Chapter 14
MACY
Iknew I couldn’t trust the agents in this division.
The men I’ve been investigating for the past several months knew too much.
Every time I attended a meeting to share my findings from the previous four weeks with my colleagues, another piece of intel slipped through my fingers, and the evidence I was working on turned stale.
Now I know why.
Learning that greed isn’t solely about money is infuriating, but I’m thankful for Grayson and Brandon’s assistance. Without them, I’d still be covered in the mess Thompson attempted to sling on me when I turned down his umpteenth invitation to his bed by kneeing him in the balls.
Don’t look at me like that. I said no—multiple times—but I needed more than words since Thompson had enjoyed the festivities too much one long weekend. He responded to my rejection with the violence he usually screamed in my face each day.
Since no one had spiked my drink, I won that battle.
I wish I could say the same about my altercation with Agent Moses.
Mistaking my sigh as a yawn, Grayson’s eyes pop up from a file he’s reading—a file we wouldn’t have to peruse if he hadn’t hidden it while I slept.
It would have taken Grayson hours to duplicate the false files I’d lodged on this case every two weeks for the past five months, but he did it because he wanted Thompson to have plenty of time to brag while stealing months of hard work.
Thompson isn’t smart enough to realize that not even Grayson’s father’s salary could see him splurging on a top-of-the-line Audi, so how could a low-ranked agent afford such a flashy ride?
The hours Grayson put into his sting give cause for the reason he looks so tired. Despite what he tells you, Grayson’s bags have absolutely nothing to do with how many butt clenches he did during my share of the driving.
Though you wouldn’t believe that from the concern in his voice. His tone only portrays worry for me when he subtly hints that I look like shit. “You should go to bed, Mace. It’s late.”
It is, but I’m not tired.
When I say that to Grayson, he raises one impeccably shaped brow. He truly has a face that belongs on a magazine, but his stop-lying-to-me expression makes it seem as if he needs a thirty-minute bathroom break.
I laugh at the image rolling through my head before saying, “I’m tired, but I can’t lie down right now. I’ve been sitting all day.” I stretch cramped muscles as I twist to face him. “You can have the bed tonight.”
With a stubborn look in his eyes, he shakes his head. “I’m not taking the bed. You need it more than I do.”
“You look like shit.” He shoots me a riled look. “What? It’s the truth.”
I’m such a liar. Since we left the gala in a hurry, he only took off his suit jacket. His bow tie hangs open, dangling down the lapels of his white dress shirt, and he has undone the top three buttons, rolling the sleeves to his elbows. He looks like sex and sin in one deliriously handsome package.
“Take the bed and give me the file. You’ll be amazed by what a new set of eyes can find.”
I almost had him over the fence until I underhandedly requested access to Cameron’s file.
He struggles with handing over the reins as it is, and I know how much harder it is when the case is personal.
However, he cannot continue doing this. He can’t keep burning the candle at both ends, or there will soon be nothing left of him.
“I won’t touch anything or mark any notes in her file. I just want to get up to date with the case.” He sighs, his shoulders slumping when I say, “Please, Grayson. Let me help you.”
He looks at me, his eyes searching mine for something before he finally nods. “Okay.” He picks up the file from the coffee table before handing it to me. “This is all I have at the moment. It’s not much, but it’s a start.” He speaks as if the file isn’t thicker than it was designed to hold.
Still stiff from our long commute, I place the file onto the kitchen counter before opening it and scanning through the information. Grayson has been working tirelessly on Cameron’s disappearance, but so much remains a mystery.
“Did you ever discover what she thought she heard in the minutes leading to her abduction?”
Grayson shakes his head before he enters the kitchen to restart the coffee maker. I suggested he sleep while I look over the file, but it was wishful thinking. It’s hard to sleep when the nightmares of your past haunt you even while you’re awake.
I know that better than anyone.
“Did police surveil the area and speak to any witnesses? Perhaps they heard the same thing Cameron did?”
“Yeah.” He pushes the button of the recently replenished coffee percolator. “No one heard anything. Most of the residents were asleep, and those who were awake stated that they only heard screeching tires and the scuffle that followed.”
I confirm I heard him with a chin dip, then keep reading. Considering Grayson’s age and physique, he did a remarkable job defending Cameron. It was five assailants against one, and he held them off for almost ten minutes.
I murmur my thanks when he places a chamomile tea on the island before I scan the pages until I find the pathology report on the blood found at the scene of the burned-out van.
Though my sigh is silent at learning the blood was Cameron’s, Grayson still notices it. “There was no bone or organ matter in the blood.”
“Any tissue matter?” Even though I hate his downcast expression, I need to know precisely what they found. If she had been shot, there would be bone or organ matter, but knife wounds might only look like a pool of blood.
Grayson wets his dry lips before shaking his head. “The only tissue logged into evidence was from the scrapings they took from under my nails.”
“You scratched one of the perps?”
Grayson’s solemn headshake dashes my optimism. “While I was endeavoring to get Cameron away from them, I didn’t realize how hard I must have grabbed her.”
Oh, Grayson. My heart breaks for him. So much so that I don’t protest when the anger he has no right to issue himself sees him snatching Cameron’s file out of my grasp before he stalks back to the living room minus the caffeine he needs to put hours into her case before calling it a night.
Instead, I wait for the percolator to finish before pouring half into a travel mug and placing it on the coffee table that once again houses hundreds of reports, blueprints, and witness statements.
Although I don’t have access to the real file in Cameron’s case, I still have access to the many reports lodged about her abduction over the past seventeen years. I have plenty to work with, so I’m not at all surprised when the next few hours tick by at the speed of light.
I use the time well. While reviewing Cameron’s file, I look for matches to abduction cases that share the same MO. I make a note of some leads that will probably go nowhere but are still worth investigating to keep her case relevant, and I’ve refilled Grayson’s travel mug four times.
I am refilling the percolator’s water tank when a faint rustle projects from behind me.
When I twist toward the noise, Grayson props his shoulder on the doorjamb between the kitchen and the living room before he drags his tired eyes down my body.
“It’s late, Mace, and you’re only weeks from enduring one of the most tiring experiences of your life. You need to rest.”
I shrug as if the dark rings circling my eyes will clear away with makeup wipes.
“I’ll go to bed soon. I want to finish the report I’m reading first.” When he gives me a look as if to say, You look like shit, I purse my lips.
“I’m tired. There’s no point in lying about that.
I am just not comfortable enough to consider sleeping yet. ”
For once, he appears lost.
The knowledge that I finally know something about pregnancy that he doesn’t makes me talk freely.
“It’s… heavy.” What? I said freely, not smartly.
Realizing I will never be one to speak cordially with this man, I blurt out, “Anytime I sit, it’s like the baby’s head is going to fall out of my… ” A cough completes my reply.
A hint of a smile graces Grayson’s lips. I’ve missed it greatly for the past four-plus hours.
After a beat, which feels more like minutes than seconds, Grayson pushes off his feet and enters the kitchen. “Can I try something?”
I nod without pause for thought.
“It is a trick my father did for my mother all the time.” His words tickle my ear when he walks around me.
“We were never tall enough to help our mother with this.” I crank my neck and peer up at him when the warmth of his body heats my back.
“Can I…?” His eyes finish his question. He is seeking permission to touch me.
Incapable of speaking for the fear I will lodge my foot into my mouth again, I hum my agreement.
Grayson smiles faintly before he curls his arms around my body and then places his hands low on my stomach. I’m confused until he takes the weight of my stomach in his hands. Then I feel nothing but sheer relief.
“Oh my god.” I moan as the sensation roaring through me far exceeds anything I’ve experienced in the past decade. “That feels amazing.”
Not thinking, I lean into Grayson’s embrace, my head coming to rest on his chest. With his body taking most of my weight, the weightless feeling I’m experiencing extends from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair.
“I had no idea how heavy it all was until now.”
Grayson doesn’t flinch at me referring to my unborn child as an “it.” He simply allows me to relish a moment I doubt I’d have with anyone else. It is probably because he knows I’m not solely referring to the heaviness of my midsection. His hold has lifted a ton of weight from my shoulders as well.
After all this time, it’s like the only burden I’m carrying is my own.
I force my sluggish eyes to open when Grayson says a short time later, “Do you think you could sleep now?”
I almost scoff at the idea of sleeping standing up until I realize how groggy I am. My eyelids are heavy, and my mouth is dry since it has limited my saliva production.
I’m seconds from passing out.
“I think I could.” Grayson’s laugh rumbles through my back when I murmur through a yawn, “But I’m not sure I could rock a giraffe neckline. Turtlenecks aren’t my style.”
I yawn again, and it sees Grayson slowly maneuvering us toward the bedroom. I love how weightless his hold has made me, but it won’t last when I slip into bed. It is growing increasingly uncomfortable to sit, so I’m unsure if a sleeping position will fare much better.
After I say that to Grayson, he says that there’s no harm in trying.
I mumble obscenities under my breath when the duvet brushing against my knee corresponds with Grayson removing his hands from my stomach. The weight I’m forced to endure alone again drags me into a moody pit in less than half a second, and I more slump into the bed than glide into it.
My throat dries for a completely different reason than tiredness when Grayson requests that I scoot over.
Mistaking my expression, he pulls out an invisible we’re-just-friends card.
“I won’t try anything or do any weird shit.
I’ll get you settled so hopefully you’ll get more than a couple of hours of sleep.
” When his reply sounds foreign even to him, he hooks his thumb to the door.
“I could get some medical tape. It will act like the pregnancy support girdle Alex is adamant Regan will never have.”
I giggle like a schoolgirl when he gags before I slide to the far-left side of the bed. “I’m happy for you to use your hands… if you’re comfortable with that?”
It doesn’t matter the gender; consent is a fundamental requirement for any relationship, including those based solely on friendship.
For the length of time it takes for Grayson to join me on the mattress, anyone would swear I asked him to be the big spoon.
I realize some of the delay was Grayson switching his dress shirt and trousers for boxers and an undershirt when he slips under the sheets next to me. His clothing is as soft as a feather and lulls me even closer to sleep.
“I’ll place one arm under you and drape the other near your stomach.”
Again, he waits for my approval before doing as suggested. Even with only one of his hands accepting some of the weight in my stomach, it is as satisfying this time around as it was earlier. It feels incredible, and I moan in appreciation of the weightlessness.
With his spare hand, Grayson arches me back until my achy hip no longer bears the weight that his hand isn’t accepting. Then he places a gap between my thighs with his knee.
“How does that feel?”
“Good. So good.” My words are more moans than straight-up confirmations.
The mad beat of his heart rages against my back when I scoot back until the arm wedged under me can act like the pillow I use to make sure I don’t roll onto my stomach partway through the night.
Within two quick shuffles, Grayson’s body swamps me, and I’ve never felt warmer or more comfortable. More protected.
When the baby shows his or her appreciation for the additional space, Grayson’s breathy exhale ruffles the hairs at the nape of my neck, though that’s the entirety of his response to the excessive wiggling of my midsection.
I’d look more deeply into his unusual quiet if the steady beat of his heart and the soothing rhythm of his breaths didn’t lull me into a peaceful and uninterrupted slumber.