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She called her mother while he waited. “Is Izzy there?” she asked without any preamble.
“No. Is she supposed to be?” Lita sounded confused.
“Not today. I just—don’t worry, Mum. Love you. Talk later.” She hung up and turned back to Shane. “She’s not there.” She tried Michael again. Still no answer.
Shane met her eyes, and she took a tiny measure of comfort in the fact he’d understand her panic, considering he was solely responsible for his two sons. “I’ll check her classroom,” he said. “You go talk to the admin staff and see if they’ve heard anything.”
She nodded, pleased he was issuing instructions. Panic gnawed at her insides and she felt increasingly helpless. She was Izzy’s person, damn it. She should know exactly what was going on in her daughter’s life. It was only now that she’d been forced to widen the circle of trust that things were beginning to go wrong.
She hurried over to the administration block, relieved—not for the first time—that she had no reason to wear heels. She let herself in, and at the counter, she leaned over and called out to the receptionist.
“Darlene, have you seen Izzy?”
Darlene spun around, green eyes wide. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?” she demanded, stomach churning with dread. Oh God, what had happened? Had Izzy been injured?
Darlene adjusted her sleek blonde bob. “She’s sick. Michael took her home a couple hours ago.” She shrugged apologetically. “Everyone knows you’re dating, so we figured it would be fine.”
Bex sagged against the desk, her knees buckling with relief, and lifted a hand to her chest. “Oh, thank God she’s with Michael.” She exhaled shakily. “He called, but I missed him. Do you know what was wrong with her?”
“Sounded like a sore tummy, poor dear. She didn’t throw up, but she looked pretty unwell.”
Bex winced. She’d have to buy Izzy a treat to cheer her up and then wrap her in bed and put a movie on. Hopefully she hadn’t caught whatever bug her daughter had. “Thanks, Darlene. In future, I’d like to be told if Izzy leaves school.”
Darlene nodded. “Sure thing. Are you okay, honey?”
“I will be. Just had a fright.” She waved, then strode down the hall, relief making her limbs shaky. She stopped at Michael’s office door and knocked. No one answered, so she tried the handle. It slid open, but the light was off and the room was empty. He must be at home with Izzy. Perhaps getting ready for dinner.
She texted Shane to tell him not to worry, then raced out to her car and headed for Michael’s house. She broke several speeding laws on the way, but being off-season for tourists, the roads were empty and she made it safely. When she parked beside Wesley’s car and noted the Mercedes opposite, tendrils of dread began knotting in her gut. She only knew two people pretentious enough to drive that vehicle, and she didn’t want to see either of them. She’d thought she had more time. That Imogen wouldn’t do anything rash until Bex had responded to her email. She slammed the car door and didn’t bother locking it, too concerned with getting to Izzy before anything awful could happen. She let herself in without knocking and stormed up the hall.
“Hey, Bex,” Wesley said, appearing in front of her with a bewildered smile. “Where’s the fire?”
“Where’s Izzy?” she demanded.
“In the living room.” His smile turned down at the corners. “Is everything all right?”
“No.” She didn’t offer an explanation. “Is Michael here?”
“He’s at a work meeting.” He scratched his chin, apparently confused. “He dropped Izzy off because he knew you had training sessions booked all afternoon and he didn’t want to interrupt them. He said he’d told you.”
Bex gritted her teeth. “He didn’t.” Hearing the tremor in her voice, she cursed herself for not keeping it together. “I was scared, Wes.”
“Oh.” He stepped backward. “I’m sorry, he must have made a mistake.”
She moved forward, looking at him meaningfully. He was blocking her way. “Please let me through.”
He refused to budge. “Slow down a minute. You’re okay. Izzy is okay. Just feeling a bit off. Take a moment to calm yourself.”
“I am calm,” she snapped, shoving him aside to enter the living room. She halted abruptly, too preoccupied by the older couple seated on the couch to fully register when Izzy threw her arms around her waist.
Imogen and Nigel Briggston. AKA her worst nightmares.
Seeing them here, in the same room as her beautiful daughter, was like taking a punch to the face. Fortunately, Bex had a strong jaw.
“Izzy,” she said, squeezing her shoulder. “How are you feeling, baby?”
Izzy rubbed her tummy. “It hurts.”
