Garrett’s lips tightened. On the surface it looked like nothing more than their usual sparring, but he could see it. Theshake in her hands when she brushed her hair back. The too-bright gleam in her eyes. The attack had rattled her. Hell, it rattled him, too. Any one of those rounds could have ended her.
And that thought twisted like a knife.
Beck secured the last strip of tape and gave Garrett’s arm a quick pat. “You’ll live. Don’t make me patch you up again before the week’s out.”
Garrett grunted, but before he could fire back, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, saw Noah’s name, and opened the text. His gut eased just enough to breathe.
“Noah says the man from the truck, Earl Whitaker, is in stable condition now,” he told Isla. “Hospital’s got him.”
Isla let out a shaky breath. “Good. He didn’t deserve any of this.”
Garrett nodded. Earl had been nothing more than an old man on the road, an innocent caught in a crossfire he’d never asked for. Wrong place, wrong time. And if that bullet had hit an inch more to the left, the shooter would have ended him right there.
Beck zipped his kit and slung it over his shoulder. “You two try not to pick up more holes while I’m gone. I’d like a day without pulling glass out of somebody.” His easy drawl faded as he stepped out into the bullpen.
Through the open door Garrett heard voices. A deputy stopped Beck and then came closer, leaning into the office. Deputy Carla Mendez, small but sharp-eyed, her brown hair pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head.
“Sheriff Raines just radioed in,” she said. “He’s on his way back with Paula Benton. Shouldn’t be long.”
Garrett thanked her and muttered, “Finally.”
He wanted the social worker’s take on what had been happening, wanted to see her face when they asked the hard questions about that drone image, about the shooting today,about Paula aiming a gun at Anais. Paula Benton had been a name in his head for twenty-two years. Now she was about to be flesh and blood across the interview table.
Carla gave them a nod and pulled the door shut behind her. The bullpen noise faded, leaving the office hushed. Garrett leaned back in the chair, his arm throbbing under the fresh bandage, his thoughts sharper than he liked. Isla’s gaze found his, steady but too bright.
“You shouldn’t have taken that risk,” he said, his voice low. “I wanted you to stay down.”
Her mouth curved, sharp as a blade. “And let you play target practice alone? Not my style, McCall.”
Before he could argue, she crossed the room in a few quick steps. Garrett didn’t move, still planted in the chair when she leaned down. Her lips brushed over his, light as a whisper, quick as a spark.
She pulled back almost instantly, playing it off with a glint in her eyes like she meant it to be nothing. Like it was just her way of keeping things loose.
But he felt it.
The tangle of nerves, the weight of adrenaline that still hadn’t burned out of her system. And beneath all of that, the heat he knew too damn well, the fire that never really died between them.
Garrett’s jaw clenched. It was the worst possible time for this, and yet every part of him wanted to drag her back down to finish what she’d started.
Her eyes lingered on his, the glint of challenge giving way to something heavier. Heat pulsed between them, sharp and undeniable, and for a second Garrett let himself imagine what it would be like if they weren’t sitting in a sheriff’s office with blood and gunpowder still fresh in their minds.
Then her expression shifted, a flicker of regret dimming the fire. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You can’t kiss me without thinking of Harris. You know it.”
The words landed hard. She wasn’t wrong. Harris was always there, hovering between them like a ghost neither of them could banish. But right now, with her so close, the heat of her breath still on his lips, Garrett couldn’t walk away from it.
He caught her wrist, firm but not rough, and tugged her back down to him. Their mouths met again, harder this time, the kiss hot enough to burn through all the guilt, all the years, even if only for a heartbeat.
When she finally pulled back, she was breathless, her forehead resting lightly against his. A groan slipped from her throat. “We don’t have the time or the bandwidth for this.”
Garrett’s chest heaved with the force of everything he wasn’t saying. “No,” he agreed, his voice rough. “But it doesn’t stop me from wanting you.”
And it sure as hell didn’t stop him from kissing her again if she gave him half a chance.
Her breath steadied, but she didn’t move away. Instead, her voice dropped low, almost as if she wasn’t sure she should be saying the words at all. “It feels like unfinished business between us. Back then… when we were teenagers. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.” Her gaze flicked down, then back to him. “It ended in a blink. No closure for what we had. No closure for Harris.”
The weight of it pressed into his chest, and Garrett couldn’t deny it. “You’re right.” The words came out rough. “No closure.”
Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t empty. It was filled with years of stolen glances and what-ifs, layered with every memory they’d buried.
