Garrett yanked Isla back against the wall, his hand covering her head as another echo rippled through the alley. His pulse hammered, every sense sharpened, as he searched for the shooter.
More gunfire cracked through the alley, sharp and relentless, bullets chewing into the concrete just feet from where Garrett crouched. He dragged Isla with him, both of them scrambling behind a Dumpster slick with rainwater and reeking of rot.
The rounds kept coming, hammering the wall above their heads and spitting chips of brick onto their shoulders. The angle of the fire told him it wasn’t Harris pulling the trigger inside his unit. The shots were coming from the back corner of the warehouse next door, the muzzle flash just visible between stacked pallets.
“Isla, stay low,” Garrett hissed, his hand pressed firm against her shoulder.
His blood was pounding, every muscle braced to return fire, but the barrage made it impossible to lean out without taking one to the skull.
“Garrett, Isla,” Raines shouted from the front, his voice cutting through the chaos. “You two all right? Do you have eyes on the shooter?”
“We’re good, no hits,” Garrett yelled back, forcing his voice steady. “No eyes.”
The sheriff’s voice came again, closer this time. “Backup’s on the way.”
Good. Because right now the alley was turning into a war zone. Neighbors were yelling from windows above, someone shrieked in panic, and the blaring of triggered burglar alarms layered over the gunfire. It was deafening, a wall of sound that rattled Garrett’s already frayed nerves.
Still, the shooter didn’t let up. Round after round hammered into the Dumpster, punching holes and ringing metal. Whoever was behind that trigger wasn’t trying to scare them off. They wanted blood.
Garrett twisted enough to shout toward the front, his voice hoarse over the racket. “Raines! Harris is on the move.”
But the Jeep didn’t roll past the sheriff’s position. Instead, Garrett caught the growl of the engine cutting down the narrow back alley, tires screeching on the wet pavement. Harris was gone, slipping out the rear before anyone could cut him off.
With his jaw tight, Garrett pressed his shoulders harder against the Dumpster. Why the hell was the kid running? Why bolt from the only people who might give him answers?
The answer to that had to be the call.
Whoever had reached him on the phone had spooked him, turned them into the enemy in his eyes. That was the only explanation. Harris hadn’t looked like a young man with secrets when they stood at his door. He hadn’t even recognized his birth name.
The memory cut through Garrett’s fury. That blank, unknowing stare when Raines had asked him if Harris McCord meant anything. No flicker of recognition. No guilt. Just confusion.
So why run?
Harris had been set up to believe Garrett, Isla, and the sheriff were the threat. And now, with bullets hammering down around them, the truth was slipping further out of reach.
The air cracked, then hissed. A canister clattered against the pavement, spewing smoke that swallowed the alley in seconds. The acrid sting clawed down Garrett’s throat, burned his eyes. He ducked low, gun ready, straining for a target he couldn’t see.
The gunfire stopped. Silence pulsed through the haze, broken only by pounding footsteps cutting away into the maze of warehouses.
Garrett surged forward, heart hammering. He broke into a sprint, chasing the sound through the gray shroud. Another canister skidded across the concrete at his feet, belching a fresh wall of choking smoke. He pressed on, coughing, teeth clenched.
Then, a third landed just yards ahead. The alley vanished, thick as fog at midnight. He dropped to one knee, chest heaving, fighting for breath he couldn’t drag in.
The footsteps faded. Gone.
Garrett slammed a fist against the ground, coughing until his lungs burned. Whoever had orchestrated this was gone, the smoke their cover, and once again the truth slipped into the dark.
Their attacker had gotten away.
Chapter Sixteen
The storm chased them to Garrett’s porch, wind whipping the rain sideways as they bolted inside. Isla shoved the door closed behind them, the slam drowned out by thunder rolling overhead.
Her hair clung damp against her face, raindrops sliding down her cheeks and dripping from the ends onto her jacket. Garrett wasn’t any better, water streaking down his face, his jacket and jeans darkened with the rain, his boots leaving faint damp prints on the floor.
For a long moment neither of them moved. They just stood there, catching their breath, dripping, the quiet of the house pressing down on them. Frustration hung between them like another storm cloud, thick and heavy.
All day. Reports, interviews, dead ends. The hours had slipped through their fingers like water, and Harris… Harris was still gone. It was as if he’d been swallowed whole by the city.
