Emily Blair’s sarcasm was as cutting as ever. “Let’s hope you really get to the bottom of this, and don’t go easy on anyone.”
Andrew Lane narrowed his eyes slightly. “You think it’s Isabella.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact.
Perched at the edge of the hospital bed, Emily glanced out the window. “I never said that.”
Andrew replied, “It’s not her.”
She’d expected that answer. Keeping her composure, Emily said quietly, “I hope you can prove she’s innocent. After all, she was the one who insisted I drink that soup.”
Andrew’s voice grew lower, almost steely. “She would never do something like this.”
It felt as if a needle had pricked Emily’s heart, sharp enough to make it hard for her to breathe.
She drew a deep breath and forced herself to speak calmly. “You should go.”
The more Emily wanted to hold Isabella Austin accountable, the more helpless and disappointed she felt.
She knew as long as Andrew Lane was there—shielding Isabella, standing firmly by her side—Isabella would always be untouchable.
Andrew was Isabella’s strongest protector, and Emily’s greatest obstacle.
Her thoughts spun back to what the police had said: there hadn’t been any suspicious deposits in the accounts of Alice Anderson’s family or friends.
Emily didn’t buy it. Something felt off.
She picked up her phone and dialed Elizabeth Wilson.
It was the weekend, and Elizabeth answered almost instantly, her booming voice filling Emily’s ear.

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