Chapter 5 Grayson #2
Although I raised my suspicions with Tobias, I never spoke of them to Macy. Macy believed her sister was abducted, which was all the incentive I needed to keep Kendall’s case open.
Hating the unease forming in Macy’s eyes, I attempt to eradicate it. “Never pictured you as a trust fund baby, freckles.”
Anyone else would take my comment as an insult.
Macy doesn’t. Everyone who truly knows her knows she takes nothing for granted.
She won’t even accept the perks most agents get in a close-knit community.
She pays for every coffee she drinks and every parking fine she receives, which is ludicrous considering they were only issued because she had to park illegally outside a culprit’s residence or let them get away.
“Probably because I’m not a trust fund baby, Malfoy.” After grabbing her coat from behind the laundry room door, she heads for the exit. “My parents stripped my name from the ledger the instant I joined the bureau.”
She leaves her apartment, depriving me of the chance to interrogate her further.
After snagging my keys and wallet off the kitchen counter, I follow her into the parking lot beneath the apartment building.
Her car is the standard government-issued vehicle that all agents receive during a long placement.
Dust covers its dark paintwork; the cab is filled with paperwork, just like her apartment, and the gas tank is almost empty.
I angle my head to hide my smile when Macy asks Siri for directions to the closest mall before she enters the address into the compact GPS installed in her car’s dashboard. It doesn’t take a skilled profiler to deduce that this is the first time she has left her apartment in months.
I pull on my belt and latch it into place half a second after Siri announces for Macy to take the first right upon exiting the underground parking garage. She floors the gas, thrusting me back into my seat and whipping back my hair as my man bun once did.
My knuckles turn white when I grip the edge of my seat from Macy approaching an intersection without her foot slipping from the gas pedal. She takes the on-ramp sharply, cutting off motorists who have the right of way.
Tires screech, and the car’s momentum as it skids around a tight corner makes me one with the passenger door.
Macy is utterly unfazed by the chaos she’s creating, and I savor the rush of adrenaline slicking my skin instead of considering what downfall it will leave in its wake when it disappears as fast as it arrived.
I’ll never let Macy know that, though. “For someone who gagged when I suggested a quick grocery run, you seem more than eager.”
She glances briefly at me, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. “I just recalled the date I have this evening and how severely lacking my wardrobe is. This could be my only chance to get a new LBD.”
I vomit a bit, and the bile scorches my throat. “You have a date tonight?”
I glance around the cab of her car, seeking the jealous, neurotic prick who spoke those words. When I fail to find anyone, I shift my eyes back to Macy. She casts a wary glance in my direction yet defiantly lifts her chin.
“Is he… ah… is he your baby daddy?”
Macy laughs, the jingle soft and carefree.
“If he is, I wouldn’t know it.” My head smacks into the window when she races off the freeway like she’s in pursuit.
Once she veers around two cars enjoying a leisurely coastal drive, she breathes out slowly.
“Despite an eager participant putting his hand up”—her teeth clench as tightly as I clench my ass cheeks when she misses rear-ending a truck by a cat’s whisker before she enters the lot of a local shopping mall—“I requested that the donor remain anonymous.”
“Makes sense.” I work my jaw back and forth, striving to keep my cool. I’m not fretful about our near-fatal car crash. It’s from recalling a file I read this morning.
Macy’s last superior didn’t solely suggest she have an abortion.
He booked her an appointment.
“It means no one has any claim to your baby but you. He or she is solely yours.”
Her foot slips off the gas pedal as she works my comment through her head. “Mine?”
I incline my chin before nudging it at a space in an overcrowded lot.
Once she pulls into the parking spot I suggested, I tug up the parking brake, lean across her swollen stomach as if there are inches of room between it and the steering wheel, and then yank the keys out of the ignition.
“I appreciate your fearless sense of adventure, but I’m not ready to die just yet.” I drink in the massive steel-and-concrete monstrosity in front of us. “Though my plans could change after we wrangle that bad boy.”
My witty comment drags Macy out of the pit I threw her into. She rolls her eyes while flinging off her belt. As she slips out of the car, she grumbles, “You have twenty minutes. Max. If I had hours to waste, I wouldn’t waste them dawdling through aisles of overprocessed food for hours on end. I’d…”
When her voice trails off and an adorable crinkle pops between her brows, I endeavor to keep the line of communication open. “You’d…?”
The groove between her brows deepens as she shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do.”
Although I’d love to give her a heap of optimism, I’ve issued too many false promises lately—mostly to myself. Instead, I house her car keys in my pocket, wrap my arm around her tiny shoulders, and then guide her toward the most daunting shop in the state.
Baby Bunting.
Burning rubber wafts into my nose for the second time today when Macy tries to backpedal. She digs her shoes into the asphalt, her strength impressive considering her height and stature.
When my determined hold thwarts her wish to flee, she whispers, “You said we needed food and vitamins. This was not mentioned.”
“I also said we needed stuff.” I lower my eyes to hers before shifting them to the warehouse-sized building sticking out like a sore thumb. “This is stuff.”
“I thought you meant toilet paper and a new toothbrush.” She shoots me a glance that announces she knows I used her toothbrush this morning when a quick search of my bag announced I had forgotten to pack mine.
She’s a little anal about people using her toothbrush.
I don’t know why. Some undercover agents exchange more than spit during covert operations.
We came close a couple of times. “This is not on the agenda. Ever.”
I’m just as bewildered as she is, but I play it cool. “We have hours until Brandon will let us touch a single file.”
“Then I’ll switch my dinner date to a lunch rendezvous.”
I pretend she never interrupted me. “And once that happens, we won’t have a second to ourselves, so we may as well use the time well now.”
“That isn’t true. I’m close. I have several leads and a reliable source that…” Her words soften the longer I stare at her. She doesn’t want to admit this. Hell, I don’t want her to admit it, but we’re weeks away from unearthing reliable intel, and even then, it could lead us down another dead end.
This type of case is never solved in six weeks. I’m just wishing like fuck for a miracle.
Not wanting to face the truth, Macy pushes a wayward hair away from her face before saying, “Fine, but if you mention breast pads and sanitary napkins again, you will learn the hard way that my bump covers more than a gun. My right hook is just as dangerous.”
While waggling my brows, loving that the mud the bureau slung on her years ago, when they took the word of her attacker over her, hasn’t swiped her feisty personality, I open the door of the baby store and gesture for her to enter before me, the tremor of my hands unmissable.