Chapter Seventeen
Garrett braced his hands on the sink, water dripping from his hair as he stared at his reflection.
Steam still curled around the bathroom, thick enough that it blurred the edges of his face.
The shower had been supposed to clear his head, but all it had done was remind him of how tangled up everything was now.
Sex with Isla.
It complicated the hell out of things, yet somehow it made everything right at the same time. His body still hummed with the memory of her touch, the burn of her mouth. And underneath all of that was the nagging reminder that nothing in their world was clear.
Harris was still missing. Someone was out there gunning for them. A killer who had already tried to pin them down with bullets and who would not hesitate to take another shot.
Garrett hated the uncertainty. Hated not knowing where the next attack would come from or if they’d be ready for it. He hated even more that Isla was caught in the middle of it with him.
“Stop glaring at yourself,” she said from behind him.
Her voice was light, teasing, the exact opposite of the storm in his head.
He turned and found her leaning against the doorframe, wrapped in one of his towels that nearly swallowed her whole.
Her damp hair clung in dark streaks around her cheeks.
“You’ve got that same look you get when the Longhorns lose a game,” she went on, lifting a brow. “And I don’t mean a close game. I mean the kind of game where the marching band should just pack up at halftime and go home.”
Despite himself, a grunt of amusement escaped him. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse,” she said with mock severity, her eyes sparking. “If you keep it up, I’ll have to dig out a pom-pom and do a cheer to get you out of your funk. And trust me, you don’t want to see that.”
The corner of his mouth tugged upward. Tension eased, just a little, though the weight of what waited outside this room still pressed down hard.
Garrett brushed his mouth over Isla’s, soft but insistent, only to hear the low rumble of her stomach. He chuckled. “That wasn’t me.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Food. I guess I need it.”
“Guess you do,” he said, still smiling as they dressed and started toward the kitchen. He was thinking about what to scrounge up when Isla’s phone lit up. She frowned at the screen.
“Trudy,” she murmured and swiped to answer. She put it on speaker.
“Isla?” Trudy’s voice was thin, anxious.
“I’m here,” Isla assured her. “Garrett’s here, too.”
“I’ve been hearing things,” Trudy blurted. “The nurses talk, you know. They said you found Harris. That you found him and lost him again. Is it true?”
Garrett exhaled, wishing like hell she hadn’t learned it this way. “It’s true,” he said. “We found him. We even spoke to him. But before we could get anywhere, someone spooked him. He ran.”
Silence followed before Trudy’s sharp breath cut through. “Oh God. After all these years. You saw him?”
“Yes,” Isla verified, her own voice breaking just a little. “It was him. He’s alive, Trudy.”
“But gone again,” Trudy muttered. Grief and worry bled into every word. “I can’t… I can’t believe this. Who would do this to him?”
“We’ll find him,” Garrett told her, and he hoped it was a promise he could keep. “Isla and I are on our way over to the hospital now.” And he got Isla’s immediate nod of agreement.
“No,” Trudy was quick to say. “Please, not tonight. I don’t want to drag you out, not when it’s about to storm. Plus, I need time. Alone. I need to… process.”
Garrett met Isla’s eyes. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Trudy alone, not when she was this upset, but he respected her enough to listen.
“All right,” he finally agreed. “But first thing in the morning, Isla and I will be there.”
“Yes,” Isla added softly. “First thing. We’ll come by then.”
Garrett met Isla’s eyes, ready to push back against Trudy’s plea for space, but Trudy spoke again before he could.
“I love you both,” Trudy added, her voice catching. “Promise me you’ll watch out for each other.”
“We promise,” Isla replied.
Garrett added, “Always.”
“Good,” Trudy whispered. “Then let me go for now. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Morning,” Isla echoed, her voice breaking on the word.
“Goodbye, sweetheart,” Trudy said, and then to Garrett, “Goodbye, son.” The line clicked off, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.
Isla set the phone aside, her eyes still on him. “Morning,” she repeated. “Whether she’s ready or not, we’re going.”
Garrett gave a tight nod. He agreed completely.
The low rumble of thunder rolled outside, and Garrett caught the faint rattle of rain against the windows. Trudy had been right about the storm moving in.
He pulled open the fridge, scanning the shelves. “I can do sandwiches, pasta, or omelets. Nothing fancy.”
“Omelets,” Isla said, wringing the damp from her hair with a towel. “If you’re cooking, I’m eating.”
“Good. You’re helping,” he countered, reaching for the eggs.
They were cracking shells and chopping peppers when Garrett’s phone buzzed across the counter. Cal Granger’s name lit the screen. Garrett swiped to answer and set it on speaker. “Talk to me, Cal. You’ve got something?”
“I do,” Cal said. The faint hum of his equipment came through in the background. “We picked up Harris’s Jeep on traffic cams. Several feeds caught it heading out of downtown, then onto I-35. After that, it disappeared. No cameras caught him past the north exit.”
Garrett stilled, the whisk in his hand dripping egg back into the bowl. “I-35 north,” he repeated, a knot forming in his gut.
“North of San Antonio,” Cal confirmed. “That’s the last we’ve got.”
Isla dropped her knife onto the cutting board with a frustrated clatter. “So he’s gone. Again. He could be in Austin by now. Or Dallas. Or God knows where.”
“Yeah,” Garrett muttered, raking a hand through his damp hair. “Too many directions, too many possibilities.” He glanced at the storm rattling against the glass. “And no way to know if he’s running from us or to someone.”
The frustration sat heavy in his chest. They had been so close. Too damn close to let him slip away again.
Garrett forced down the frustration and went back to whisking, though his grip was tight enough to rattle the bowl. “So what’s next?”
“We’ve already widened the search grid,” Cal said, his voice clipped with efficiency. “Every traffic cam and drone we can get our hands on. Nothing so far. Finding Harris is a bust, at least for now.”
Garrett swore under his breath. Isla muttered something sharp and turned back to the stove, sliding vegetables into the pan with a little more force than necessary.
“But,” Cal continued, “I do have something.” Papers rustled on his end before he spoke again.
“The shooter who pinned you down by that Dumpster? We got a positive ID from one of the surveillance feeds. Name’s Victor Kane.
Ex-military, dishonorable discharge, bounced around as private security muscle. No steady employer. Real ghost type.”
Garrett set the whisk aside, the name hitting him like a cold splash of water. “Never heard of him.”
“Neither have I,” Isla said, shaking her head. She glanced at Garrett, her eyes tight. “But someone hired him.”
Garrett looked toward the window where the rain streaked down the glass. “Yeah. And we need to figure out who.”
“Victor Kane lived in the warehouse next to Harris’s unit,” Cal went on. “That’s why he was right there when you two showed up. He’s not just some random shooter. He’s been planted.”
Garrett felt the back of his neck tighten. “You’re telling me Harris had a watchdog.”
“Exactly,” Cal said. “I dug into Kane. He’s got a record, assault charges and weapons violations, but all of it’s old. He’s been clean for the past fifteen years. Too clean. Which makes me think he’s been on somebody’s payroll this whole time.”
Garrett exchanged a glance with Isla. She voiced the thought before he did. “So Kane’s job was to keep an eye on Harris. Step in fast if someone got too close.”
“Looks that way,” Cal said. “But here’s the kicker. Kane’s gone. Packed up fast after the shooting. Once we find him, we’ll know who he was working for.”
Garrett rubbed a hand across his jaw, eyes narrowing. “Could be Randall. He’s got the money for it.”
“Or Paula,” Isla said quietly. “She’s been tangled up in this since the beginning. She might have wanted Harris hidden, controlled.”
Garrett gave a slow nod, though his gut twisted with another possibility. “And there’s Leah. If she set it up, that means she knew exactly where her son was all these years. But if that’s the case, then who killed her?”
Silence hung heavy over the line, filled only by the hiss of rain against the windows and the low sizzle of vegetables in the pan. The questions multiplied, but the answers kept slipping further out of reach.
“I’ll do some digging on Kane too,” Isla told Cal, her fingers already tapping across her laptop keys.
“Good,” Cal said. “Because I’ve got one more thing for you. Those photos Anais showed you of the man on Paula’s property? That’s not Harris. I had the image enhanced, and I’m almost certain it’s Randall.”
Garrett let out a breath that was more growl than sigh. He wasn’t surprised, not after everything they had pieced together.
Isla’s mouth tightened. “Considering Randall and Paula were sleeping together, I can’t say that shocks me.”
“Yeah,” Cal agreed. “Still, it’s useful. I’ve already texted Sheriff Raines the update. He can ask Randall about it during the interview tomorrow. Maybe put some heat on him.”
Garrett stared at the dark window, his reflection looking back like a stranger. “If Randall’s the one pulling these strings, tomorrow could tell us a hell of a lot.”
Or it could be another dead end. But Garrett was hoping that something would break and soon.
They ended the call with Cal, and Garrett dished up the omelets. They ate in near silence, the kind born of exhaustion and too many unanswered questions.
Isla had her laptop open before she’d finished her last bite. Her fingers tapped quick and precise, pulling up the same security footage Cal had used. “He’ll be chasing Harris,” she murmured, “so I’ll chase Kane.”
Garrett leaned over to watch as she slowed the video and zeroed in on a vehicle pulling away from the warehouses. The plates came into focus, and Isla’s eyes narrowed. “That’s him. Kane’s car.”
She followed the trail across feeds from nearby traffic cams, moving the timeline forward, pushing each frame until another camera caught the vehicle. Garrett watched her work, that laser focus of hers something he’d always admired, even when it tied knots in his gut.
He pulled out his phone and logged into a secure channel. “If we can nail down his finances, we’ll know who’s paying him.” His thumbs flew over the screen, submitting the request for Kane’s banking and credit records. “That’ll tell us who’s been hiding Harris and pulling all the strings.”
Isla didn’t look up, eyes locked on the screen. “Then maybe we’ll finally know who we’re really fighting.”
Garrett’s phone buzzed, cutting through the quiet clicks of Isla’s typing. The screen lit up with the Crossfire Ops dispatch number. He answered on the second ring.
“McCall,” he said.
“Someone’s trying to reach you,” the dispatcher replied. “Says his name is Daniel Cole. But he insists you know him as Harris.”
Garrett sat straighter, his grip tightening on the phone. His pulse hammered in his ears. “Patch him through.”
A moment of static, then a young male voice came on the line, taut with nerves. “Garrett McCall?”
Garrett motioned for Isla to listen. She leaned close, her hand braced on his arm. “Yeah. I’m here,” Garrett said. “Where are you?”
“I don’t know who to trust,” Harris said. His words tumbled fast, the fear riding just beneath them. “But I need answers, and I think you have them. Meet me at Dry Creek. The ghost town. I used to go there as a kid. I’ll be there.”
Isla and Garrett exchanged a glance, and he saw the questions written clearly in her eyes. Was this a trap? Was Harris trying to lure them in on the orders of whoever was pulling his strings?
On the line, Harris let out a low groan. “I was told my family was in WITSEC. That Marion Cole wasn’t my mother. That she was just a stand-in since my real parents couldn’t risk being with me. Is that true? Are my parents in WITSEC?”
Garrett drew a breath, ready to answer.
The line went dead.