Garrett gave a slow nod, though his gut twisted with another possibility. “And there’s Leah. If she set it up, that means she knew exactly where her son was all these years. But if that’s the case, then who killed her?”
Silence hung heavy over the line, filled only by the hiss of rain against the windows and the low sizzle of vegetables in the pan. The questions multiplied, but the answers kept slipping further out of reach.
“I’ll do some digging on Kane too,” Isla told Cal, her fingers already tapping across her laptop keys.
“Good,” Cal said. “Because I’ve got one more thing for you. Those photos Anais showed you of the man on Paula’s property? That’s not Harris. I had the image enhanced, and I’m almost certain it’s Randall.”
Garrett let out a breath that was more growl than sigh. He wasn’t surprised, not after everything they had pieced together.
Isla’s mouth tightened. “Considering Randall and Paula were sleeping together, I can’t say that shocks me.”
“Yeah,” Cal agreed. “Still, it’s useful. I’ve already texted Sheriff Raines the update. He can ask Randall about it during the interview tomorrow. Maybe put some heat on him.”
Garrett stared at the dark window, his reflection looking back like a stranger. “If Randall’s the one pulling these strings, tomorrow could tell us a hell of a lot.”
Or it could be another dead end. But Garrett was hoping that something would break and soon.
They ended the call with Cal, and Garrett dished up the omelets. They ate in near silence, the kind born of exhaustion and too many unanswered questions.
Isla had her laptop open before she’d finished her last bite. Her fingers tapped quick and precise, pulling up the same security footage Cal had used. “He’ll be chasing Harris,” she murmured, “so I’ll chase Kane.”
Garrett leaned over to watch as she slowed the video and zeroed in on a vehicle pulling away from the warehouses. The plates came into focus, and Isla’s eyes narrowed. “That’s him. Kane’s car.”
She followed the trail across feeds from nearby traffic cams, moving the timeline forward, pushing each frame until another camera caught the vehicle. Garrett watched her work, that laser focus of hers something he’d always admired, even when it tied knots in his gut.
He pulled out his phone and logged into a secure channel. “If we can nail down his finances, we’ll know who’s paying him.” His thumbs flew over the screen, submitting the request for Kane’s banking and credit records. “That’ll tell us who’s been hiding Harris and pulling all the strings.”
Isla didn’t look up, eyes locked on the screen. “Then maybe we’ll finally know who we’re really fighting.”
Garrett’s phone buzzed, cutting through the quiet clicks of Isla’s typing. The screen lit up with the Crossfire Ops dispatch number. He answered on the second ring.
“McCall,” he said.
“Someone’s trying to reach you,” the dispatcher replied. “Says his name is Daniel Cole. But he insists you know him as Harris.”
Garrett sat straighter, his grip tightening on the phone. His pulse hammered in his ears. “Patch him through.”
A moment of static, then a young male voice came on the line, taut with nerves. “Garrett McCall?”
Garrett motioned for Isla to listen. She leaned close, her hand braced on his arm. “Yeah. I’m here,” Garrett said. “Where are you?”
“I don’t know who to trust,” Harris said. His words tumbled fast, the fear riding just beneath them. “But I need answers, and I think you have them. Meet me at Dry Creek. The ghost town. I used to go there as a kid. I’ll be there.”
Isla and Garrett exchanged a glance, and he saw the questions written clearly in her eyes. Was this a trap? Was Harris trying to lure them in on the orders of whoever was pulling his strings?
On the line, Harris let out a low groan. “I was told my family was in WITSEC. That Marion Cole wasn’t my mother. That she was just a stand-in since my real parents couldn’t risk being with me. Is that true? Are my parents in WITSEC?”
Garrett drew a breath, ready to answer.
The line went dead.
Chapter Eighteen
A wave of frustration surged hot in Isla’s chest, sharp enough that she had to curl her hands into fists to steady herself. “Damn it. He hung up.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Garrett was already hitting redial, trying to get Harris back on the line. Once. Twice. Each time the call rang into nothing. He swore under his breath, his grip tight around the phone.
“No answer,” he muttered.
