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“We don’t always need to hire someone for our problems. Where’s your sense of adventure?” Callum says.
It’s up my arse picking daisies.
My skepticism lingers, fueled by the eerie silence of the desert and the persistent uncertainty of our surroundings. I glance over Jagger’s shoulder at the GPS, displaying a seemingly endless stretch of unpaved roads, providing little reassurance.
As the SUV presses on, leaving a trail of dust in its wake, a sense of skepticism and anticipation hangs in the dry desert air, mirroring the uncertainty of the journey ahead.
We should have left dead dogs lying dead instead of crossing over this vast and unfamiliar terrain in search of the elusive Eden’s residence.
If she does live out here, she’s made it ultimately clear that she doesn’t want to be found.
Amidst this arid landscape and rugged terrain sits this small yet striking sanctuary. From the outside, it looks like an oasis of opulence and refinement, seamlessly blending modern elegance with a touch of desert charm.
It’s a stunning fusion of modern architecture and desert-inspired aesthetics. Clean lines and geometric shapes define the structure, withlarge, floor-to-ceiling windows probably offering panoramic views of the surrounding desert.
An impressive amount of solar panels discreetly adorn parts of the property, silently harnessing renewable energy. A sleek, infinity-edge pool stretches along one side of the ranch, mirroring the clear blue sky above.
This is precisely how I would have imagined Eden’s paradise.
A rather large, dusty trailer sits on the other side of the property. It doesn’t quite fit with the rest of the design. It just sits there, calling out all kinds of curious appeals.
The front door opens partially as I step out of the vehicle, and my boot hits the sandy ground hard. I noticed the camera on the open gates as we passed them and now watch the two move on either side of the building.
Eden’s always been a stickler for security, but why here in the middle of the desert, where her name carries no weight in the media anymore?
I hold my breath to see the face of the woman behind that open door. A flood of emotions rush through me, catching me off guard and stirring a decade-old ache in my chest. I’m about to see the woman I once declared my love to, intimately connected with, and abruptly, harshly parted ways without any kind of closure.
It’s bloody nerve-racking.
“Catalina,” Jagger says as soon as the woman, who is obviously not Eden, steps into the doorframe.
Who is she?
I rake my brain, trying to remember who this older lady is.
Eden had no family, and I look at Ash, whose face tells me he recognizes her. I won’t bother with Callum; he was probably stoned for most of his relationship with Eden.
“Hey, little lady,” my brother casually says. “Brittney never mentioned you still work with Eden.”
Aha! Eden’s care worker.
As soon as success started to make a presence in Eden’s bank account, she went to court at 14 to get emancipated from her foster family and hired Catalina as her care worker. She was like a live-in adult assistant on a payroll. I’m guessing Eden just kept her on to run this ranch house.
She looks older and maybe a little wider, but she’s looking at us, seriously hacked off, her jaw’s tight, and her stance is as if she’s ready to launch herself at us.
“You boys need to get back into your vehicle and return to LA. Brittney said you’ll come sniffing around. There’s nothing for you to destroy here.”
“Catalina, we’re here to talk with Eden. Can we please have two minutes? Then we’ll go,” Asher says, his voice softening.
“She’s not here.”
“Don’t believe you.”
“She’s at the physiotherapist. The drive is forty minutes from here. Best you leave.”
“Why’s she at the physio?” Callum asks what we all want to know.
There’s no hiding the displeasure on the woman’s face. Her brows, slightly furrowed, form a deep crease on her forehead. She’s reluctant to engage in answering any of our questions.
