Chapter Nine
Garrett sat stiff in the chair across from Sheriff Raines’ desk, jaw locked as Beck Culver swabbed antiseptic across the graze on his arm.
The sting was nothing compared to the memory of the bullets tearing through the SUV. Nothing compared to the sight of Isla pressed against the ground, shards of glass in her hair, firing into the tree line like her life depended on it.
“Could’ve been worse,” Beck muttered, his voice steady as he taped a bandage over the cut. The man had a medic’s hands, quick and sure, though Garrett knew every scar on Beck’s arms had come from battlefields, not classrooms.
“Could’ve been better,” Isla countered, sitting on the edge of the desk with her arms folded. Beck had already patched up the shallow cut on her head, but Garrett could see the tremor beneath her defiant stance. Her shoulders were drawn too tight, her voice too sharp.
Beck cocked a brow at her. “You planning to argue with medical science now?”
“Only if it’s yours,” she shot back, but Garrett caught the edge in her tone. Banter, sure, but it was a shield.
Beck chuckled, shaking his head as he started packing his kit. “You’re a pain in my ass, Prescott.”
Garrett’s lips tightened. On the surface it looked like nothing more than their usual sparring, but he could see it.
The shake in her hands when she brushed her hair back.
The too-bright gleam in her eyes. The attack had rattled her.
Hell, it rattled him, too. Any one of those rounds could have ended her.
And that thought twisted like a knife.
Beck secured the last strip of tape and gave Garrett’s arm a quick pat. “You’ll live. Don’t make me patch you up again before the week’s out.”
Garrett grunted, but before he could fire back, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, saw Noah’s name, and opened the text. His gut eased just enough to breathe.
“Noah says the man from the truck, Earl Whitaker, is in stable condition now,” he told Isla. “Hospital’s got him.”
Isla let out a shaky breath. “Good. He didn’t deserve any of this.”
Garrett nodded. Earl had been nothing more than an old man on the road, an innocent caught in a crossfire he’d never asked for. Wrong place, wrong time. And if that bullet had hit an inch more to the left, the shooter would have ended him right there.
Beck zipped his kit and slung it over his shoulder. “You two try not to pick up more holes while I’m gone. I’d like a day without pulling glass out of somebody.” His easy drawl faded as he stepped out into the bullpen.
Through the open door Garrett heard voices. A deputy stopped Beck and then came closer, leaning into the office. Deputy Carla Mendez, small but sharp-eyed, her brown hair pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head.
“Sheriff Raines just radioed in,” she said. “He’s on his way back with Paula Benton. Shouldn’t be long.”
Garrett thanked her and muttered, “Finally.”
He wanted the social worker’s take on what had been happening, wanted to see her face when they asked the hard questions about that drone image, about the shooting today, about Paula aiming a gun at Anais.
Paula Benton had been a name in his head for twenty-two years.
Now she was about to be flesh and blood across the interview table.
Carla gave them a nod and pulled the door shut behind her. The bullpen noise faded, leaving the office hushed. Garrett leaned back in the chair, his arm throbbing under the fresh bandage, his thoughts sharper than he liked. Isla’s gaze found his, steady but too bright.
“You shouldn’t have taken that risk,” he said, his voice low. “I wanted you to stay down.”
Her mouth curved, sharp as a blade. “And let you play target practice alone? Not my style, McCall.”
Before he could argue, she crossed the room in a few quick steps. Garrett didn’t move, still planted in the chair when she leaned down. Her lips brushed over his, light as a whisper, quick as a spark.
She pulled back almost instantly, playing it off with a glint in her eyes like she meant it to be nothing. Like it was just her way of keeping things loose.
But he felt it.
The tangle of nerves, the weight of adrenaline that still hadn’t burned out of her system. And beneath all of that, the heat he knew too damn well, the fire that never really died between them.
Garrett’s jaw clenched. It was the worst possible time for this, and yet every part of him wanted to drag her back down to finish what she’d started.
Her eyes lingered on his, the glint of challenge giving way to something heavier. Heat pulsed between them, sharp and undeniable, and for a second Garrett let himself imagine what it would be like if they weren’t sitting in a sheriff’s office with blood and gunpowder still fresh in their minds.
Then her expression shifted, a flicker of regret dimming the fire. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You can’t kiss me without thinking of Harris. You know it.”
The words landed hard. She wasn’t wrong. Harris was always there, hovering between them like a ghost neither of them could banish. But right now, with her so close, the heat of her breath still on his lips, Garrett couldn’t walk away from it.
He caught her wrist, firm but not rough, and tugged her back down to him. Their mouths met again, harder this time, the kiss hot enough to burn through all the guilt, all the years, even if only for a heartbeat.
When she finally pulled back, she was breathless, her forehead resting lightly against his. A groan slipped from her throat. “We don’t have the time or the bandwidth for this.”
Garrett’s chest heaved with the force of everything he wasn’t saying. “No,” he agreed, his voice rough. “But it doesn’t stop me from wanting you.”
And it sure as hell didn’t stop him from kissing her again if she gave him half a chance.
Her breath steadied, but she didn’t move away.
Instead, her voice dropped low, almost as if she wasn’t sure she should be saying the words at all.
“It feels like unfinished business between us. Back then… when we were teenagers. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
” Her gaze flicked down, then back to him.
“It ended in a blink. No closure for what we had. No closure for Harris.”
The weight of it pressed into his chest, and Garrett couldn’t deny it. “You’re right.” The words came out rough. “No closure.”
Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t empty. It was filled with years of stolen glances and what-ifs, layered with every memory they’d buried.
He leaned back, releasing her wrist, but his thoughts wouldn’t let her go. Unfinished business. She’d nailed it. And he couldn’t help but wonder—if they finally got answers about Harris, if the truth was dragged out into the light, what would that mean for the two of them?
They couldn’t just rewind the years and pick up where they’d left off. Too much had happened. Too much had scarred them.
But maybe, just maybe, he could finally look at Isla without guilt tearing him apart for wanting her.
And God help him, he wanted her still.
The murmur of voices carried from the bullpen, breaking the charged silence. Isla eased back, her mouth pressed into a thin line, and Garrett rose to his feet, squaring his shoulders as the door opened.
Sheriff Raines stepped in first, his expression grim, and right behind him came Paula.
She looked wrecked. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, her hands twisting together so tightly the knuckles blanched. “I can’t stop shaking,” she said, her voice ragged. “There was a gunman on my property. He tried to kill three people.”
Garrett’s jaw ticked. Three people. Him. Isla. The old man who had nearly died because of it.
He cut a glance to Raines. The sheriff’s mouth was set in a hard line. “She’s insisted she didn’t see the shooter and doesn’t know who it is.”
Paula nodded quickly, almost too quickly. “That’s the truth. I didn’t see them. I don’t know who would do something like this.” Her voice cracked, and her eyes darted between Garrett and Isla, as if searching for someone to believe her.
Garrett didn’t give her anything. Not yet.
Because truth or lie, he intended to find out what the hell Paula was hiding.
Paula’s gaze skittered over him, then to Isla. “Are you both all right?” she asked, her voice thin and trembling.
“We’re fine,” Garrett said, his tone flat.
Isla gave a small nod beside him.
Paula let out a ragged sob, pressing her fingers to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. First Trudy, and now this.” Her breath hitched. “Do you think it’s connected?”
Garrett’s certainty burned like steel in his gut. Of course it was connected. Harris, Trudy, the files, the attack on the ranch. Pieces of the same puzzle.
But he held his tongue and looked at the sheriff instead.
Raines shifted his weight, his tone measured. “We’re looking into it.”
Paula’s hands twisted tighter. Her shoulders hunched as if she were bracing herself for what would come next.
Garrett’s eyes stayed on her, cold and unblinking. Because whether she knew it or not, she was right in the center of it.
Paula sniffed hard and wiped at her eyes. Then she turned to the sheriff, her voice sharpening with a desperate edge. “You should be looking at Leah and Randall’s daughter. Anais. I think she’s the one trying to kill them. Trying to kill me.”
Garrett’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent, waiting to hear where she was going with this.
“She has ties to a militia group,” Paula went on, wringing her hands. “Some fringe outfit outside San Antonio. I don’t know how deep she’s in, but I’ve seen her posts online. Paramilitary talk, anti-government rants, the whole thing. She’s dangerous.”
Raines studied her with that steady sheriff’s stare that gave away nothing. “When I took your statement at your place, I asked you about that drone photo.”
Paula’s mouth pinched. “I told you then, and I’ll tell you now, I have no idea who that is. Probably just a trespasser. People canoe or boat the creek sometimes, and they’ll stop on my property. I cannot control that.”