Isla’s gut twisted. “This smells like a trap. If he’s really in Dry Creek, we need proof before we go walking in blind. I could get a drone up, scan the area, see if he’s alone.”
Lightning split across the window, thunder cracking after it. She blew out a breath. “Forget that. No drones are flying in this storm.”
She dragged her laptop closer and pulled up photos and a map of Dry Creek. “Last residents left in the sixties,” she said, scrolling through the faded images. “It’s not the Old West, more like a ghost town that’s been rotting for decades. Windows boarded. Storefronts collapsing. Rusted-out signs.”
Garrett leaned in over her shoulder, his jaw tight as he studied the screen. She pointed to a leaning church steeple and the row of crumbling buildings.
“This is the kind of place you pick when you don’t want to be found. Or when you want someone to walk into a killzone. Either Harris remembers it from when he was a kid, or whoever’s pulling his strings does.”
Garrett made a low sound in his throat, something between frustration and agreement, and lifted his phone again. He hit the sheriff’s number and set it on speaker.
“Raines,” came the sheriff’s clipped voice.
“It’s McCall,” Garrett said. “We just got a call from Harris. He says he’s in Dry Creek and wants to meet with Isla and me. He claims Marion Cole wasn’t his mother, that she was a stand-in because his real parents couldn’t risk being with him because they were in WITSEC. The line went dead before we could get more.”
There was silence on the other end for a beat before Raines answered. “Dry Creek? Out by Valdoro?”
“That’s the one,” Garrett confirmed.
“I can be there,” Raines said. “I’ll bring one of my deputies and meet you. But we play this quiet and get a good look at who or what’s there before we go in.”
“Agreed,” Garrett couldn’t say fast enough. “But I don’t like us going in blind. I want to bring in Crossfire Ops. Cal Granger and Jackson Ward. They’ve got surveillance gear that works even in this storm.”
There was a pause, then Raines said, “Go for it. The more eyes, the better. I’ll text when I’m within a mile of the place so we can move in together.”
“Works for me,” Garrett said. He ended the call and glanced at Isla, his eyes steady.
The storm rattled against the windows, and Isla’s stomach tightened. Dry Creek. A ghost town in the middle of nowhere, with a missing man who might not know who he really was, and a killer who had already outmaneuvered them more than once.
While Garrett drove, Isla kept her laptop balanced on her knees, the glow from the screen throwing shadows across thecab. She studied the grainy black-and-white photos of Dry Creek and then typed out a quick text to Lillian Markham.
Did Daniel ever mention a specific spot in Dry Creek? Somewhere he liked to go?
The reply came faster than she expected, the words popping up on her screen.Yes. There was an old country school. It had a stage inside. He used to pretend he was singing on it.
Isla figured that was as good of a starting place as any. She typed back a quick thank-you to Lillian and then pulled up her browser. A search brought up tourist blogs and the scattered posts of urban explorers who’d taken their chances wandering through Dry Creek’s decaying buildings.
She clicked open a recent photo of the school, such that it was. The building leaned against time like a weary traveler, the white paint flaking to gray. One bell tower still clung stubbornly to the roofline, though the bell itself was long gone. The doors were chained but sagged as if one more hard push would topple them inward.
Inside shots showed broken seats scattered across warped floorboards. The stage, though, was still there—a small rise of wood, the planks cracked but mostly intact. In one of the photos, light streamed through gaps in the boarded windows, spilling across the stage like a makeshift spotlight.
Isla stared at it for a long moment, her chest tightening. A boy once imagined himself standing there, singing to an audience that only existed in his head. Now that same boy might be waiting for them there, or may be being used as bait.
She closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself, then angled the laptop so Garrett could see. “That’s it. That’s where he used to go.”
Her phone buzzed again, this time with a new message. Isla swiped it open and read aloud. “Cal and Jackson are on their way. Just a few minutes behind us. They’ve got the equipment.”
Garrett gave a short nod, eyes fixed on the wet ribbon of highway ahead. “Good. I don’t want to walk into that place blind.”
Isla typed back, her thumbs quick over the screen.Scan the whole area before we move in.
Another reply came almost instantly.Roger that. If we pick up more than one heat source inside, assume it’s a trap.
The knot in her stomach twisted tighter. She looked at Garrett, and his expression told her he was thinking the same thing. Harris might be waiting in that stage room, or someone else might be waiting for them.
“Agreed,” she murmured, her voice low.
Garrett’s hand tightened on the wheel. “We’ll know soon enough.”
