eyes widened a bit and she tasted more. “Wow. That’s yummy. But I want chocolate chip.”
“Glad you think so.” He slid one of Hondo’s cookies toward the little girl and she gifted Garrett with an impish smile.
He winked at Molly, who downed another gulp. Laurel couldn’t resist, even though she detested the drink. She chanced a taste. The nutmeg and vanilla hit her tongue with soothing flavors. “Mmm. How’d you come up with this recipe?”
“My wife invented it, actually. Put our daughter to sleep.” A shadow crossed his face, then vanished just as quickly. “They’re gone now.”
“My mommy and daddy and brother and sister are gone, too,” Molly said with a small yawn. “I hope they come back soon.”
Laurel bit her lip to keep the sob from rising in her throat. “Is there someplace I can settle her down?”
Molly’s body sagged against Laurel. A few more minutes and the little girl wouldn’t be able to fight sleep any longer.
“Pick a room,” Garrett said. “I’ll check the perimeter and secure the house.”
He strode toward the door.
“Garrett,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Laurel. Thank me when this is over. Until then, I may just be the worst person you could have come to for help.”
* * *
GARRETT STOOD SILENTLY in the kitchen doorway as Laurel padded into the living room.
“She asleep?”
Laurel whirled around. Then her head bowed as if it were too heavy for her shoulders. He could see the fatigue in her eyes, the utter exhaustion in every step.
“She was bushed. It’s been a rough few days. She just downed the last of her medicine, so hopefully the strep throat is gone.”
He tilted his head toward the sofa. “You look ready to collapse. Have a seat. My deputy’s been busy tonight calming the town. He received a report of an SUV speeding out of town early tonight. I told him to keep out of sight but watch for it. If they’re smart, they’ll dump the vehicle.”
“But they won’t give up,” Laurel said.
“I doubt it.”
Laurel lowered herself to one end of the sofa, twisting her hands on her lap. “You work for the agency? With my father?”
Garrett sat in the chair opposite her. “In a way.” No need to volunteer that he was off the roll. If the agency didn’t think he was dead, he’d probably be awaiting execution for treason.
Just one of many reasons he shouldn’t allow himself to get too close to Laurel.
But even as he faced her, he felt the pull, the draw. And not because she was gorgeous, which she was, even with that horrible haircut and dye job. Beauty could make him take notice just like any man, but that didn’t turn him on half as much as how she’d fallen on top of Molly to protect her.
She was a fighter—a very good thing. She’d have to be for them to get out of this mess alive.
Which put her off-limits. That and the fact that she was James’s daughter.
“Your father trained me,” Garrett said, trying not to let himself get lost in his attraction for her. “He saved my life, actually.”
Laurel tucked her legs beneath her. “I thought it had to be something like that. I used to watch Dad train in the basement when I was a kid. I recognized that move when you dived to the ground.” She rubbed her arms as if to ward off a chill. “Ivy worked every night to perfect it. In spite of Dad.”
“I heard about the destruction to his office. I don’t think James wanted her to join up.”
“He was furious, but Ivy has...had,” she corrected herself, “a mind of her own.” Her voice caught and her hands gripped her pants, clawing at the material. “Dad raised us to be independent. She wanted more than anything to follow in Dad’s footsteps. She wanted to make the world safe.”
Laurel’s knuckles whitened and she averted her gaze from his. Every movement screamed at him not to push. Garrett could tell she was barely holding it together, and if she’d given him the slightest indication he would have crossed the room and pulled her into his arms and held her. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, studying her closely. He hated to ask more but he needed information. He had to know. She might not even be aware of the information she possessed. “Where’s James, Laurel?”
Her breath shuddered and she cleared her throat. “I don’t know. He stopped calling or emailing two months ago. Then out of nowhere a package arrived this week. He sent a charm bracelet to Ivy.”
This week. So if James had really sent the package, he’d been alive a week ago. Garrett’s shoulders tensed. “Did you bring it?”
Laurel pulled a silver bracelet from her pocket. She touched the small charms and the emotions welled in her eyes. Reluctantly she handed it to him. “Ivy shoved it into my hand as she was leaving that night...” Her voice broke. “She said it was important.”
He studied the silver charms. Nothing extraordinary. A wave of disappointment settled over him. Surely there was something here. He studied each silver figure, looking for a clue, a message from James. A horse, a dog. A seashell. Several more. Nothing that Garrett understood, but he’d bet Laurel had a story to tell about each one. The question was, did any of those stories have a hidden message? He handed her back the treasure.
“Tell me about the figures.”
She walked through a series of memories. A trip to the ocean with the family right before her mother passed away. Their first dog and his predilection for bounding after fish in freezing mountain streams just to shake off and soak everyone. A horse ride that ended in a chase through a meadow. Her voice shook more with each memory, but the hurt didn’t provide anything new. Garrett couldn’t see a connection.
He let out a long, slow breath. He had to ask. “How did Ivy die?”
Laurel stared down at the floor. He knew exactly how she felt. Sometimes even looking at another human being could let loose the tears. After Lisa and Ella, he hadn’t allowed himself to give in to his emotions. He’d shoved the agony away, buried it in that corner of his mind where it wouldn’t bring him to his knees. Garrett had focused on revenge instead. He’d had to in order to survive.
But since Laurel had landed underneath him on the streets of Trouble, the pain he’d hidden had begun scraping at him, digging itself out.
She didn’t look up. She simply twisted the denim fabric in her fists. “The explosion burned Ivy almost beyond recognition. She lived. She gave me your name. Then they shot her in the head.”
Her voice strangely dispassionate, she went through every detail. When she told him about the single cop’s arrival, Garrett closed his eyes. At least one law-enforcement officer on the take. Probably more.
Asking for help was out of the
