Chapter Six
Garrett’s cabin sat tucked into the compound, neat lines of dark wood and stone, every edge sharp, every color muted. No clutter, no softness. Just like him. Black and white. Serious.
Isla had swung by headquarters to grab her bag before they came here. Now he carried it inside for her, setting it just inside the guestroom. The space was clean, spare, and practical, but it had its own bath, and right now that was heaven.
“You can take this one,” Garrett said, his voice low, even. “After we’re ready, we’ll drive into San Antonio and meet with Anais.”
Leah and Randall’s daughter had wanted to meet them after eight, and she’d given them an address on the north side of the city.
Anais hadn’t elaborated on what she wanted to talk about, but Isla and Garrett both very much wanted to hear what she had to say.
After that, they’d arrange for a chat with Leah.
Isla nodded, her pulse ticking faster at the thought. Answers felt closer now, like the haze around Harris’s disappearance might finally start to clear.
She stepped past him into the room, brushing his arm by accident. Or maybe not an accident. Heat rippled through her, the reminder of how close they’d been on that hospital floor too fresh.
For a moment, he didn’t move, just stood there in the doorway, his eyes dark as they held hers. The air thickened, heavy with all the things they weren’t saying.
Then he cleared his throat. “I’ll hit my shower. Make yourself at home.”
He turned and walked to his bedroom, his stride clipped, his shoulders tense like he was holding himself back.
Isla shut the guestroom door behind her and leaned against it for a second, willing her pulse to settle. She had to shake it off. Had to stop picturing Garrett naked just up the hall.
They’d never made it all the way to lovers when they were teenagers, but they’d come close enough. Close enough that she’d seen enough of him to know the memory wasn’t one she’d ever erase. And now it threatened to come roaring back with every glance, every accidental brush of contact.
She muttered to herself, shook her head, and went to the shower. Hot water helped clear the chill and some of the tension, though it didn’t wipe away the ache of old memories.
By the time she dressed and stepped back into the main part of the cabin, Garrett was in the kitchen.
He stood at the counter, hair damp, shoulders broad under a black tee, nuking two breakfast sandwiches he’d pulled from the freezer.
The hum of the microwave filled the silence, and the smell of egg and sausage drifted through the air.
Isla leaned against the doorway, watching him at the counter. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to cook.”
Garrett slid her a long look, slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth barely tipping. Heat curled through her chest at the weight of it, more than she wanted to feel.
Then, the microwave beeped, cutting through the moment. He turned back, pulling out the sandwiches and wrapping them in paper towels. Without a word, he grabbed two go cups of coffee from the counter, steam curling from the lids.
“Breakfast of champions,” he said, handing her one of each.
She took them, fingers brushing his for a second too long.
They slipped on their coats, balancing coffee and sandwiches as they headed for the door. A few minutes later, they stepped outside. The sun had climbed higher, softening the edge of the cold, but the air still nipped at Isla’s skin as they crossed to the SUV.
They climbed into the SUV, settling their coffee and sandwiches as Garrett pulled onto the road. The hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of the tires filled the quiet while they ate.
Her phone buzzed at the same time his did. A joint text from Cal. Doctor just checked Trudy. She’s doing good. Stable. Still hurting though. Doc says he’s not even going to speculate on when she’ll be released.
Isla exhaled, relief loosening her shoulders. “That won’t please her,” she murmured. “She’ll be itching to get back to the ranch.”
The thought twisted, and she frowned. “Or maybe not. Maybe she’ll have flashbacks and nightmares of the attack. It could change everything for her.”
Garrett nodded, his gaze fixed on the road. “When she’s released, I’ll stay with her for a while.”
“I will too,” Isla said quickly, without hesitation.
His glance cut to her, brief but sharp. A look that reminded her of their being under the same roof came with its own weight. Flashbacks. Memories. Temptations.
Isla looked away, sipped her coffee, and told herself she could handle all of it. She was almost sure she believed that. Almost.
Garrett’s phone buzzed again, the sound sharp in the quiet cab. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening. “It’s Sheriff Raines. He’s asking if we’re en route to see Anais yet.”
“Did you tell him about the call?” Isla asked.
“I texted him right after she hung up.” Garrett tapped the screen and switched to voice command. “Reply to Raines. We’re en route. We’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
The phone chimed, message sent. A second later it buzzed again. Garrett read the sheriff’s reply. “Raines wants to debrief with him after we’ve talked to Anais and Leah.” He activated the mic once more. “Reply to Raines. Understood. We’ll meet you at your office after San Antonio.”
He set the phone back in the console, his gaze fixed on the road. “He’s interviewing Paula around the same time we’ll be with Anais. Then he’s stopping by the hospital to check on Trudy.”
The SUV settled into silence again, the weight of both meetings hanging heavy between them.
Garrett kept the SUV steady on the road, the silence broken only by the low hum of the engine. Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to a gated neighborhood with a sign arched overhead in elegant script: Crestwood Park Estates. A uniformed guard stepped out of the booth, clipboard in hand.
Garrett lowered his window. “Garrett McCall. Anais Hayes is expecting us.”
The guard checked his notes and nodded. “She called ahead. Said you’d be coming.” He lifted the gate with a smooth wave of his hand. “Go on through.”
The road curved past sprawling lawns and iron gates guarding homes that looked more like estates. Stone mansions, gleaming white columns, fountains spilling water into pools that sparkled even in the pale morning light. Money lived here, and plenty of it.
Isla let out a breath, staring at the sheer size of one place as they passed. “Leah inherited all this and more when her father died about seven years ago. The house, the grounds, and a whole bunch of money.”
Garrett’s hands tightened on the wheel. “How rich was she before that?”
“Rich,” Isla answered without hesitation.
“She had a trust fund from her grandmother. Plenty to support herself. And yes, plenty enough to hide and raise a child if she wanted. But there weren’t any big withdrawals in her accounts.
If she funneled money into hiding Harris, it must have come from somewhere else. Maybe that safe deposit box.”
He gave a slow nod, his eyes scanning the perfect hedges and long, winding drives. Secrets could hide here just as easily as wealth.
Garrett eased the SUV to a stop in front of a massive stone house with tall arched windows and a wide front porch lined with trimmed boxwoods. The second the tires stilled, the front door swung open and a young woman stepped out.
Isla recognized her from the photos she’d pulled up late last night. Anais Hayes. Copper hair that caught the morning light, green eyes sharp but wary. She wore sleek black workout leggings and a gray hoodie, like she’d been ready to head for a run before nerves changed her mind.
Anais came down the steps quickly, glancing over her shoulder once. “I thought my parents would be gone to work by now,” she said, her voice low and strained. “I wanted to talk to you alone.” Her gaze flicked toward the SUV. “Can I get inside with you?”
Garrett gave a small nod and motioned toward the backseat. “Go ahead.”
The young woman reached for the handle, but before she could climb in, the door behind her opened wider.
And Leah and Randall stepped onto the porch.
Leah was polished in a tailored business suit that fit her like armor.
Beside her, Randall looked more casual in dress pants and a buttoned shirt, though his posture was just as stiff.
“Change of plans,” Anais said on a groan.
Her shoulders slumped, and the sharp edge of her earlier urgency dulled into frustration. Whatever she had wanted to share, her parents being here clearly threw a wrench into it. Isla couldn’t help but wonder why.
Leah and Randall came down the steps, moving closer. Anais let out a reluctant sigh. “Mom, Dad… this is Garrett McCall and Isla Prescott.”
Leah’s gaze sharpened the second their names left Anais’s mouth. Recognition lit her eyes, followed fast by a spark of fury.
“You were there when Harris was taken,” Leah said, her voice like broken glass. Her eyes blazed, heat cutting straight through Isla. “He was taken because your foster mom was negligent. She wasn’t watching him.”
The words hit Isla hard, anger flashing hot through her veins. She opened her mouth, ready to snarl back and defend Trudy, but Randall stepped smoothly between them, a hand lifted in quiet command.
“Enough,” Randall said, smooth as spit. His voice was calm, but the warning in it was clear. A warning that Leah clearly didn’t like because she shot her husband a look that could have frozen fire.
“We should take this inside so we don’t create a spectacle for the neighbors,” Randall went on. “Then, Anais can explain what this is about.”
They went inside, though it was plain from Anais’s tight jaw that this was not how she had wanted things to go. The foyer opened wide, its walls lined with expensive paintings in heavy gilded frames. Isla’s gaze caught on one in particular—an oil portrait of a baby with dark hair and solemn eyes.
Harris.