Isabelle scoots off the bed and hastily grabs her clothes from the floor.
“We’ll be there,” I say, before remembering that Liam has no idea I’m here with her.
But from the muffled noise on his end, it’s clear none of the guys are surprised by my comment.
The doorbell continues its frantic ringing. Isabelle, now in her sleep shorts and T-shirt, races out the door before I can say anything.
The sensation of a million ants crawling over my body has me tossing my phone on the covers while scrambling out of bed. I quickly yank on my jeans, grab my phone, and chase after her.
“Wait,” I tell her. At this point, even the doorbell seems exasperated by the person pushing on the button. “Let me answer it.”
“I am capable of answering my own door.” She peers through the peephole. “It’s okay. It’s Henri and Liza.” She unlocks the door and pulls it open.
Different alarms blare in my head at the sight of the two slightly disheveled, visibly shaken individuals. They both look like they’ve seen a ghost, their faces as white as one.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as they step inside the house.
“It’s Josephine,” Henri says. “Mr. Bradshaw—”
“The jerk doesn’t deserve the title of mister,” Liza declares with a grunt.
“What about him?” Isabelle presses.
“He came to talk to your grandmother, something about apologizing for the mix-up that happened with you at the resort.”
Now it’s my turn to grunt. Not mix-up. Try cover-up.
“She took him to her office to talk to him in private,” Liza says. “Because whatever he had to tell her he didn’t want to say in front of Henri and me.”
“But when she didn’t come back outside after thirty minutes, we went to see what was keeping her. That’s when we discovered she was gone.”
Isabelle stiffens next to me. “She didn’t tell you she was going anywhere?”
Henri shakes his head. “We asked Juanita if she knew where your grandmother had vanished to. She had no idea your grandmother had left. Josephine never said anything to her.”
“That’s when we realized something was wrong. Your grandmother always tells Juanita if she goes anywhere. It’s kind of their unspoken rule.”
“And there’s no way in heaven she would leave without telling us. She wouldn’t leave us on the balcony, waiting for her to return.”
“Did you call her cell phone?” Isabelle asks them.
“It went straight to voice mail,” Liza says. “I even tried calling her while Henri’s driver drove us here. Still no answer.”
No sooner has Liza finished telling us this than Isabelle is darting toward her room. She returns a moment later, her phone to her ear. Her gaze lands on me, and she shakes her head. “She’s still not answering.”
I speed-dial Liam. “We’ve got a problem.”
36
Isabelle
There have beenseveral occasions in my life when I’ve been scared.
I’m not talking about seeing an enormous spider on the bathroom ceiling or a venomous snake (neither which is pleasant, if you ask me).
The first time I was scared was when I heard that my parents were divorcing. The second was when my mother was dying.
And the third time was when Orlov’s henchmen kidnapped me.
