Sheriff Raines slipped on a pair of gloves and strode to the Jaguar. Isla’s gaze followed as he tried the handle. The car clicked open. Unlocked. Whoever had left it here hadn’t cared to hide it. Or maybe they’d been in too much of a hurry to think it through.
The fire trucks barreled up the narrow road, brakes squealing as they stopped in a spray of gravel and mud. Firefighters jumped down, already hauling hoses. Water thundered against what was left of the burning house, hissing as it met the flames. The drizzle thickened into steady rain, steam rising in heavy clouds that blurred the wreckage.
Sheriff Raines peeled off toward the fire chief, their voices low but urgent as they conferred. Isla turned to the Jaguar. The leather interior gleamed even in the smoky dim light, the scent of charred wood and gasoline clinging to it. She and Garrett leaned in, careful not to touch anything.
Her eyes caught on something between the console and the passenger seat. A wallet. Women’s. Red leather, slim, the kind of thing someone with money would carry. Isla froze, her pulse picking up.
She heard the footsteps approaching and turned to see the sheriff striding back toward them through the drizzle. Garrett gestured toward the wallet.
“Isla found something,” he told Raines.
The sheriff slipped his gloves back on, reached inside the car, and carefully picked it up. Flipping it open beneath the thin beam of his flashlight, he paused, then lifted his gaze to them, his expression grim as the light caught the driver’s license tucked inside.
Raines dragged in a long, weary breath. “It’s Leah’s,” he said.
Chapter Thirteen
Garrett sat at his kitchen island, the mug in his hand, though the coffee inside had long since gone lukewarm. His third cup.
Maybe his fourth. He had lost track somewhere around two in the morning. The clock over the stove read a little past six, barely dawn, but the night had stretched on forever, strung out with dead ends and unanswered questions.
From down the hall came the faint sound of water running. Isla was in the shower. She had insisted on trying to clear her head, though Garrett doubted steam and soap would do much against the kind of exhaustion written across her face hours earlier. They had both been up most of the night, combing through databases, digging for scraps, hoping for a lead that might tell them what had happened to Harris.
Or hell, what was happening at all.
The list of unknowns gnawed at him. They didn’t know who had gone after Trudy, or who had opened fire on them at Paula’s place. They didn’t know who had wired that house with an incendiary device or why it had been torched just as they were closing in. And they didn’t know who was lying in that burned-out doorway, though everything pointed to Leah.
The weight of it pressed down harder than the caffeine could ever lift. He stared into the dark swirl of coffee, frustration riding him, exhaustion a close second. Too many pieces, too many angles, and still no picture that made any damn sense.
He looked up when he heard the footsteps and saw Isla as she came into the kitchen. Her hair was damp from the shower, curling a little at the ends, and she carried her laptop tucked under her arm like it belonged there. She looked tired, same as him, but damn if she didn’t look incredible anyway.
“Coffee?” he asked, nudging his mug toward the pot. “Or cereal, if you’re feeling brave.”
She set her laptop on the island and flipped it open. “No cereal. I’ll save room for peanut butter and pickles later.”
He huffed out something that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Romantic breakfast of champions.”
“Better than coffee and self-pity,” she muttered, shooting him a quick glance that sparked before she focused on her screen.
That spark sat heavy in his chest, threatening to pull his thoughts someplace they didn’t have time to go.
“Any updates while I was in the shower?” she asked, eyes on her laptop.
Garrett leaned his forearms on the counter. “No. Still no confirmed ID on the body. Raines hasn’t gotten through to Anais or Leah. Paula did answer her phone, but you already know that.”
She gave a small nod, lips pressed tight. And she knew he was still watching her, the air between them carrying more than caffeine and exhaustion.
Garrett watched her gulp down the coffee like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Isla set the mug down and said, “Trudy texted me right after I got out of the shower.”
That caught him off guard. His gut tightened, because nothing good usually came from messages at dawn. “Is she all right?”
“Yes.” Isla gave him a look meant to soothe, though he didn’t feel soothed. “She’s just restless. Wanted to know if the CSIs had cleared her house.”
Garrett exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “They have. But that doesn’t mean she’s going home. I doubt the doctor will release her for at least a few more days.”
“She won’t like that.”
“She’ll have to deal with it,” Garrett said, his tone flat but edged with concern. Trudy was tough, no doubt about that, but she had no business trying to push herself when someone had already tried to put her in the ground.
