but it’s going to take some digging to locate a few of them.”
Brody nodded, his face carved from stone. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll find them.”
He was right. Because failure wasn’t an option. Not when his son’s life was on the line.
She took out her phone and texted him the log-in info for her cloud storage. “That’ll get you access to anything I’ve ever done as a PI. To some old cop records, too. All the names connected with Tarrant are in there, but I warn you, we’re talking dozens.”
Brody’s grip tightened around the marker, his gaze still locked on Christina Turner’s name pinned to the board. His jaw worked like he was grinding down the frustration that was boiling just beneath the surface.
“Who else?” he asked, his voice low, rough around the edges. “Someone had to help Tarrant pull this off.”
Remi hesitated. The name on the tip of her tongue felt like a land mine she wasn’t sure Brody was ready for. But holding back wasn’t an option either.
She straightened, meeting his gaze. “Dr. Curt Langley.”
Brody froze.
The name clearly hit him like a punch, his fingers going still on the marker. He slowly turned, his eyes narrowing. “Miranda’s fertility doctor?”
Remi nodded, feeling the tension spike in the small room. “Yes. But he wasn’t just Miranda’s doctor. He was Grace Turner’s and Tarrant Eddington’s doctor, too.”
Brody’s eyes darkened, his mind clearly working through the implications. “That’s not a coincidence.”
“No,” she agreed, “probably not.”
Brody stepped closer to the board, took a new sticky note, and scribbled Langley’s name beneath Christina’s, the letters jagged and dark. His hand lingered for a second before he turned back to face her.
“You think Dr. Langley helped Tarrant steal Grace’s and his embryo?” he asked.
Remi crossed her arms again, leaning her weight into the desk behind her. “I’ve got my suspicions. Langley had access—medical records, stored embryos, the whole deal. And he’s slippery. He left the Sanderson clinic to set up a private practice not long after Grace’s murder.”
Brody’s expression hardened, the muscles in his jaw ticking. “But you couldn’t prove anything.”
“No,” she admitted, the frustration still fresh. “I tried. I couldn’t get anything solid to stick. But he’s dirty, Brody. I can feel it.”
Brody didn’t respond right away. He stared at the board, the names glaring back at him like a challenge. Then he grabbed his phone from the desk.
“Who are you calling?” she asked.
He didn’t look up. “The station. I’ll get the contact numbers for Christina Turner and Dr. Langley, so I can set up meetings with both of them.”
His thumb hovered over the contact button, tension radiating off him like heat. But before he could make the call, his phone rang, the shrill sound cutting through the thick silence.
Brody frowned, glancing at the screen. His jaw clenched. “It’s Dr. Patel.”
Remi straightened, her chest tightening. She didn’t breathe as Brody answered.
“This is Sheriff Walker.” His voice was flat, controlled, like he’d locked every emotion behind a wall.
A pause.
Remi watched his face, searching for any sign of what the doctor was saying. His expression didn’t change at first, just that same hard, unmovable mask he wore when things got bad.
Then his lips parted slightly, and for the briefest second, something flickered in his eyes.
Shock.
Pain.
Relief.
All of those things.
“Yeah,” he rasped, his voice suddenly quieter. “Thanks.”
He ended the call, his hand dropping to his side. Remi didn’t have to ask. She already knew.
“The baby,” Brody said quietly, his voice rougher than before. “He’s mine.” The words hung there, heavy and final.
Remi swallowed hard, her chest tight. There was nothing she could say that wouldn’t feel small against such a big truth.
Brody turned back to the board, staring at the names, but she could tell he wasn’t really seeing them. Not right now.
Because everything had just changed.
And the fight to bring his other son home had just become a battle that she and Brody couldn’t afford to lose.