Chapter 3

chapter

three

Izzy Delgado stared at her laptop screen, the cursor blinking mockingly as if daring her to absorb the wall of text in front of her. Another module in the online private investigator’s course she’d been chipping away at for weeks, and she hadn’t retained a single word. The faint hum of the ceiling fan in her father’s cluttered office barely cut through the stuffy air, thick with the faint smell of oil and grease from the adjoining garage.

The old leather chair creaked as she leaned back and ran a hand over her face. The words blurred together, a jumble of legal jargon and investigative techniques she knew she should master if she ever wanted to make this career change stick. But her thoughts were miles away, circling a familiar spiral of guilt and regret.

Rylan.

His crooked half-smile, like he had a naughty secret.

His compassion and unwavering dedication to helping others heal.

His hard body, covered in all those delicious tattoos.

His mouth, the way it had felt against hers, igniting a fire inside her that had never truly gone out...

But then it all went wrong.

His hazel eyes, blazing with betrayal.

The muscles in his jaw, tight with the effort it had taken not to explode at her.

She’d ruined everything with him. Not that they’d ever really had anything, but there’d been so much potential simmering under the surface, something that she hadn’t dared name. Something that could have been beautiful.

And she’d crushed it.

Izzy sighed and rubbed her temples, her chest aching with the weight of the choices she’d made. Choices she would make again in a heartbeat. Because she hadn’t done it for herself. She’d done it for the people who mattered most.

A muffled argument from the garage pulled her out of her thoughts. She cracked open the office door to see her father and brothers bent over the engine of her old Jeep, their voices rising over the clatter of tools.

“I’m telling you, Papá, you can’t just guess! The diagnostic tool is right there, ” Diego said in exasperation.

“And I’m telling you, ” Javier shot back, brandishing a wrench like a sword, “I don’t need some fancy gadget to tell me what I already know. It’s the alternator.”

Diego threw up his hands. “You don’t know that!”

Izzy stepped into the garage, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You two argue like an old married couple.”

Her oldest brother, Mateo, straightened and shook his head. “Worse than an old married couple. I don’t know how they work together every day without killing each other.”

Javier straightened, wiping his hands on a rag. “ Mija, tell your brother I’m right. It’s the alternator.”

Diego groaned. “Don’t drag her into this.”

Izzy leaned against the workbench, arms crossed. “Considering the Jeep’s been stalling for months, and neither of you have fixed it yet, I’m not taking sides.”

Her father looked affronted. “Ungrateful, that’s what you are. We’re trying to help you.”

“And I appreciate it,” she said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “But if this Jeep gives me another scare on the highway, I’m switching to a bike.”

Diego snorted. “Like that’s safer.”

Before Izzy could retort, her mother’s voice rang out from the house.

“ ?Ninos! Breakfast is ready! Bring your father before he turns that Jeep into a pile of scrap metal.”

Izzy grinned at her father’s indignant expression. “You heard Mamá. Time to hang up the wrenches and fill your bellies.”

Javier grumbled under his breath but set down his tools. Diego clapped him on the shoulder as they made their way inside, but Mateo hung back and eyed her with concern.

“You doing okay, Issa? You’ve been holed up in that dusty office all morning.”

Izzy forced a smile. “Just trying to make some progress on this course. It’s kicking my butt.”

He nodded, but his eyes were still searching her face. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Mateo had always been her protector, her rock. But this was one burden she couldn’t share. He didn’t know about the home invasion a few months ago—nobody knew except for Izzy, her grandmother, and her parents—and her father wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t want to worry the family. ”I know. I’m fine, really. Just stressed about this career change.”

“I’m still not sure why you decided to leave the sheriff’s department for this PI thing.” He slung an arm around her shoulders as they walked into the house. “But you’ve got this.”

The smell of chorizo and fresh tortillas wafted through the air. Breakfast before Mass was a Sunday tradition in the Delgado family, and despite the early hour, the kitchen was a flurry of activity. Her mother, Marisol, flitted between the stove and the table, deftly flipping tortillas with one hand and arranging a colorful fruit platter with the other. Her dark hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.

“Issa, there you are,” she said, her eyes crinkling with a smile. “I was about to send out a search party.”

Izzy kissed her mother’s cheek. “Sorry, Mamá. I got caught up in my course.”

A flash of worry crossed Marisol’s face before she hid it. Izzy opened her mouth to assure her mother she was fine but was cut off by the youngest Delgado sibling.

“No, no, no!” Sofia was hunched over her laptop at the table, her brow furrowed in concentration. “The stock market can’t crash now. I just invested everything in tech startups! My portfolio is ruined!”

Izzy’s other sister, Lucia, arched a brow. She was still dressed in her scrubs from her overnight shift at the hospital and looked tired as she poured herself a mug of coffee at the counter. “Your fake portfolio. In your game. ”

Sofia spun around, looking genuinely distraught. “It’s not just a game, Lulu. It’s preparation for the real world.”

Abuela Ramona, already seated at the head of the kitchen table, watched the exchange with amusement. “You need preparation for the real world? Start by doing your own laundry.”

Sofia groaned and collapsed dramatically back into her chair, mumbling something about no one taking her goals seriously.

“Sofia Mariana, put that laptop away,” their mother chided gently. “It’s family time.”

Izzy chuckled as she found a seat beside her grandmother. Her sister was determined to become a Wall Street tycoon, and she fully believed it would happen someday, stock market simulation crashes notwithstanding. Sofia’s ambition knew no bounds.

As she sat, she felt her grandmother studying her with a critical eye.

“ Ay, nina. Estás muy flaca, ” Ramona said, shaking her head. “Too skinny. Here.” She took the plate from in front of Izzy and plopped a tamale onto it before handing it back. “You’ll never find a man if you don’t fatten up those hips.”

Lucia rolled her eyes as she took her seat. “Abuela, we are strong, independent women who don’t need a man to fulfill our lives.”

“Men are stupid,” Sofia agreed.

“Those guys you date at school are boys , mija,” their mom chimed in. “Not men. But, yes,” she added with an affectionately exasperated grin toward her husband. She slapped his hand away from the pan dulce. “Men are stupid most of the time.”

“Hey,” Javier, Mateo, and Diego said simultaneously.

Abuela ignored them all and put another tamale on Izzy’s plate. “You work too hard, Issa. Your eyes, they have shadows. You need rest and a good man to take care of you.”

Izzy sighed. “I don’t have time to rest, Abuelita. Or for a man. I have to focus on my new career.”

“Ah yes, this detective business.” Abuela waved a hand dismissively. “Chasing cheating husbands and lost dogs. This is what you want to do?”

No. It wasn’t. She wanted her old job back. She poked at the tamales but really had no interest in unwrapping them and eating. “It’s not always like that. I’ll be helping people. Making a difference.”

“You want to make a difference? Have a baby. That’ll make a difference in this old woman’s life.“

“Here we go,” Lucia muttered.

“ ?Mira! All of you and not a ring or a baby between you,” Abuela continued, wagging a finger at her grandchildren. “When I was your age, I already had three little ones clinging to my skirts.”

Lucia wrinkled her nose. “Gross. No way am I having kids any time soon.”

“We’re focusing on our careers right now, Abuelita,” Mateo said, grabbing a tamale from the stack. “Plenty of time for babies later.”

“Says you,” Sofia grumbled. “I’m not having kids. I’ve got plans. Big plans.”

Ramona sighed dramatically. “Dios mío, what is the world coming to? Strong women, yes, but there is strength in family, too.”

Izzy took a sip of her coffee, letting the familiar banter wash over her. It was a conversation they’d had countless times, but it never got old. Abuela’s relentless quest for great-grandchildren was as much a part of their family dynamic as her youngest sister’s grand plans and her father’s obsession with fixing things that weren’t actually broken.

This was her family.

Her world.

And this was why she’d done it—why she’d made the choice that had shattered her relationship with Rylan. She’d do anything to protect them, even if it meant ruining her career and her shot at happiness.

The betrayal was worth it for moments like this.

It had to be.

Izzy took a deep breath and forced a smile as her mother set a plate of huevos divorciados in front of her. Her favorite. “Thanks, Mamá.”

Marisol kissed the top of her head. “Eat. Abuela is right. You’ve lost too much weight these last few months.”

She soaked in the warmth of her family’s love and picked up her fork, but before she could take a bite, a loud, frantic knock at the door shattered the moment.

Everyone froze.

“Who could that be?” Marisol asked, wiping her hands on a towel.

Izzy’s stomach churned. Unexpected knocks on a Sunday morning rarely brought good news. “I’ll get it.” She pushed back her chair and walked to the door, her pulse quickening with every step. She gripped the doorknob, steeling herself for whatever—or whoever—was on the other side. But when she finally pulled the door open, she was still surprised. “Mo?”

Monica Holt looked like she’d been through hell. Her blonde hair, usually sleek and shiny, was a tangled mess. Her blue eyes were wide and bloodshot, darting around as if searching for hidden threats. She was wearing a rumpled sweater and jeans, clutching the straps of a bulging backpack.

“Izzy,” she breathed. “Thank God you’re here. I went to your apartment, and your landlord said you’d moved.”

Izzy stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her. “Uh, yeah, I’m back living with my parents for a bit. I didn’t know you were coming to town, or I would’ve told you to come here.” She scanned the street, half-expecting to see her friend’s two kids waiting in the car at the curb. It was empty, the engine still running, the driver’s side door hanging open like Monica had bolted out of it as soon as it stopped. “What’s wrong? Where are Grace and Noah?”

Monica’s gaze also darted to the street as if checking for someone following her. “They’re—” She choked on the words. “They’re gone.”

“Wait.” Izzy’s heart dropped into her stomach. “What do you mean, gone?”

“They’re missing.” Her voice cracked, the words spilling out in a desperate rush. “They came here last night, but I never heard from them after they got to the cabin. I figured they just fell asleep and forgot to call. I was going to meet them this morning after I wrapped some things up, but then I started thinking that it was weird Grace didn’t at least text. I called, and it went straight to voicemail, so I jumped in the car and drove right here… and the cabin’s empty. All their stuff is there, but they aren’t, and the door was hanging wide open and?—”

“Okay, Mo. Okay. Take a breath.” Izzy grasped her trembling shoulders, steadying her. “Why were they here alone in the first place?” It didn’t make sense. Those kids were Monica’s world. She would never let them out of her sight for long.

“I just… It’s… I-I needed them here. Closer to you. Where I thought they’d be safe.”

“Safe from what?”

She pressed her lips into a line and shook her head.

“Mo—”

“Please, Iz. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“What about the police?”

“No!” That one panicked word was like a whip crack. “No police.”

“What do you mean, no police? If they’re missing, that’s the first place we should start.”

Monica shook her head vehemently, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “You don’t understand. I can’t go to the police. Not about this.”

A cold dread settled in Izzy’s stomach. She’d known Monica for years, ever since they’d waitressed together at The Grove when she was in high school, and Monica was a fresh college dropout who was newly pregnant. They’d stayed close even as their lives took different paths—Izzy to the police academy and Monica to single motherhood. In all that time, she’d never seen her friend this shaken, this terrified.

“All right. No police.” She glanced over her shoulder at the closed door and made a snap decision not to involve her family in whatever this was. They had already been through enough. Instead, she led Monica around the side of the house to her apartment off the garage. “Let’s go inside, and you can tell me everything from the beginning, okay?”