Chapter Five
Garrett dreamed in jagged flashes. Sandstorms and gunfire. The stink of smoke and blood. Marines shouting, men falling. Crossfire Ops missions bleeding into the same reel, chaos he could never quite put down.
And Isla.
Always Isla.
Her mouth under his in a kiss that had branded itself into him. Then her face shifting, horror in her eyes when Harris had vanished. That memory never softened, never blurred. It cut as sharp as the day it happened.
He forced himself awake, jerking upright with a sharp breath. For a second he didn’t know where he was. The shadows loomed wrong, the antiseptic smell foreign, the faint beeps and clicks out of place.
Then it clicked. The hospital. Trudy.
He looked down and stilled. Isla was curled against him, asleep. Her head rested on his chest, her breath slow and even, her hand curved over his left hip like she belonged there.
He had grabbed a pillow and blanket from his SUV earlier, set up on the floor of Trudy’s new room after they moved her just after two in the morning. Somehow Isla had slid down here too, drawn in close while exhaustion dragged her under.
And now she was wrapped around him like she had never let him go.
Garrett shifted his head, trying to angle a look toward the bed. He couldn’t see Trudy from where he was stretched out on the floor, just the steady beep of the monitor cutting through the quiet. He stirred, easing his arm free of the blanket, careful not to jostle Isla as he tried to sit up.
But she stirred anyway. Her lashes fluttered, and she blinked, looking disoriented for a moment. Then her gaze landed on her own hand, still curved against his hip.
Color touched her cheeks. She rubbed her palm over her face, muffling a groan. “Sorry. Guess my hand has a mind of its own in my sleep. Next time I’ll warn it about personal space.”
He shook his head at her words, brushing off the apology. He tried to brush off the heat still lingering from her touch, too, and the sting of that dream where he’d kissed her.
No good could come from holding on to either.
Garrett pushed himself to his feet, a curse slipping out when his shoulder flared with pain. The rest of him wasn’t much better, stiff from the floor.
Isla stood with him, straightening slow and rubbing at her lower back. She gave a soft wince. “Guess the floor wasn’t made for beauty sleep.”
He glanced at her, saw the shadows under her eyes. She was every bit as worn as he was.
They could have gone home. Crossfire Ops had the door covered, Cal right outside. But walking away hadn’t felt right. Not when Trudy was only hours out of surgery, her future balanced on the edge.
So they had stayed. And he’d stay again if it came to that.
Garrett checked the time on his phone. Six a.m. The night had bled away, leaving the world outside gray and heavy.
Movement drew his gaze to the bed. Trudy was awake, her eyes open and steady on them. A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “It’s so good to see you two together,” she whispered. “You should have never let what happened to Harris tear you apart.”
Garrett’s chest went tight, guilt pressing in sharp and heavy. He couldn’t go there. Not now. Not with her so pale against the sheets. He forced his voice even. “How do you feel?”
Trudy’s smile turned wry. “Old. And like I’ve been shot.” Her gaze softened. “But I don’t want you two sleeping on the floor while I recover. You both need rest. Probably showers, too.”
Garrett glanced at Isla. The dark smudges under her eyes, the mussed hair, the faint stiffness in her shoulders. He knew he didn’t look much better.
Neither of them could deny Trudy was right.
Trudy shifted slightly against the pillows, her voice rough but clear. “I had notes in those files the sheriff gave me. I’d been calling people, asking questions. Even hired a private investigator to dig where I couldn’t.”
Garrett’s gut knotted. She had been digging deep. No wonder someone wanted her silenced.
“The anniversary’s coming up,” Trudy went on, her eyes glistening. “I just can’t stand not knowing anymore. Twenty-two years, and it still feels like yesterday. I need answers before I leave this world.”
Her words cut into him, sharp as shrapnel. Garrett clenched his fists, fighting the weight of his own guilt. She deserved answers. And he was damned if she wasn’t going to get them.
A soft tap came at the door. Garrett turned as Cal stepped in, a thermos in one hand and a folded chair balanced under his arm.
“Morning,” Cal said, his drawl easy. “Noah sent this over, figured you two could use it.” He lifted the thermos. “Coffee. Strong enough to strip paint.”
Cal set the chair down near the door, then grabbed a couple of paper cups from the table beside Trudy’s bed. He poured, the rich steam curling up into the cool air.
Trudy shifted her head toward him, her mouth curving. “You still drink that sludge, Cal?”
He grinned, tipping her a wink. “Keeps me pretty.”
She gave a faint chuckle that caught on a wince. “Well, it’s working because you sure are pretty.”
Garrett accepted a cup from Cal, grateful for the heat in his hands. Isla did the same, her fingers brushing his as she took hers.
For a moment, the room felt steadier. Not safe, not yet. But steadier.
Garrett took a sip of the coffee. Bitter, hot, exactly what he needed. “Any updates?” he asked Cal.
Cal shook his head. “Not much. No prints or trace evidence at the ranch. CSIs came up empty. There were tire tracks on the old trail out back, but they’re too obscured to test. Rain and wind chewed them up.”
He shifted his gaze to Isla. “Your assistant’s handling the tech sweep from headquarters.
Mason Holt. He’s digging through every camera in a ten-mile radius.
Dash cams, traffic cams, even doorbells.
Anything that might have caught the vehicle that parked behind the ranch and slipped that shooter in. ”
Garrett caught the faint flicker in Isla’s eyes at Mason’s name. She had trained the younger man herself, and he knew she trusted him. Mason had been a soldier once, wounded bad enough that field work was no longer an option. But behind a screen, he was lethal in his own way.
From the bed, Trudy gave a soft groan. Her hand twitched against the blanket. “I wish I’d gotten a look at their face,” she whispered, her voice laced with frustration.
He wished the same. It would have saved them all a hell of a lot of questions.
Isla leaned closer to the bed. “Trudy… could the attacker have been a woman?”
Trudy’s brow furrowed. “Yes. It wasn’t a big person. But then again, Randall isn’t a big man either.”
Garrett exchanged a glance with Isla. Size didn’t narrow much. Could have been either of the bio parents. Or some hired thug brought in to do the dirty work.
“What about Paula, the social worker?” Garrett asked. “Do you trust her?”
Trudy’s expression tightened. “No. Not completely.”
Garrett’s jaw flexed. “She told us something last night. Said Leah pulled cash out of a safe deposit box around the time Harris disappeared.”
Isla nodded, adding quickly, “Paula claims her friend worked at the bank and saw it. An envelope she thought was stuffed with money.”
Trudy’s eyes closed briefly, her breath shaky.
“That’s suspicious, yes. But Leah could have been using it to buy drugs.
Or it might not have been cash at all.” She hesitated, then looked at them both.
“She once told me she still had her great-grandmother’s christening blanket.
Irish lace. A family heirloom. She wanted Harris to have it. ”
The image stuck in Garrett’s mind. An heirloom blanket hidden in a box. Or maybe something else entirely.
Garrett sipped his coffee, then glanced at Trudy. “You want me to ring the nurse? Maybe get you something to eat or drink?”
Trudy gave a faint shake of her head. “No. My stomach isn’t settled.”
He frowned but didn’t argue. Trudy shifted her hand toward the control and pressed the button for her pain meds.
Garrett watched her face, searching for any flicker that would tell him how deep the pain went.
The faint lines around her eyes, the way her breath hitched, told him more than she probably wanted him to see.
He hated not knowing just how badly she was hurting, hated even more that she tried to cover it with that faint smile.
Isla saw it too. So did Cal, his gaze steady on Trudy. After a beat, Cal leaned forward with a grin.
“How about I kick these two out so you can get some beauty sleep?” Cal asked Trudy. “Can’t have you tired of their faces already.”
Trudy’s lips curved, weak but genuine, and she nodded.
Garrett felt the tension in his chest ease a little. He leaned down, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Get some rest. We’ll be back in a few hours.”
Isla did the same, her voice soft. “And you won’t be alone. Cal or someone else from Crossfire Ops will be here the whole time.”
Trudy gave their hands one last squeeze before closing her eyes. Garrett straightened, caught Isla’s gaze, and together they followed Cal toward the door.
They stepped out into the hall, the door closing softly behind them. Cal shifted in his chair by the threshold, giving them a steady look. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she’s safe.” His easy grin surfaced again. “But seriously, you two need showers. You’re making the place smell like a locker room.”
Garrett snorted under his breath. Hard to argue. He and Isla probably looked as bad as they felt.
Still, there was something else he needed to handle. With Isla standing right beside him, watching, he pulled out his phone and tapped a message to Sheriff Raines.
We want to speak to Leah. Any objections?
The reply came quick. No. But don’t bring up the safe deposit box and what she might have taken from it.
I want to ask her about that in the interview and get her reaction on record.
Also, I’ll be talking with Paula today, and I’ll schedule interviews with Leah and Randall soon.
I’ll give you any updates I get from Paula.
Garrett typed back, Appreciate it, then slipped the phone into his pocket.
He and Isla exchanged a nod, said goodbye to Cal, and headed out of the hospital together.
The cold hit as soon as they stepped outside, the kind that slipped through his jacket and stung his lungs. The horizon glowed with the first streaks of dawn, the sun burning up over the hills, sharp against the winter sky.
They climbed into his SUV, the heater still trying to shake off the night chill. Garrett started the engine and glanced at Isla. “We’ll stop at my place for showers. It’s closer. Ten miles instead of the thirty that it’d take to get to your house.”
She nodded. “Works for me. I’ve got extra clothes in my locker at headquarters anyway.”
He shifted the SUV into gear, ready to pull out of the lot, when his phone buzzed against the console. The screen lit up with the ID. Crossfire Ops dispatch.
Garrett picked it up. “McCall.”
The dispatcher’s voice came through the line. “Garrett, I’ve got a call here. No name given, just said it was important. I’ll patch it through.”
Garrett frowned, hit the speaker, and waited as the transfer clicked over.
A woman’s voice came on the line, steady but urgent. “This is Anais Hayes. Randall and Leah’s daughter.”
Garrett’s grip tightened on the wheel. Isla’s eyes snapped to his, wide.
“I need to see you,” Anais said. “We have to talk about my missing brother, Harris.”