Garrett kept his eyes on the cabins while Isla spoke.
“She rented out the cabins and RV sites for a while, which gave her a nice extra income,” Isla went on, “but that stopped about twenty years ago.”
He didn’t need her to spell it out. “Because maybe she thought it would be harder to keep Harris hidden with people around.”
Isla lowered the binoculars, her mouth tight. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
The possibility coiled inside Garrett, heavy and sickening.
Isla kept the binoculars pressed to her face, scanning every angle. “Nothing. I don’t see anyone.” She lowered them and handed them back.
Garrett slipped the binoculars into the console instead of raising them again. He shifted the SUV into gear, the engine idling as he weighed their next move.
He wasn’t about to call Paula and give her time to dream up an excuse. If she was dodging the sheriff, she might dodge them, too. Better to show up and catch her cold. And if Harris really was here, Garrett wanted the chance to see the man’s face the second the door opened.
Beside him, Isla spoke quietly, as if giving voice to the doubt pressing them both. “Why would Harris stay hidden all this time? Even if she brainwashed him, I can’t see him never venturing out.”
He didn’t have an answer for her. But if Harris was here, they were about to find out.
Garrett’s hand tightened on the shifter, ready to roll forward, when the crack of a gunshot split the silence.
And a bullet slammed into the SUV.
Chapter Eight
The crack of the bullet shook through her, the sound echoing inside her chest as the glass spiderwebbed. Isla flinched hard but saw the windshield hold. Bullet-resistant. Thank God.
Garrett already had his gun up, and she followed suit, yanking hers free and snapping her gaze to the tree line. Shadows pressed tight around the cabins, every shape a possible shooter.
Another shot rang out. Then another. The glass shuddered under the impact, fractures spreading like ice across a pond. A third bullet punched through, tearing a hole and spraying tiny shards into the cab. Isla ducked, heart pounding.
“Down!” Garrett’s voice cut sharp, but she was already folding onto the seat, gun still clenched in her hand.
More rounds hammered into the windshield, each one a brutal reminder that someone out there wanted them dead.
The shots kept coming, hammering into the windshield one after another until it sounded like the SUV itself might give way under the assault. The air filled with the sharp crack of gunfire and the rattle of safety glass breaking apart.
Isla lifted her head just enough to catch a glimpse through the fractured mess. A shard of glass nicked across her temple, stinging hot and sharp.
“Damn it,” Garrett snapped, grabbing her shoulder and dragging her back down against the seat. His body shielded hersas more bullets slammed into the glass, each one biting closer. He tried to angle for a look, but the barrage made it nearly impossible.
Isla’s heart thundered, her lungs tight with adrenaline. Who the hell was out there unloading on them? Paula? Maybe. Maybe the woman had panicked, terrified they were about to catch her in a lie about Harris.
The thought twisted Isla’s stomach. If Paula really had been hiding him all these years, would she go this far to keep it buried?
Garrett’s jaw was iron as he barked out a voice command, calling Noah. The line clicked, and Garrett’s voice stayed low and sharp. “We’re taking fire. Get backup from the nearest police station. Fast.”
The gunfire didn’t let up. Each shot hit with brutal force, ripping into the SUV like a sledgehammer. The windshield was a fractured mess, glass dust clinging to Isla’s skin. Another round punched lower, metal groaning as it tore into the engine block.
Her stomach dropped. They weren’t just trying to scare them off. The shooter was aiming to disable the vehicle, trap them here like sitting ducks until they could move in close and finish the job.
Isla gripped her pistol tighter, pulse hammering in her ears. If that was the plan, they weren’t going down easy.
Garrett’s voice was clipped and hard. “I’m getting us out of here. Stay down.”
She pressed herself against the seat, gun in hand, but cursed when he rose just enough to jam the SUV into gear. He was ready to punch them off the shoulder and into the road, bullets or not.
Then the rhythm of the gunfire changed. It wasn’t hammering straight into their windshield anymore. The shotsangled, rattling through the trees. Isla lifted her head a fraction, squinting through the fractured glass.
