Chapter Six
With Christina’s words echoing in her head, Remi stepped into Christina Turner’s mansion with Brody.
You’re here to talk about your missing son.
How the heck did she even know about the baby? Remi knew they were about to find out.
After Christina shut and locked the door, she led them through a sprawling foyer with high ceilings and polished floors that probably cost more than Remi’s entire house. The space was elegant—cold, however—with clean lines, modern art and furniture that screamed money.
But what caught Remi’s attention were the small signs that didn’t belong. A colorful stacking ring sat abandoned in the corner, a soft baby blanket draped over the arm of an otherwise pristine chair. A quiet reminder that Grace’s baby was here, growing up with her aunt as guardian.
And that was guardian in more ways than one.
Remi spotted the sensors of what had to be a security system, and there were tiny cameras positioned at every window she could see. Obviously, Christina was worried about Tarrant coming after her. Or the baby. Either way, it was smart to have that security in place.
Christina motioned them into a sitting room that managed to be both beautiful and sterile, like something ripped from a magazine. She didn’t bother offering them seats before pulling out her phone.
“I got this text,” Christina said, her voice clipped but still edged with nerves. She handed the phone to Brody. Remi leaned in, reading the message over his shoulder.
Sheriff Brody Walker and Remi are hunting for Tarrant. When they find him, they’ll exchange him for the sheriff’s missing son. Give them all the help you can, and we’ll both get what we want—Tarrant’s head on a silver platter.
No sender. Just those words. Simple. Direct. And enough to make Remi’s stomach twist.
Brody’s jaw tightened as he read it again, then he glanced up at Christina. “Who sent this?”
Christina shrugged, taking the phone back. “No idea. It came from an unknown number about an hour ago.”
Remi bit back a groan, and she was betting Brody had to do that same. “Who could have sent it?” Brody amended, the anger swirling over each word.
“I don’t know,” she said with no hesitation.
But Remi thought that was a lie. The woman had lived with hating Tarrant for a long time. With looking for him. With that need to have him pay for what he’d done. So yeah, a lie.
“I don’t believe you,” Remi said directly.
Christina’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Believe what you want. All I know is whoever sent it knew you’d come knocking. And let’s be honest. You’re here because you think I’m involved.”
No denial. No defensiveness. Like the text, it sounded matter-of-fact.
Christina’s gaze shifted back to Remi. “You were probably included in this fresh hunt because you’re the one who found Grace’s baby. You came closer to finding Tarrant than the cops ever did.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Remi knew it was true. She’d been closer than anyone, and still Tarrant had slipped through her fingers.
But this wasn’t about her. This was about the newborn safe at Brody’s ranch. About the other baby still out there. And she’d be damned if she let Christina Turner get in the way of finding him.
“Is what’s happening to your son similar to what went on with my niece?” Christina asked, the question cutting through Remi’s thoughts. “Was he born from a stolen embryo?”
“A stolen embryo,” Brody confirmed, his stare turning into a glare. “Most people would have assumed he’d been abducted when they saw missing son in that text.”
Christina lifted her shoulder. “Obviously, I’m not like most people. I’ve lived through the hell storm that Tarrant can create.” She paused. “But he probably didn’t put this together. No. Someone else would have done that. Someone like me,” she added in a mutter.
“Someone like you,” Brody affirmed.
“But I didn’t do this,” Christina calmly replied.
Remi silently cursed and wished she had psychic powers so she knew if the woman were lying.
“Who would send this text?” Brody snapped out again, his words like angry lashes from a bullwhip.
“And this time give me names, or I’ll have you arrested for obstruction of justice.
I don’t have time to deal with you wanting to protect people who are members of the We Hate Tarrant Club. Give me names. Now.”
That drained some of the color from Christina’s face, and she gave a tight nod. “These won’t be a surprise,” she said, looking at Remi. “But Eloise Davenport and Dr. Langley.”
She was right. No surprise there. “Who else?” Remi asked. “And why would this person send you that text? Why involve you in this?” Because the answer to that could lead them to who was responsible.
Christina slipped her phone back into her pocket and straightened, her gaze flicking between Remi and Brody. “Follow me,” she said, her tone brisk, as if she was used to giving orders and having them followed without question.
Remi exchanged a glance with Brody before they trailed after Christina down a long hallway. The polished floors and sleek decor gave way to something different as Christina opened a door near the end.
A room that felt nothing like the rest of the house.
The walls were covered with photos, newspaper clippings and maps connected by lines of red string like some twisted spiderweb.
Notes were scrawled in sharp handwriting across sticky notes, pinned over articles about Tarrant Eddington.
There were possible sightings, police reports, surveillance photos.
More papers—PI reports, Remi realized—were stacked neatly on a side table, but even from where she stood, she could see the wear on the pages. They’d been read. Over and over.
Christina turned, her expression carefully controlled, but there was something raw underneath it. A flash of obsession that she didn’t bother to hide.
“This is what I do with my spare time,” Christina said quietly. “Every day. I’ve got two PIs actively searching for him right now. But it’s never enough.”
She crossed the room and tapped a photo pinned near the center of the chaos. Tarrant’s face stared back, arrogant even in a candid shot, like he knew no one could touch him.
“That’s why I believe I was sent the text,” Christina continued, her voice low but steady. “Whoever has your son knows I’ll do whatever it takes to help. They know I’ll use every resource I have.”
Remi’s stomach twisted. The room was a shrine to hate, to loss—and maybe to guilt. But something didn’t sit right.
What if she’s out of resources?
The thought came roaring through Remi’s mind. What if Christina had hit a dead end, burned through money, investigators and leads and then decided to play dirty? To force Brody and Remi into doing what her hired help couldn’t.
Remi didn’t trust coincidences. Not when it came to someone like Christina Turner.
She kept her expression neutral, but her mind raced. Because if Christina had orchestrated this, if she were behind the nightmare Brody was living, then the woman wasn’t just obsessed.
She was dangerous.
The woman went to another board on the right side of the room and motioned toward the photos of Dr. Langley and Eloise. Langley had gotten the sticky note treatment, too, and there were details of sightings of him when Christina or the PIs had thought Langley might be meeting Tarrant.
Remi could see that none of those sightings had produced results. So Langley was either innocent or careful.
Brody’s eyes stayed locked on the crime board, his jaw tight, tension rolling off him in waves. Then he turned that hard gaze on Christina.
“Other than Eloise Davenport and you,” he said, “who hates Tarrant enough—and has the capabilities—to put something like this together? Who would use my son to get Tarrant?”
Christina’s mouth twitched into a dry smile as if the and you didn’t surprise her. She didn’t bother denying it. Instead, she crossed the room, opened a sleek cabinet and pulled out a thick file.
“This,” she said, dropping it onto the table with a heavy thud, “is a list of everyone I could find who might want Tarrant dead.”
Remi stepped forward, flipping through the pages.
Names, dates, brief notes were scribbled in the margins.
Connections to Tarrant were listed, some distant, along with some barely existent links like the person who’d once given him a manicure.
Remi recognized many of them. Heck, she had a similar list in her own files.
But none of the names jumped out. No red flags.
No obvious suspects. Just a sea of possibilities.
Remi dragged in a long breath. “Too many names to dig through, hundreds of them,” she muttered.
“Yeah,” Brody agreed, and he re-aimed that glare at Christina. Remi glanced at Brody, then back at Christina. “We don’t have time to chase every lead,” he added. “Narrow it down. Give us your top candidates.”
Christina’s eyes flickered with something—calculation, maybe—but she nodded. “Fine.”
Christina flipped through the file until she landed on a page near the middle. She tapped it with her manicured finger. “Mellie Freemont,” she said. “Tarrant was seeing her when he was married to my sister. The breakup was…bad.”
Remi leaned in, scanning the notes scribbled next to Mellie’s name. She knew the name well and had investigated her during the early days of the search for Tarrant.
“I looked into her,” Remi admitted. “I came up with nothing. No solid connections, no signs she was involved with Tarrant’s disappearance a year ago. She didn’t seem like she had the stomach for something like this.”
Christina’s mouth curved into another humorless smile. “Well, maybe you should look again. She went missing a week ago.”
Remi straightened, her pulse kicking up. “Missing?”
Christina nodded. “No one’s seen her. Stopped showing up to work, no activity on her accounts. It’s possible she set this whole thing in motion and then went underground.”
Brody didn’t hesitate. He yanked out his phone. Since Remi was standing next to him she saw him send off a text to his deputy.