Chapter 36
Bridlepath Farm — Grant’s House
The screen door slammed behind her, the sound echoing through the farmhouse.
The scene inside was a powder keg. Burke was pacing the linoleum, his face a mask of fury. Grant was leaning against the far wall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Caitlin sat at the table with her laptop, looking like she’d been holding her breath for hours.
“You’re alive,” Burke said, his voice a low, terrifying vibration. “That’s a start.”
“I’m fine, Burke,” Izzy said, her voice sounding steadier than she felt. She pulled her phone out and set it on the counter. “I sent the photo. I deleted the original. I played the part.”
Grant moved then, stepping out of the shadows. His eyes were dark, searching her face for something he didn’t want to find. “Were you alone with them?”
“Cal was a gentleman,” Izzy said, looking Grant directly in the eye. “Until his father and Vance Varga showed up unannounced. Cal was as blindsided as I was. He was embarrassed, Grant.”
Grant’s hands fisted in his pockets. “Blindsided? Izzy… you were sitting in a house with Varga.”
“He told me he doesn’t get involved in that side of things,” Izzy shot back. “He has his own life, his own ranch. He said the Varga family had worked with his grandfather for years, and he just stays out of it. He seemed sincere.”
“He’s a Hollis, Izzy,” Grant stepped into her space, the smell of the barn and suppressed rage clashing with her perfume. “They don’t ‘stay out’ of the family business. They have better manners while they’re doing it.”
“At least he has manners!” Izzy snapped, her eyes bright with the sting of the day. “At least he isn’t afraid to look at me without treating me like a security risk. He was kind to me today, Grant. He made me feel like a person. Not a problem.”
Grant flinched as if she’d struck him.
Burke stepped between them. “It doesn’t matter if he’s a sweetheart or a shark, Izzy. You were sitting across the table from a man who cleans up messes for the Varga cartel. If they suspect what you saw at that warehouse, being a ‘guest’ isn’t going to save you.”
He turned to the laptop, where the manifest photo was glowing. “You got the link we needed. But you’ve also put a target on your back. From here on out, you don’t leave this farm. Not for a ride, not for a ‘quiet evening,’ and definitely not in a Hollis car.”
Izzy looked at Grant, but all she saw was the rigid, territorial wall.
“Fine,” she said, her voice turning cold. “I’m a prisoner. I get it.”
Grant opened his mouth to fire back, his frustration boiling over, and Burke was already shifting to a new line of questioning about Varga’s specific arrival time. It was a sensory overload of testosterone and interrogation.
Caitlin, who had been watching the color drain from Izzy’s face, finally had enough. She knew the exact set of Izzy’s jaw—the “Denver Armor” was holding- but the cracks underneath were jagged. She knew what being cornered and told what to do did to her best friend.
Caitlin raised a hand, a sharp, silent command that cut through the tension.
“Hold it,” Caitlin said, her voice quiet but carrying a weight that made Burke stop mid-sentence.
Burke turned to her, surprised by the interruption. Grant’s eyes flickered toward her, but his hands stayed fisted in his pockets.
“Okay, I think the point has been made,” Caitlin said, standing up from the table.
She walked over to Izzy, placing a protective hand on her shoulder.
“Let’s give her a moment. She has been through a terrifying ordeal here, and you two are acting like she’s the criminal instead of the one who just got you the most valuable evidence you’ve had in twenty-seven years. ”
She looked Burke directly in the eye—the look that reminded him she wasn’t just his girlfriend, but a woman with her own iron will.
“You’re barking at her like she’s a suspect. Back off.”
Burke exhaled a long, heavy breath, the Sheriff’s mask slipping enough to show the exhaustion underneath. He looked at Izzy, then at Caitlin, and finally nodded.
“You’re right,” Burke said quietly. He looked at Grant. “Let’s take it to the porch. We need to plan the morning anyway.”
Grant didn’t move at first. He stared at Izzy, his gaze lingering on her smeared lipstick and the defiant light in her eyes. He looked like he wanted to say a thousand things—apologize, scream, or pull her into his arms—but instead, he followed Burke out into the cool night air.
The screen door clicked shut behind them.
Caitlin immediately turned Izzy toward her, searching her face. “Are you okay?”
Izzy let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding since she stepped into Cal’s house. She sank into a kitchen chair, her legs finally giving out.
“It was terrifying, Cate,” Izzy whispered, her voice trembling now that the brothers were gone. “Sitting across from that man... knowing what I’d seen. Every time he looked at me, I felt like he was seeing right through the lipstick and the wine.”
Caitlin squeezed her hand. “And Cal?”
Izzy looked at the laptop, then back at Caitlin.
“I know what they think. I know the Hollis name is poison here. But I believe him, Cate. He seemed genuine. He was so aggravated that they ruined our night. Yeah, he got a little upset later because he didn’t get his way—he’s a Hollis, he’s never been told ‘no’—but overall?
I don’t believe he’s involved in that business with the plane. I don’t. He wants to be his own man.”
Caitlin studied her. “He has a way of making people believe that.”
“It’s more than that,” Izzy said, wiping a stray tear she refused to let fall. “He was kind to me today. He treated me like I mattered. Grant treats me like a liability he’s forced to manage.”
“Grant gets bossy when he’s worried,” Caitlin said dryly. “And right now he’s about three seconds from chaining you to the porch.”
Izzy looked toward the dark window, where the low murmur of the brothers’ voices drifted in from the porch.
“Well,” Izzy said, her voice regaining its edge. “If he’s so scared of losing me, he’s got a funny way of showing it.”
* * *
Grant and Burke stepped out onto the porch, the heavy humidity of the mountain night settling over them like a damp shroud. Burke leaned his lower back against the railing, his thumbs hooked into his belt, right next to the silver star that felt heavier tonight than it ever had.
Grant paced the small space, his boots thumping a restless, angry rhythm. For a long minute, the only sound was the choir of crickets in the grass and the low, muffled murmur of Izzy and Caitlin’s voices inside.
Grant stopped at the edge of the steps, staring toward the dark, jagged spine of the ridge. “You don’t think Dad knew about this, do you?”
Burke didn’t answer right away. He looked at the farmhouse across the valley—the house where he’d grown up, believing his father was the closest thing to God Jackson County had.
“He was the Sheriff for thirty years, Grant,” Burke said, his voice sounding hollowed out. “He knew every deer trail and every hollow. I won this seat by a landslide because people believed a Scott in the office meant the law was absolute. I’m sitting at his desk. I’m using his files.”
Burke looked down at his hands, then back at the ridge. “How does a man like Burton Scott miss a logistics hub for a cartel? He didn’t miss it. He couldn’t have.”
“He shut us down,” Grant said, turning to face him.
The moonlight caught the hard, pained line of his jaw.
“You saw him the other night. He didn’t dismiss the Clara Vale case; he tried to bury it.
He stood there in his yard and talked about honor while he was practically standing on a secret.
You think Wade has something on him? Something he’s been holding over him all this time? ”
The thought made Burke’s stomach turn. The idea of his father being under someone’s thumb—especially Wade Hollis’s—was more than he could take.
“I don’t know,” Burke said, his voice regaining a jagged, professional edge.
“But if he did know, and he let this happen... then every arrest I’ve made, every oath I took in that courtroom, feels like a lie.
If he was protecting Wade, he wasn’t just keeping a secret. He was selling out the whole county.”
Burke straightened, his face a mask of weary determination. “And if he is involved, we aren’t getting it out of him. He’s a Scott. Once he locks a door, he throws away the key. We saw how he acted the other night; he’s not going to give us the truth just because I’m wearing his old badge.”
Grant stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low vibration.
“Then we do this on our own. We don’t wait for a lead from him.
We don’t wait for permission. If the Scott name is going to mean anything when this is over, it’s going to be because of what we do now, not what he did thirty years ago. ”
Burke looked at the star on his shirt, then back at his brother. “Yeah. We do it on our own. But if we go after Wade, we’re going after the man our father has covered for since nineteen ninety-nine. There’s no coming back from that, Grant. It’ll tear this family apart.”
“It’s already torn, Burke.” Grant looked toward the ridge. “We’re just the only ones finally looking at the seams.”