The road curved past sprawling lawns and iron gates guarding homes that looked more like estates. Stone mansions, gleaming white columns, fountains spilling water into pools that sparkled even in the pale morning light. Money lived here, and plenty of it.
Isla let out a breath, staring at the sheer size of one place as they passed. “Leah inherited all this and more when her fatherdied about seven years ago. The house, the grounds, and a whole bunch of money.”
Garrett’s hands tightened on the wheel. “How rich was she before that?”
“Rich,” Isla answered without hesitation. “She had a trust fund from her grandmother. Plenty to support herself. And yes, plenty enough to hide and raise a child if she wanted. But there weren’t any big withdrawals in her accounts. If she funneled money into hiding Harris, it must have come from somewhere else. Maybe that safe deposit box.”
He gave a slow nod, his eyes scanning the perfect hedges and long, winding drives. Secrets could hide here just as easily as wealth.
Garrett eased the SUV to a stop in front of a massive stone house with tall arched windows and a wide front porch lined with trimmed boxwoods. The second the tires stilled, the front door swung open and a young woman stepped out.
Isla recognized her from the photos she’d pulled up late last night. Anais Hayes. Copper hair that caught the morning light, green eyes sharp but wary. She wore sleek black workout leggings and a gray hoodie, like she’d been ready to head for a run before nerves changed her mind.
Anais came down the steps quickly, glancing over her shoulder once. “I thought my parents would be gone to work by now,” she said, her voice low and strained. “I wanted to talk to you alone.” Her gaze flicked toward the SUV. “Can I get inside with you?”
Garrett gave a small nod and motioned toward the backseat. “Go ahead.”
The young woman reached for the handle, but before she could climb in, the door behind her opened wider. And Leah and Randall stepped onto the porch. Leah was polished in a tailored business suit that fit her like armor. Beside her, Randall lookedmore casual in dress pants and a buttoned shirt, though his posture was just as stiff.
“Change of plans,” Anais said on a groan.
Her shoulders slumped, and the sharp edge of her earlier urgency dulled into frustration. Whatever she had wanted to share, her parents being here clearly threw a wrench into it. Isla couldn’t help but wonder why.
Leah and Randall came down the steps, moving closer. Anais let out a reluctant sigh. “Mom, Dad… this is Garrett McCall and Isla Prescott.”
Leah’s gaze sharpened the second their names left Anais’s mouth. Recognition lit her eyes, followed fast by a spark of fury.
“You were there when Harris was taken,” Leah said, her voice like broken glass. Her eyes blazed, heat cutting straight through Isla. “He was taken because your foster mom was negligent. She wasn’t watching him.”
The words hit Isla hard, anger flashing hot through her veins. She opened her mouth, ready to snarl back and defend Trudy, but Randall stepped smoothly between them, a hand lifted in quiet command.
“Enough,” Randall said, smooth as spit. His voice was calm, but the warning in it was clear. A warning that Leah clearly didn’t like because she shot her husband a look that could have frozen fire.
“We should take this inside so we don’t create a spectacle for the neighbors,” Randall went on. “Then, Anais can explain what this is about.”
They went inside, though it was plain from Anais’s tight jaw that this was not how she had wanted things to go. The foyer opened wide, its walls lined with expensive paintings in heavy gilded frames. Isla’s gaze caught on one in particular—an oil portrait of a baby with dark hair and solemn eyes.
Harris.
Randall noticed her looking and spoke quietly. “I painted it. A tribute to the son I never got to hold.” There was bitterness in his tone, but muted, tempered in a way that Leah’s anger never was.
Leah’s heels clicked across the polished marble as she led them into a vast living room with pale furniture and towering windows that flooded the space with light. She didn’t gesture for them to sit. She simply turned on them, her chin lifting.
“What’s going on?” Leah demanded. Then, with a flick of her gaze, she added, “Is this about the shooting at the foster ranch last night?”
Isla wasn’t surprised Leah had already heard about the shooting. What riled her was that Leah didn’t even ask how Trudy was doing.
“What have you heard about the attack?” Garrett asked.
“I’ll answer that at the sheriff’s office, not here in my own home,” Leah said, her voice sharp enough to cut. Her gaze locked on Garrett, hard and accusing. “I’ll answer to the law. Not to some civilian black ops soldier who’ll never admit the truth. And that truth is the woman who raised him was recklessly negligent. She left a vulnerable newborn in the care of two teenagers, and look what happened.”
The air in the room seemed to tighten, pressing in around Isla. Heat surged through her veins, anger spiking so hot she almost stepped forward to defend Trudy. But Garrett spoke first.
“You’re wrong,” he said, his voice cold enough to slice straight through Leah’s fury. “It wasn’t on Trudy. It was on me. I was negligent. I was the one who failed Harris.”
The words hit Isla like a blow. She had known he carried the guilt, had felt the weight of it between them for years, but hearing it spoken out loud like that left her throat tight. He meant it. Every syllable. And the ice in his tone told her he had no intention of ever forgiving himself.
Garrett’s words left a raw silence hanging in the room, one that scraped at Isla’s nerves. She couldn’t let him shoulder it alone. Not when she knew the truth.
