something to eat? I’m hungry.”
Kids. Hopefully she’d been scared enough to mind him. Mulling over how he could keep Molly in the cabin, Garrett walked over to the bag of food on the table.
“Play with your stuffed lion, Molly. We’ll let you know when breakfast is ready.”
“His name is Hairy Houdini. Daddy named him after me ’cause I always disappear.” She ran off to the other room, swinging the lion in the air as if he were flying.
Laurel staggered to the kitchen table and slumped in the chair. She held her head in her hands. “Oh, God.”
“You okay?” Garrett asked after pulling a skillet from a cabinet and setting it on the stove.
“My niece was almost a midmorning snack for a mountain lion. Not really.”
“She’s something else.”
Laurel looked at the bedroom door. The little girl had an animated discussion going on with her toy. “Like nothing happened. Is that normal?”
“Kids are more resilient than we are,” Garrett said before he could stop himself.
“You’ve had experience.” Laurel folded her hands together. Quiet settled in the room, with only Molly’s chatter breaking through.
Garrett’s teeth gritted together. He wasn’t having this conversation. She didn’t need to know how he’d failed to protect his own wife and daughter. Not when he needed her to trust him.
So why did silence feel like a lie? “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. “I need to get the rest of our supplies.” He hurried out the door without giving her time to quiz him.
Idiot. The winter chill bit through his bomber jacket. He scrambled over the rocks and made it to the SUV in record time. He was giving too much away. What was it about her that made Laurel feel so...comfortable? He couldn’t afford to like her. Emotions had no place in his world right now. Not when he was fighting an enemy that held all the cards.
He had to get back on track.
By the time he returned to the house with the last of the supplies, the crackle of bacon and a heavenly aroma filled the room.
“I found the bacon in the freezer,” she said.
Garrett’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since last night. Without saying a word, he set the groceries on the table and started putting them away. They worked side by side, together. Too comfortably. He sliced a couple of loaves of Hondo’s homemade bread. Laurel slid one out of his hands, her touch lingering for a moment. She slathered the toast with butter and popped the slices in the broiler.
“After Molly eats, why don’t you distract her?” Garrett said, clearing his throat. “I’ll do some looking into your father.”
Laurel put down a knife and turned slowly toward him. “How long have you been out of the game?” she asked.
“What makes you think—?”
“At first glance I didn’t notice,” she said, “but I checked out the equipment a second time while you were gone. Most of it is a couple years old. You haven’t upgraded. If you were active, you’d have the latest.”
“Molly, time to eat,” Garrett called out.
He heard the slap of shoes as she raced into the room. She squealed and sat at the table. “Hairy and I are starving to death.” She dug into the bacon and toast, munching down.
“Not a topic for conversation. I get it,” Laurel said. “So, you have a favorite football team, Garrett?”
He looked over his shoulder and sighed. “Between your job and your father’s career, you have to know sharing information is a bad idea.”
“Not much choice. My father is in trouble. So am I. You may be able to help us, but you need me. I have contacts. People I trust. If we’re careful they won’t be able to trace us back here.”
“Really? Even on my outdated equipment? Did Ivy trust them, too?”
Laurel hissed at the barb, but Garrett didn’t waver.
“I won’t apologize. Right now it’s all about finding your father. And that means finishing the job your sister started. On our own.”
* * *
MIKE STRICKLAND SAT in the SUV a block down from the sheriff’s office. They’d gotten nowhere searching the man’s house. The damn town hadn’t had one 9-1-1 call the entire night.
He stroked his stubble-lined jaw. He’d been awake all night, knowing if he fell asleep and missed his chance, his life would be worth nothing.
Strickland couldn’t believe Garrett Galloway was actually acknowledged traitor Derek Bradley.
Wasn’t his fault the man had decided to take his family somewhere that day. Strickland shoved aside the prickle of regret. He’d gained the boss’s confidence with that job. And he’d stayed alive.
He’d also attached himself to the organization the boss had created. Selling guns and secrets to the highest bidder: governments, terrorist organizations, corporations—it didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered but the dollars. Loyalty didn’t mean squat, and the boss didn’t suffer fools. The stakes in the game were too high to risk compromise.
Unless Strickland killed Bradley—make that Galloway—before he saw the boss again, he’d be the next example.
A beat-up truck trundled in front of the sheriff’s office. A young deputy jumped out of his truck. He turned the doorknob, then paused.
So, the sheriff was usually in before now.
The deputy dug his keys from his pocket, inserted one into the lock and pushed the door open.
Strickland’s phone vibrated. “Tell me you have something,” he bit out to Krauss.
“Nothing. Checked out the abandoned house where we triangulated the sheriff’s cell signal. Evidence of someone there, but gone. No prints.”
“His place?”
“Nothing.”
“We’re out of options,” Strickland said. “I’m going to have a chat with the young deputy.” He ended the call, tucked his unidentifiable Glock in his holster, waited for a couple of cars to pass by and stepped out of the vehicle.
He crossed the street and slipped into the sheriff’s office.
“Deputy?”
“Can I help you, sir?”
The young man poked his head out from the back room. Strickland could take him out now and no one would have a lead to follow. He ran his hand over the weapon. “Looking for the sheriff.”
The deputy sighed. “You and me both. He’s not here yet.”
