Chapter Five
The words echoed in his head long after the call ended.
The baby is yours.
Brody stood there, his phone still in his hand, but the screen had gone dark. His fingers felt numb, like the weight of that simple sentence had drained the strength right out of him.
His son.
Or rather—sons.
There was no doubt in his mind now. If one was his, the other was, too. Well, unless John Smith was lying.
A hurricane of emotions hit him square in the chest, harder than anything he’d ever taken in a fight or out in the field. It was as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet, leaving him struggling to find balance.
He wanted—needed—time to process it all. Time to sit in the quiet, to look at his son, to memorize every small detail of his face. To feel something other than the tight coil of fear and fury twisting in his gut.
But time wasn’t a luxury he had.
Not when his other son was still out there.
Brody shoved the phone into his pocket, forcing himself to move, to breathe, to focus. The walls of his office felt too close, the cluttered desk a distraction that he couldn’t afford.
Remi was still there, her intense green eyes watching him like she was waiting for him to fall apart. But he couldn’t.
“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.
Because every second he wasted on the shock was a second too long. And somewhere out there, his son was waiting to be found and rescued.
“Come on,” he said firmly, taking his keys from his pocket. “We’re going to see Christina Turner. Where does she live?”
Remi’s forehead bunched up a moment. “Uh, just outside San Antonio.” She checked her phone and rattled off the exact address. “About a half hour’s drive from here.”
“Good,” Brody snapped out. “Along the way, you can tell me how you found Grace’s baby.”
Remi followed without a word, her footsteps steady behind him.
But instead of heading straight for the front door when they reached the bottom floor, Brody veered down the hall, stopping outside the nursery.
The faint glow from a small night-light spilled into the hallway, casting soft shadows across the floor.
He looked in and saw his mother sitting on the chair, the baby cradled in her arms, his tiny chest rising and falling in a slow, peaceful rhythm. The sight hit him harder than he expected, like a sucker punch to the chest. His son.
His.
Brody stepped inside, keeping his footsteps light. Sandra looked up, her expression soft but laced with worry. He crouched beside the chair, careful not to wake the baby. He reached out, brushing a gentle finger along his son’s small, perfect hand. The baby stirred slightly but didn’t wake.
Brody’s throat felt tight, but he leaned in anyway, his voice low and rough. “I’m going to find your brother,” he whispered, his thumb tracing the soft curve of the boy’s tiny fist. “I swear to you, I’ll bring him home.”
“He’s really yours,” Sandra murmured. Not a question, but Brody answered it anyway.
“He’s really mine.”
He stayed there for a beat longer, grounding himself in the quiet warmth of his son’s presence before standing. He looked at his mother. “Holt’s upstairs if you need him.”
Sandra nodded, her gaze filled with unspoken emotion. “Be careful.”
Brody gave a short nod, then glanced back at the baby one last time. “I’ll have Holt lock up after we leave,” he assured her, and he fired off a text to have the deputy do that.
He and Remi left the nursery and headed to the front door, meeting Holt along the way. “Keep them safe,” Brody told him. “I’ll be back…” He stopped. Shook his head. “Just stay here until I’m done.”
“Not a problem, boss. Good luck,” Holt added, and Brody heard the snick of the locks after they left the house.
Brody used his phone app to reset the security system and then texted Holt the codes just in case the door had to be opened.
Holt wouldn’t be opening up to just anyone, though.
The deputy might not have the full picture as to what was going on, but he’d understood there was the possibility of danger.
He and Remi climbed into the cruiser, the engine rumbling to life before Brody put Christina’s address into the GPS.
He also sent off another text. To Jolene this time.
And he instructed her to request assistance from all law enforcement agencies in locating Tarrant.
Since every agency was no doubt already looking for the fugitive, it likely wouldn’t do much good, but he wanted all the help he could get.
This would put it fresh in law enforcement’s mind.
Brody gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, and he started the drive, his gaze fixed on the dark stretch of road ahead.
“Well?” he said, his voice cutting through the silence. “How’d you find Grace’s baby?”
“A lot of luck,” she said. “And breaking the law.”
Brody shot her a sideways glance but didn’t interrupt.
“I’d hit a wall with every lead I could find—Tarrant’s old friends, acquaintances, hotels, former addresses, you name it.
Struck out every time. No one knew where he was, and the people who did clearly weren’t talking.
” She paused, her jaw tightening slightly.
“Then I found out Tarrant had a thing for expensive hair and bath products. High-end stuff you can’t just pick up at a drugstore.
I’m talking exclusive brands, only sold online or in luxury salons. ”
Brody’s brow furrowed. “And that helped you how?”
“I hired a hacker,” she said simply. “I had him track where those products were being shipped. Figured even a guy on the run has habits he can’t break.”
Brody had to groan. The badge meant something to him. He’d never bent the law to suit his needs. Never. But he couldn’t fault Remi for what she’d done. She had saved a baby. And if it came down to it, he might have done the same thing.
Hell, he might do much worse to save his child.
“That led me to a vacation cabin,” Remi continued a moment later.
“Tarrant wasn’t there, but I went through his things, and I found a rental agreement for another cabin.
He’d rented it under a different alias from the one where he was staying.
” She shook her head, like the memory still irritated her.
“That’s where I found the baby with the nanny. ”
Brody’s jaw clenched. “You didn’t bring in the cops when you discovered the address of the first cabin?” he had to ask.
“No. Because I’d gotten that address through illegal means, through the hacking. And I had no idea if Tarrant would even be there. If the door had been locked, I would have called them. I wouldn’t have broken in, but the door was slightly open as if someone had left in a hurry.”
Her tone wasn’t defensive. Just the opposite.
And he knew why.
If Remi had called in the cops then and there, they might have caught Tarrant before he got to Grace and killed her.
“An open door,” Brody muttered. “Shoddy security, considering Tarrant was a fugitive.”
“I agree,” she was quick to say. “And trust me, I’ve given that a lot of thought.
I think Tarrant got an alert that I was coming for him.
The cabin was in a gated area, so I had to stop by the security booth and show ID.
I lied and said I’d come to check out the neighborhood so I could decide if I wanted to rent there.
But I believe the guard on duty called Tarrant and warned him that a PI had just shown up. ”
“I’m guessing that you and the cops looked into that,” he said.
“We all did. The guard disappeared. Vanished just like Tarrant. So Tarrant either killed him or paid him well enough for him to drop off the face of the earth.”
Brody was going with option one. Tarrant had killed his wife in cold blood, so he likely wouldn’t have hesitated to do the same to the guard, even if the man had helped him.
While he took the turn to the interstate, Brody gave all of that some thought and then shifted his attention to the woman they’d soon be visiting. “You said that Christina has been raising Grace and Tarrant’s baby.”
“Yes, a little girl,” Remi confirmed. “She didn’t hesitate to step up. Claimed her like she was her own. Legally, financially, emotionally—she’s got the resources to keep her niece safe.”
Brody was glad about that because with Tarrant still out there, the baby might not be safe. “Pull up whatever background you’ve got on Christina Turner,” he instructed.
Remi nodded, taking out her phone. The screen glowed softly in the dark interior as she scrolled through files.
“Christina Turner,” she started after a few swipes through the files. “Forty years old. Inherited a fortune from her grandparents, but she didn’t just sit on it. Built it up with a real estate empire, plus businesses in art and antiques. But she’s not your typical heiress.”
Brody glanced over at her, one eyebrow raised. “No?”
“She competes in Ironman competitions. Triathlons. Grueling stuff. Swimming, biking, running. The woman thrives on control, discipline, and probably pain.” Remi shifted slightly in her seat. “And here’s the kicker. Christina dated Tarrant before he got involved with her sister.”
Brody’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. They were together for a while, but from what I gather, it ended ugly. Tarrant moved on to Grace not long after.”
Brody let that sink in, the pieces shifting again, the picture becoming clearer. “So she hates the man who killed her sister but used to sleep with him. And now she’s raising his child.”
“Yes,” she muttered, shaking her head. “That’s the very definition of a complicated relationship.”
Brody’s gaze locked on the stretch of road ahead. Complicated relationships. Yeah, he knew a thing or two about that.
His jaw clenched as his thoughts drifted to where he didn’t want them to go. To Remi.