Garrett leaned back against the counter, coffee warming his hand. “We can drop by and see Trudy on our way to the interview with Randall,” he said. “Might calm her down some, let her know we’ve got eyes on things.”
Isla nodded absently, her focus on the laptop she’d carried in. The screen’s glow lit her face, highlighting the crease of concentration between her brows.
“What are you digging into now?” he asked.
She slid the laptop a little toward him, though she didn’t take her hands off the keys. “I’m combing through state and county employment records. It’s a data lake that merges payroll, licenses, and tax filings for registered caregivers, nannies, and household staff. I narrowed it to anyone who worked within a twenty-mile radius of that property from about twenty-two years ago forward.”
Garrett whistled low. “That’s casting a wide net.”
“It has to be,” she said, tapping at a new filter. “But so far, no exact hits. None of the names in the system ever listed that address as a place of employment. But if there’s a match, I’ll find it.”
He didn’t doubt that. If there was a thread to pull, Isla would yank until it unraveled.
Garrett scrolled through another set of grainy feeds, his jaw tight. He’d backtracked traffic cams on the main roads near the burned house, cross-referencing times and plates, but nothing showed the Jag going in or out. Either the cameras had missed it, or the driver had taken backroads that weren’t monitored.
He muttered a curse and shoved a hand through his hair. “This is like digging for bones in a desert.”
Across the table, Isla’s fingers slowed on the keys. She looked at him, head tilted, eyes sparking with that mix of determination and dry humor he knew too well. “We need a revival. Something to reset.”
He grunted. “Coffee number five isn’t cutting it?”
“Nope. I’m thinking of something more effective. Exercise.” Her lips curved into a small smile, sly at the edges. “Or we could juggle pickles and spoons. Might clear our heads.”
Despite himself, Garrett snorted. “Pickle-juggling. That’s your plan to solve twenty-two years of lies and cover-ups?”
“It would distract us,” she said lightly, but her gaze lingered on his, charged.
The air thickened. His pulse shifted gears, and he leaned back just slightly, but his eyes stayed locked on hers.
“There are other distractions,” he heard himself say.
Yeah, he was playing with fire, and he might as well fight a big rock and hit himself over the head. He knew that was an invitation. A bad one. One that would lead to stuff they shouldn’t be doing if they wanted to keep their focus on work. Hell, maybe pickle juggling was the answer.
Or not.
Her smile faded into something sharper, needier. The silence stretched, neither of them moving until he pushed away from his laptop and stood.
She didn’t flinch when he stepped closer. Didn’t break eye contact. And when he bent his head, she met him halfway, their mouths colliding in a kiss that was nothing like distraction. It was heat and memory and something that had waited too long to burn.
Garrett lost himself in the taste of her, in the way Isla’s mouth answered his with the same urgency that had been building between them for years. He hauled her against him, chest to chest, feeling the press of her body through thin layers of clothes. Her hands skimmed over him with a mix of caution and hunger, careful of his injured arm but not enough to slow the storm rising between them.
The kiss deepened, hotter, reckless. He felt her tremble against him, felt his own restraint slipping. His hand slid between them, cupping her breast, and his thumb flicked across her nipple. She gasped into his mouth, and the sound nearly undid him.
The world narrowed to heat, to the way her body fit his, to the long-denied want roaring to life. His pulse hammered, his muscles tightening with the need to have her, to take them both over that edge. He pressed her harder against him, the kiss raging deeper, and his knees bent, ready to pull her down to the floor with him, to lose himself completely.
That was when the truth slammed into him.
If he didn’t stop now, he wouldn’t stop at all. Not here, not like this. With a ragged breath, he tore his mouth from hers, pressing his forehead to hers, fighting for control while every nerve in his body shouted to keep going.
Garrett was still reining himself in, every muscle taut with the effort of pulling back from Isla, when his phone cut through the silence. The ring jarred against the heat still running in his blood. His body cursed the interruption, but his head knew better. Maybe it was the lifeline he needed.
He fished the phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “It’s Raines,” he told Isla, and he answered the call on speaker.
The sheriff wasted no time. “We got confirmation. Dental records came through. The body in that house was Leah.”
The words hit heavy, not with shock, but with the weight of inevitability. Garrett felt Isla stiffen against him, her breath catching. She muttered something low, raw, and then went still, staring at the table as if trying to piece the fragments together.
Garrett scrubbed a hand over his jaw, his thoughts spinning. They had figured it was her, but confirmation brought no relief. Only more knots.
