Garrett’s gut knotted. She had been digging deep. No wonder someone wanted her silenced.
“The anniversary’s coming up,” Trudy went on, her eyes glistening. “I just can’t stand not knowing anymore. Twenty-two years, and it still feels like yesterday. I need answers before I leave this world.”
Her words cut into him, sharp as shrapnel. Garrett clenched his fists, fighting the weight of his own guilt. She deserved answers. And he was damned if she wasn’t going to get them.
A soft tap came at the door. Garrett turned as Cal stepped in, a thermos in one hand and a folded chair balanced under his arm.
“Morning,” Cal said, his drawl easy. “Noah sent this over, figured you two could use it.” He lifted the thermos. “Coffee. Strong enough to strip paint.”
Cal set the chair down near the door, then grabbed a couple of paper cups from the table beside Trudy’s bed. He poured, the rich steam curling up into the cool air.
Trudy shifted her head toward him, her mouth curving. “You still drink that sludge, Cal?”
He grinned, tipping her a wink. “Keeps me pretty.”
She gave a faint chuckle that caught on a wince. “Well, it’s working because you sure are pretty.”
Garrett accepted a cup from Cal, grateful for the heat in his hands. Isla did the same, her fingers brushing his as she took hers.
For a moment, the room felt steadier. Not safe, not yet. But steadier.
Garrett took a sip of the coffee. Bitter, hot, exactly what he needed. “Any updates?” he asked Cal.
Cal shook his head. “Not much. No prints or trace evidence at the ranch. CSIs came up empty. There were tire tracks on the old trail out back, but they’re too obscured to test. Rain and wind chewed them up.”
He shifted his gaze to Isla. “Your assistant’s handling the tech sweep from headquarters. Mason Holt. He’s digging through every camera in a ten-mile radius. Dash cams, traffic cams, even doorbells. Anything that might have caught the vehicle that parked behind the ranch and slipped that shooter in.”
Garrett caught the faint flicker in Isla’s eyes at Mason’s name. She had trained the younger man herself, and he knew she trusted him. Mason had been a soldier once, wounded bad enough that field work was no longer an option. But behind a screen, he was lethal in his own way.
From the bed, Trudy gave a soft groan. Her hand twitched against the blanket. “I wish I’d gotten a look at their face,” she whispered, her voice laced with frustration.
He wished the same. It would have saved them all a hell of a lot of questions.
Isla leaned closer to the bed. “Trudy… could the attacker have been a woman?”
Trudy’s brow furrowed. “Yes. It wasn’t a big person. But then again, Randall isn’t a big man either.”
Garrett exchanged a glance with Isla. Size didn’t narrow much. Could have been either of the bio parents. Or some hired thug brought in to do the dirty work.
“What about Paula, the social worker?” Garrett asked. “Do you trust her?”
Trudy’s expression tightened. “No. Not completely.”
Garrett’s jaw flexed. “She told us something last night. Said Leah pulled cash out of a safe deposit box around the time Harris disappeared.”
Isla nodded, adding quickly, “Paula claims her friend worked at the bank and saw it. An envelope she thought was stuffed with money.”
Trudy’s eyes closed briefly, her breath shaky. “That’s suspicious, yes. But Leah could have been using it to buy drugs. Or it might not have been cash at all.” She hesitated, then looked at them both. “She once told me she still had her great-grandmother’s christening blanket. Irish lace. A family heirloom. She wanted Harris to have it.”
The image stuck in Garrett’s mind. An heirloom blanket hidden in a box. Or maybe something else entirely.
Garrett sipped his coffee, then glanced at Trudy. “You want me to ring the nurse? Maybe get you something to eat or drink?”
Trudy gave a faint shake of her head. “No. My stomach isn’t settled.”
He frowned but didn’t argue. Trudy shifted her hand toward the control and pressed the button for her pain meds.
Garrett watched her face, searching for any flicker that would tell him how deep the pain went. The faint lines around her eyes, the way her breath hitched, told him more than she probably wanted him to see. He hated not knowing just how badly she was hurting, hated even more that she tried to cover it with that faint smile.
