CHAPTER SIX

Morning came swiftly, and Rachel had spent half the night studying the game cams she'd placed at her Aunt's cabin.

Still no movement.

Now, she slammed the door to her F-150 and left the truck behind as her boots tapped against the concrete sidewalk.

The sun beat down mercilessly on the dusty street as Rachel approached the coffee shop. Ethan was already there, leaning against the brick wall, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. He straightened up as she drew near, a grim expression on his face.

"Mornin', Rae," he greeted her. He brightened a bit as she arrived, as he often seemed to do whenever she came around.

Rachel nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. "What's the word on the search?"

Ethan shook his head, frustration evident in the set of his shoulders. "Nothin' yet. We've been combing the desert for fifteen hours, but it's like lookin' for a needle in a haystack out there." Ethan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "The desert's a big place, Rae. It could take weeks to cover all that ground."

Rachel's mind raced, considering the possibilities. The suspects, the motive, the vastness of the Texas landscape. She frowned, refocusing. The search teams would keep looking, but by now, the trail was likely going cold.

They needed to find a lead the old-fashioned way, with boots on the ground. Their destination was only a couple blocks down the street. Her eyes trailed to the giant office building with

"GRANT INDUSTRIES" emblazoned across its facade.

Ethan followed her gaze. He pulled out his car keys, jingling them absentmindedly. "So, who are we going to see?"

Rachel turned her attention back to him, meeting his eyes. "We have four suspects." She raised her fingers, ticking off each name as she mentioned them. "Mallory Standish, old oil man from Lubbock. Charles Thorne, tech investor from Austin. Elias Grant, real estate owner. And Morris,” she added after a pause.

Ethan's eye widened slightly at the last name, and he stared at her for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. "Morris? Rebecca's father?"

Rachel nodded once, her face neutral. "I want to keep an eye on him."

They walked in silence towards Ethan’s car park down the street. Despite the heat of the day, Rachel felt a chill run through her spine as she considered their next course of action.

Minutes later, they stood outside Elias Grant's office building downtown. The main entrance was swarming with construction workers in bright yellow helmets and orange vests - renovations were under way and the elevator was out of service.

The flickering neon light of the ‘Exit’ sign marked their path to the fire escape stairs - their only way up to Grant’s office on the third floor.

Ethan frowned, his forehead creasing. He took a long sip from his coffee mug.

“So we’re starting with this Grant, guy?”

“Yeah.”

“The others?”

"Ruled out two," Rachel said. "Still keeping uniforms on them, but I don't think it's likely. For one," she held up a finger, "Standish hasn't been on Texas soil for more than a fortnight, stuck on some business trip in Dubai. And two," she held up another finger, "Thorne's been nursing a broken hip at Austin General Hospital for the past three weeks."

Ethan slipped off his sunglasses, tucking them into his shirt pocket. His eyebrows drew together, creasing his forehead with deep lines. "That leaves Grant as our main guy then. And Morris.”

Rachel nodded, her gaze unwavering.

The old office building loomed before them, its brick facade weathered and stained. Rachel's boots crunched on broken glass as she approached the entrance, Ethan close behind. Yellow caution tape fluttered in the hot breeze, stretching across the doorway like a warning.

"Looks like the foyer's under construction," Ethan said, eyeing the debris.

Rachel's gaze traveled up the side of the building, settling on a rusted fire escape. "Guess we're taking the scenic route."

She grasped the metal railing, the heat searing her palm, and began to climb. The steps groaned beneath their weight, flakes of rust raining down with each footfall. Sweat trickled down Rachel's spine as they ascended, the sun an unrelenting presence.

At the third-floor landing, Rachel paused, her hand resting on the gun at her hip. Voices drifted through the open window, muffled and tense. She exchanged a glance with Ethan, his jaw clenched tight.

With a deep breath, Rachel pushed open the door, the hinges shrieking in protest. The receptionist's desk loomed before them, a hulking man with a shaved head seated behind it. He looked up, his eyes narrowing as they approached.

"Can I help you?" His voice was a low rumble, his tone far from welcoming.

Rachel flashed her badge, the metal cool against her skin. "Texas Rangers. We're here to see Elias Grant."

The man's lips curled into a sneer. "Mr. Grant's not seeing anyone today."

The giant thug in question resembled a brick wall: wide, solid, and unyielding. A poorly shaven jawline jutted out stubbornly, framed by a thick neck that bulged with muscular sinew. He wore an oversized suit that was likely tailored just for him, but it did little to conceal his intimidating form. His dark eyes, buried under bushy eyebrows, glared at them with a cold hostility.

She frowned back at the pitbull in a suit, but Ethan stepped in. He always took the gentler approach. She'd once heard it said one could catch more bees with honey, but in her experience

, bees weren't so easily swayed. She watched as Ethan smiled, his eyes meeting the thug's in a direct challenge.

"We won't take too much of his time," Ethan assured him. "Just a few questions."

The thug wasn't moved. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossing over his chest. "Mr. Grant's not seeing anyone today," he repeated stubbornly.

Rachel bit back a sigh, her patience waning quickly. She'd never been fond of the cat-and-mouse game; it was one of the reasons she'd pursued law enforcement rather than politics.

Just then, the door in the back of the foyer banged open.

Two men in suits emerged from the office behind him, their gazes hard and assessing. Rachel felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, a prickle of unease running down her spine. The air crackled with tension, the scent of cigarette smoke and expensive cologne cloying in her nostrils.

"I suggest you make an exception." Rachel's voice was steel, her eyes locked on the receptionist. "Unless you want us to come back with a warrant."

The man's eyes flickered to the men behind him, a silent conversation passing between them. Rachel's hand tightened on her gun, every muscle in her body coiled.

Ethan stepped in front of her, still wearing that warm smile of his. “We don’t need to stay long. Just a few minutes.” His badge was in his hand, displayed for the others to see.

Now the two other men who’d come from the office stepped forward, both frowning.

The receptionist was on his feet.

All three of them looked like linebackers.

The one in the center, a man whose nose had been broken and badly set enough times to look like a twisted root vegetable, snarled. "You got no cause, no warrant."

Rachel didn't blink as she pulled her focus back to the receptionist. "Do we need to discuss this with your boss directly?" Her voice was still cool, still steady.

The two goons exchanged glances before the stony-faced one growled, his voice as rough as gravel under tire. "The boss ain't here."

Rachel's eyes darted towards the back door from where they'd appeared.

"You expect us to believe that?"

Ethan spoke again, his tone smooth, attempting to keep the situation from escalating further. "Look, we just want to ask a few questions. We'll be out of your hair in no time."

But Rachel wasn't convinced by their stonewalling. She bulldozed past Ethan and straight towards the guarded office door. One of the brutes moved to intercept her, but Ethan, faster and more agile than his size suggested, stepped between them.

"Let's not make this any harder than it needs to be," he said.

Three suited gorillas tried to intervene, all of them wearing scowls as dark as their charcoal suits. Each of them approached, tense and muscled. Rachel noticed one of them reach into their jacket, their hand disappearing out of sight.

“Hey!” she barked suddenly.

Before anyone could react, she drew her weapon faster than the blink of an eye.

Ethan shouted something incoherent.

The man reaching into his jacket pocket tensed, his eyes narrowed.

“Hey, hey,” said the biggest of the group. The man with the misshapen nose. He raised his hands, palms out. "No need for that."

Rachel's finger rested lightly on the trigger, her aim steady. "Move away from the door."

The men exchanged glances before slowly stepping to the side, their movements deliberate and measured. Rachel's gaze flicked to Ethan, her message clear. He nodded, reaching for his own weapon as he took a step forward.

"You won't find anything," Broken Nose warned, his voice gruff. "You're wasting your time."

Ignoring him, Ethan kept his weapon trained on the thugs. He tutted his tongue and nodded at the man who was still withdrawing his hand from his pocket. “Careful,” Ethan warned.

The three men all glared at where Ethan stood sentry, gesturing them to the side. The suited men with their slick hair stepped slowly to the side, and Rachel actually heard the sound of clinking metal from where golden chains shifted on hairy chests under pale t-shirts.

But she ignored all of this. Cautiously, she approached the door and rapped her knuckles against the polished wood. It was eerily silent on the other side.

"We're coming in," she said, loud enough to carry through the door. No response. She glanced back at Ethan, her gaze steady.

He gave a nod, his gun trained on the men still. With one swift motion, Rachel pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

The office was vast and grandiose, with floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a panoramic view of downtown Texas. An oversized mahogany desk dominated the space, flanked by multiple shelves laden with expensive memorabilia; awards, trinkets, and assortments of high-end liquor.

In stark contrast to the commotion outside, it was eerily quiet. The air was stale with an unplaceable musk she recognized from too many years on the job: fear.

There was no one inside. A chrome-plated laptop sat closed on the desk, and a stack of documents lay in neat piles alongside it. An expensive-looking leather chair was positioned behind the desk, its back facing them.

"Mr Grant?" Rachel called out, her voice echoing in the silence. She rounded around to face the chair while Ethan stayed by the door, scanning their surroundings.

Without waiting for an answer, she reached for the chair and swung it around.

Empty.

There was no sign of Elias Grant—just another empty room that smelled heavily of cigars with a hint of something stronger: whiskey, perhaps.

Rachel took in each detail: a golden pen lying alone on an otherwise empty blotter; a half-empty tumbler bearing marks of quick evaporation; a cigar still smoldering in a crystal ashtray, the tendrils of smoke curling upwards before dissipating into the stale air.

"Looks like we just missed him," Rachel stated, disappointment tightening her features.

She picked up the cigar, still warm to touch. He definitely had been here and not too long ago. She turned sharply at a soft rustling sound behind her.

Her gaze landed on what she'd initially taken for a closet door, but the opaque glass panel told her otherwise. Her heart pounded in her chest; she and Ethan exchanged glances before he gave a slight nod of approval.

She crossed the room and pressed her ear against the door. Inside, she could hear a low hum – probably from some kind of appliance. She tried the door handle, and to her surprise, it turned easily in her hand. She pushed the door open.

Inside was a small, windowless room. The single fluorescent tube light on the ceiling bathed everything in a sickly yellow hue. Its source was a sleek, modern server rack that dominated the majority of the room’s limited space.

And then she spotted the two figures.

"Hey!" she shouted suddenly, eyes widening as she realized what she was staring at. "Hey! Drop it! Drop it now!"