Chapter Four
Remi stepped out of the hospital, automatically checking the area for any threats. She didn’t see any, thank God. Apparently, neither did Brody, who was right by her side. He was holding the baby, but that look in his eyes was all cop.
Well, with a massive dose of worry thrown in.
But the worry was inevitable, and Remi was feeling plenty of it, too.
She reminded herself that precautions were in place.
The proof of that was the cruiser waiting for them.
It was parked right by the curb, and there were two uniformed deputies patrolling the parking lot.
Remi had no doubt there’d be more precautions once they got to Brody’s house, because the stakes were sky-high right now with a baby’s life at risk.
Two babies. Twins. She was having a hard enough time wrapping her mind around that alone, but there was obviously a whole lot more to it. The babies were pawns to exact someone’s version of justice.
And she and Brody were to be the judge, jury and executioners.
If you want your other son, find Tarrant Eddington. Bring me his head on a silver platter. Then we’ll talk. Her stomach twisted.
Yeah, that was a lot to absorb. A lot to get started on, and she took the next step.
A literal one. She got into the passenger seat while Brody settled the baby into the carrier in the back.
One of his deputies had obviously already put in the base for the carrier because it snapped into place.
The baby would be secure during the drive, but afterward, well, that could be a different story if someone wanted to use both this baby and his twin to force her and Brody to go after Tarrant.
That was a lot to process.
Brody was clearly doing battle to process all of this as well. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were shadowed in the dim glow from the overhead light. He didn’t say a word as he got in the driver’s seat, started the engine and pulled away from the hospital.
Remi stared out the window, the night pressing in like a smothering weight. The town slipped past in a blur of dark storefronts and empty streets, quiet except for the hum of the engine.
Lost Canyon.
She’d been born and raised here, but this was her first time back since Miranda’s funeral.
She’d lost the right to call Lost Canyon her home after keeping that fatal secret, and even if she succeeded, even if she got Brody’s other son and brought a twisted criminal to justice, that wouldn’t be enough for her to come home.
For Brody to forgive her.
Or for her to forgive herself.
Sometimes, penance lasted a lifetime. But then, so did grief. She could see it still etched on Brody’s face and in his eyes.
He continued the silent treatment as they drove out of town.
The road immediately narrowed, and instead of the shops and such, they were flanked by open fields and barbed-wire fences.
They passed by a building she’d never seen before, but she knew it was the shell of what was supposed to be an inn.
In the silhouette of darkness, it looked more like an industrial building, and ironically, it was Brody’s nearest neighbor.
A moment later, the headlights caught the sign for Walker Ranch before he turned down a gravel driveway.
The two-story Victorian-style house just ahead was over a hundred years old but well kept.
A porch light flickered on as they pulled up, casting shadows across the yard.
Casting shadows on Holt Callahan, too. The lanky, sandy-haired deputy was leaning against a cruiser in front of the house, and Brody pulled to a stop behind him.
Brody killed the engine, and for a moment neither of them moved. Remi finally broke the silence and decided to take another of those steps. An air clearing of sorts.
“We don’t have to like each other,” she spelled out. “But we do have to find Tarrant. And the other baby.”
Brody’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. Then he opened the door and got out. “Is my mother okay?” he asked the deputy.
Holt nodded. “Fine. She’s inside.”
“Good. Do you have a go bag with you?”
“I do,” Holt verified. “You want me to stay here tonight?”
“Yes. Take the guest room on the second floor. It’s at the end of the hall. I might have to go out…and find someone, and I don’t want my mother or the baby left alone. Understand?”
“Got it, boss,” Holt was quick to say and hurried to the trunk of the cruiser to grab his bag before heading inside.
Brody went to the back seat to unbuckle the baby, and the moment he had the baby in his arms he, too, started for the house. Remi followed, still keeping watch around them.
The front door opened before they even reached the porch. Sandra stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by light spilling from inside. Her face was tight with worry, but when she saw the baby cradled in Brody’s arms, her expression softened.
“Oh, thank God,” the words rushing out with her breath, and she stepped aside to let them in.
The house smelled faintly of coffee and something floral, maybe a candle burned down to the wick. It was tidy but lived-in, with family photos lining the walls, most of them faded from the sun.
Sandra hovered as Brody carried the baby to the couch. “I’m not finished setting up the nursery,” she said, her voice a mix of nerves and excitement. “But I’ve got a bassinet and some basics ready. Diapers, formula, bottles—I had Holt stop by the store on my way here.”
Brody gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable as he gently placed the baby in his mother’s arms. Sandra cradled the little boy like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. The tension in her shoulders eased, her thumb brushing over the baby’s tiny fist.
“Oh, Brody, he’s precious,” Sandra gushed. “And he looks just like you.”
He did, and Remi wondered if Brody could see that. Maybe. Or maybe part of him was still in denial.
Brody stepped away, his focus shifting to the front door. He locked it with a flick of the dead bolt, then pulled out his phone. Remi watched as he tapped the screen, arming the security system with a few swipes.
“Is it a good system?” she had to ask.
Brody didn’t look up. “It’s solid,” he said. “But I’ll have it beefed up in the morning.”
Remi nodded, her gaze flicking to the baby sleeping in Sandra’s arms. The faint rise and fall of his chest was the only thing that seemed steady in this whole nightmare.
Brody slipped his phone back into his pocket and glanced at her. “No one’s getting in here without me knowing.”
His words were firm, but Remi could hear the worry behind them. The fear he wouldn’t say out loud. She felt it, too. Because whoever wanted that baby wasn’t finished yet.
Brody led the way down a narrow hall, with Sandra close behind as she kept the baby nestled in her arms. Remi followed, her footsteps muffled by the worn rug beneath her boots.
They stopped in front of a door across from the main bedroom, and after taking a long, deep breath as if to steady himself, Brody pushed it open.
Remi needed a steadying breath, too.
The nursery was painted a soft yellow but didn’t have a lot of stuff in it.
In the center of the room was a small bassinet with a pale blue blanket draped over the side.
And against the wall, there was a changing table that was stacked with diapers and wipes.
Sandra or maybe Holt had brought in a folding chair. That was it.
Brody moved straight to the window, his hand on the curtain. But before he pulled it closed, he paused, his gaze drifting outside.
Remi followed his line of sight.
The window framed a wide stretch of pasture bathed in white moonlight. The barn stood like a dark silhouette in the distance, and a pair of horses grazed near the fence line, their heads dipping low as they moved through the grass. The view was peaceful, deceptively so.
Because Miranda had picked this room.
Miranda had painted these walls. Had bought the bassinet and changing table. She had planned for her and Brody to raise their baby here.
Remi could picture it: Miranda looking out that window, hand on her belly, dreaming about the life she and Brody were supposed to have. Close enough to the baby to hear every cry, with a view of the land they both loved. It was supposed to be perfect.
But life hadn’t cared about perfect.
Brody’s shoulders tensed, and after a beat, he yanked the curtains closed, shutting out the view. And maybe the memory along with it.
With the muscles in his face hard, he turned back toward his mother. “We’ll keep him in here tonight.”
Sandra nodded, moving to the bassinet with practiced ease and gently lowering the baby inside. She adjusted the blanket, her hand lingering for just a second longer than necessary.
“Can you stay here and take care of the baby?” he asked her.
“Of course,” Sandra was quick to say. “Of course.” She repeated it with both love and worry on her face.
Remi was all for the love and prayed that she and Brody could do something to get rid of the worry.
Brody gave his mother one last glance, his jaw tight as she gently adjusted the blanket over the baby’s chest. Then he turned to Remi.
“Come on,” he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper.
She followed him down the hall and up to the second floor. The house felt heavy, like it carried more than just memories. Like grief had settled into the walls over the years, tucked into every corner Brody hadn’t been able to clean out.
He stopped at a door near the top of the stairs and pushed it open, revealing a small home office.
It wasn’t much, just a battered desk covered in papers, a laptop, and a corkboard cluttered with pinned notes and old crime-scene photos.
But it was the framed photo on the wall that caught Remi’s attention.
A picture from about thirty years ago of Brody with his grandfather. Brody had been around nine or so. They had the same strong jawline, the same piercing amber eyes.
But there was no sign of Brody’s father.