Chapter 17 Grayson
GRAYSON
Standing in the middle of Macy’s bedroom, surrounded by boxes of baby equipment, I feel entirely out of my fucking depth. You’d think promising to try to move on from my grief would be the most daunting task I’d undertake today. It isn’t. Not even close.
My chest still feels heavy with a guilt I’ll always carry, but as I unpack the gifts meant to be a peace offering for what could have been a disastrous fall, I wonder if guilt was the reason I bought them.
The way my heart ripped from my chest when she almost fell and how the excessive drumming of my heart differed from the way her face lit up while she stared at the image of her unborn child expose that I like Macy. I like her a lot, and it isn’t entirely sexually based or work-related.
My feelings are also not new. They’re just more potent now since she’s only weeks away from escaping the bubble of the bureau. Her life’s purpose is about to be outside of the world we’ve lived in together for twelve years, and I’m panicked I will no longer be a main part of it.
Helping Macy even when I’m the one at fault feels right. I want to support her like I was during her scan, to be there for her in any way I can. But I find it hard to forget the pledges I made to Cameron the night she was kidnapped.
That’s my biggest challenge. I hate breaking promises, but this situation is unique. I’ll never stop searching for Cameron, but I can’t exactly preach for Macy to move past her guilt if I’m not willing to do the same.
My eyes flick to the right when a giggle trickles through my ears. Macy is resting on her bed, the swelling of her ankles a constant reminder of the life growing inside her and why it is vital to get this equipment together sooner rather than later.
“Is it as daunting from over there as it is from here?”
Air puffs from my mouth before I share how out of my depth I am. “Give me a screen of code over an Allen key any day.”
I hit her with a stern look when she attempts to slip off the bed. She’s under strict orders of bed rest, and I plan for her to follow the doctor’s orders to the letter.
“I was just going to offer to read the instruction manual for you,” she whispers, slipping back into her original position.
“Can you read Chinese?” Her nose screws up as she pulls a what-the-hell expression. “Then we’re both out of luck.”
After dumping the useless instruction manual onto the bed next to Macy’s thigh, I set to work on assembling the crib and changing table. As I work, my mind drifts to Samuel and the plea bargain he received from a recently appointed ADA.
Our hunch about his deal was right, but the name was hidden in the files. It has to be someone big, someone with enough influence to manipulate the system.
Macy and I worked together on the possible candidates for hours after dinner. We reviewed the details and attempted to piece together the puzzle. Macy’s mind is sharp. It is always working, even when she’s supposed to be resting.
I admire her determination, though I also worry that she is pushing herself too hard.
Alex said Kailany didn’t engage until the week of delivery.
Although Macy is strong and will make it through any obstacle thrown at her, I don’t think she wants her son spending his first few weeks of life in a neonatal intensive care unit.
Air whizzes from my nose when Macy’s giggle reaches my ears for the second time in the past ten minutes.
“I’m sorry.” Her apology is a strategy to miss the daggers of my riled glare.
“But I’m reasonably sure you’re attaching the crib’s base to the changing table’s legs.
” I don’t object when she scoots across the mattress this time.
Her ass is still indenting the mattress, and that’s close enough to bed rest when a colleague is swimming in waters way out of his depths.
“See? These are the legs for the changing table…”
Macy and I work in unison over the next several hours. Building the crib and changing table is similar to the steps we take when piecing together a hard case. It’s just a puzzle we complete in three hours instead of over several years, and she does all the legwork from her bed.
Stepping back from the assembled crib and changing table, I say, “What do you think? Boyish enough for a future linebacker?”
Macy twists her kissable lips before inspecting the crib from afar. “I think it’ll take fifteen weeks of overtime to pay you back, so he’ll need a high-paying job to help his momma out.”
She’s dropped multiple hints about repaying me. I’ve not accepted a single one.
When I spin to gather up the boxes and plastic the crib and changing table came in, I catch Macy mid-yawn. She looks exhausted yet continues to demonstrate exceptional acting abilities.
Her ploy lasts two seconds. That’s how convincing my stern gaze is to people skirting the truth. “Fine. I’ll go to bed earlier than my grandparents.”
When she climbs under the sheets and groans about not being able to find a comfortable position, I wish I could stay like I did last night.
The only reason I don’t is because I don’t trust myself.
I’ve been playing the role of excited daddy-to-be and devoted husband so well today that more than once I’ve forgotten that just because you hope something is true doesn’t mean it is.
I also need to put some hours into Cameron’s case before guilt swallows me whole.
My sole focus today has been on Macy and ensuring her son doesn’t arrive until as close to his due date as possible, but I can’t forget the reason I’m miles from home.
Macy, Cameron, Kendall, and more women than anyone could ever comprehend are counting on me to solve this case. I can’t let them down.
“You good?” My two words break through a final sigh rustling between Macy’s pursed lips.
After waiting for her to nod, I say goodnight and switch off the light. I leave the door open, not wanting anything in my way if she spirals into her guilt again like she did earlier today.
I hate that my gifts upset her, when all I wanted was to make her feel worthy, but I also understand.
The paperwork Macy was working on before the baby equipment arrived rustles when I plonk my ass onto a single armchair. I spread them out on the coffee table before reviewing the reports Macy had mentioned before the delivery driver interrupted us.
It is odd that Cameron’s kidnappers dumped the van within an hour of her abduction.
It’s not typical for an entity like theirs to do that.
It’s usually done when faking a death, like the ruses Tobias regularly ran when he needed to place a witness into a protective detail better than witness protection.
But no matter how often I run the theory that Cameron’s kidnapping was staged through my head, I can’t remove Cameron’s panicked face when she clung to me from my mind, so the thought never lingers for long.
Cameron was abducted, and it is my mission to find her.
I just need to squeeze a few more matters into my already bulging schedule so I can keep the promise I made to Macy when a tear trickled down her cheek a second after her son’s healthy heartbeat rang throughout the ultrasound room.
The next morning, I’m still going through the particulars of Cameron’s file.
My eyes are blurry from a lack of sleep, but I don’t need perfect vision to register that we have an early-morning visitor.
Someone is knocking at the front door of Macy’s apartment, their bangs similar to those law enforcement uses when issuing a warrant.
As I get up to answer the door, Macy slips into the bathroom for the umpteenth time in the past six hours. I should probably cut back on how often I offer her a drink. She used the bathroom a record thirteen times last night. Yes, I counted.
After scrubbing my eyes to rid them of the gunk crusted in the corners, I swing open the door.
I don’t spot anyone until a cough forces my eyes to lower.
Macy is short compared to her male counterparts, but this petite blonde is fairy -sized.
Her head barely reaches my nipples, and she looks like a light breeze could carry her away.
“Agent Cartwright, at your service.” She salutes me, mistaking a protocol usually reserved for the military.
“I was briefed on the situation, and I am here to help.” She clears the wide berth of my shoulders before assessing Macy, who is leaving the bathroom, like she’s the target in question.
I realize that is the case when the agent murmurs to herself, “I should have brought a larger extender.” Her eyes are back on me, determined and somewhat scary.
“I didn’t realize she was so far along. No fear.
I packed spare extenders. They’re in my car. I’ll be right back.”
She races out of the apartment with a spring in her step that announces this is her first assignment.
She is barely out of eyesight when Macy’s words crack out of her mouth like a whip. “You replaced me?” She enters the living room, her steps thunderous. “I don’t need a replacement. This is my case.”
Although I am absolutely loving the return of her gall, I hook my thumb in the direction the kindergarten student fronting as an agent went, and say, “I have no fucking clue who she is.” When Macy scoffs as if I am lying, my spine straightens.
“I have no reason to lie to you, Mace. And why would I buy and assemble a changing table and crib if I were planning to replace you?”
“Probably because she’s still in diapers.” Macy’s tone is furious until what she said dawns on her. A smile lifts her cheeks before the most beautiful noise erupts from her lips. I’ve missed her laugh. “I’m such a bitch.”
“It’s not bitching when it’s true.”