Silence pressed down, the weight of her words sinking in. Isla could feel Garrett’s eyes on her, the same suspicion running through both of them.
Paula’s voice dropped. “My friend said she saw Leah leaving the bank that day with an envelope. Said it looked stuffed with cash.”
The image landed hard, chilling and vivid. An envelope full of money. And Leah McCord walking away with it on the very eve of Harris’s disappearance.
Chapter Five
Garrett dreamed in jagged flashes. Sandstorms and gunfire. The stink of smoke and blood. Marines shouting, men falling. Crossfire Ops missions bleeding into the same reel, chaos he could never quite put down.
And Isla.
Always Isla.
Her mouth under his in a kiss that had branded itself into him. Then her face shifting, horror in her eyes when Harris had vanished. That memory never softened, never blurred. It cut as sharp as the day it happened.
He forced himself awake, jerking upright with a sharp breath. For a second he didn’t know where he was. The shadows loomed wrong, the antiseptic smell foreign, the faint beeps and clicks out of place.
Then it clicked. The hospital. Trudy.
He looked down and stilled. Isla was curled against him, asleep. Her head rested on his chest, her breath slow and even, her hand curved over his left hip like she belonged there.
He had grabbed a pillow and blanket from his SUV earlier, set up on the floor of Trudy’s new room after they moved her just after two in the morning. Somehow Isla had slid down here too, drawn in close while exhaustion dragged her under.
And now she was wrapped around him like she had never let him go.
Garrett shifted his head, trying to angle a look toward the bed. He couldn’t see Trudy from where he was stretched out on the floor, just the steady beep of the monitor cutting through the quiet. He stirred, easing his arm free of the blanket, careful not to jostle Isla as he tried to sit up.
But she stirred anyway. Her lashes fluttered, and she blinked, looking disoriented for a moment. Then her gaze landed on her own hand, still curved against his hip.
Color touched her cheeks. She rubbed her palm over her face, muffling a groan. “Sorry. Guess my hand has a mind of its own in my sleep. Next time I’ll warn it about personal space.”
He shook his head at her words, brushing off the apology. He tried to brush off the heat still lingering from her touch, too, and the sting of that dream where he’d kissed her.
No good could come from holding on to either.
Garrett pushed himself to his feet, a curse slipping out when his shoulder flared with pain. The rest of him wasn’t much better, stiff from the floor.
Isla stood with him, straightening slow and rubbing at her lower back. She gave a soft wince. “Guess the floor wasn’t made for beauty sleep.”
He glanced at her, saw the shadows under her eyes. She was every bit as worn as he was.
They could have gone home. Crossfire Ops had the door covered, Cal right outside. But walking away hadn’t felt right. Not when Trudy was only hours out of surgery, her future balanced on the edge.
So they had stayed. And he’d stay again if it came to that.
Garrett checked the time on his phone. Six a.m. The night had bled away, leaving the world outside gray and heavy.
Movement drew his gaze to the bed. Trudy was awake, her eyes open and steady on them. A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “It’s so good to see you two together,” she whispered.“You should have never let what happened to Harris tear you apart.”
Garrett’s chest went tight, guilt pressing in sharp and heavy. He couldn’t go there. Not now. Not with her so pale against the sheets. He forced his voice even. “How do you feel?”
Trudy’s smile turned wry. “Old. And like I’ve been shot.” Her gaze softened. “But I don’t want you two sleeping on the floor while I recover. You both need rest. Probably showers, too.”
Garrett glanced at Isla. The dark smudges under her eyes, the mussed hair, the faint stiffness in her shoulders. He knew he didn’t look much better.
Neither of them could deny Trudy was right.
Trudy shifted slightly against the pillows, her voice rough but clear. “I had notes in those files the sheriff gave me. I’d been calling people, asking questions. Even hired a private investigator to dig where I couldn’t.”
