Chapter 22 Macy
MACY
When the Lamaze class wraps up, Grayson’s lips brush the shell of my ear, sending an exciting trickle rolling down my spine. “Let’s wait a bit.” His voice is barely audible over the murmur of the crowd packing up after the hour-long class. “See who the instructor talks to.”
He waits for me to agree before assisting me to my feet, then gathers our belongings and hands them to me before rolling up the yoga mat. His movements are clumsy and slow, like he’s never handled a single piece of gym equipment in his life.
His banging guns make him an instant liar.
After placing the yoga mat back on its designated stack, we remain at the rear of the room to observe who the instructor distributes my business card to. It’s a long shot, but even a tiny lead can sometimes solve a case.
As the couples approach the instructor to thank her for her help, I spot the couple I highlighted earlier making a break for it. They don’t seem eager to shower the instructor with praise. It appears they’d rather be anywhere but here.
“I’ll be back,” I say to Grayson, aware that in a situation like this, divide and conquer is always the preferred method.
Sticky humid air smacks into me when I exit the Lamaze class. It is a stark contrast to the icy-cold setting I just left. When I reach Piper and Shaw near the main entrance door, I straighten up and pretend I know who they are.
“Hey, long time no see!” I call out, waving.
The young woman, who looks weeks from giving birth, kicks up gravel when she jackknifes back. While she hits me with a look of disdain, her top lip curls into a snarl. “Do I know you?”
I bridge the distance between us, grimacing when the tape near the waistband of my panties tugs a handful of felonious body hairs. “It’s been ages. You were only—”
“In diapers the last time you saw me?” she snaps out, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “How old are you, anyway? Shouldn’t you be at home, knitting or something?”
Although embarrassed, I continue approaching. Teens think anyone over thirty is ancient. “I didn’t know you were expecting. How far along are you?”
The man at the top of our perpetrator list joins us at the edge of the parking lot before she can answer. “Can I help you…?”
He leaves his question open for me to fill in. “Charlotte.” I hold out my hand in offering. “I met Piper at an art class a couple of years ago. She has a lot of talent.”
My assumption about the stains proves correct as excitement for my praise appears on Piper’s face, but her bewilderment quickly turns into a snarl, and it ruins my ruse.
“Piper?” She shifts her dark eyes to the man staring at me in suspicion. “Who’s Piper?” Suddenly, instead of the badass she’s trying to portray with her grungy outfit, she looks frightened. “Dad…”
“It’s okay, Simone. I will take care of this.
” The man, now with eyes oddly similar to the girl he referred to as Simone, side-eyes me while tugging his “daughter” behind him in a protective manner.
“I don’t know who you think you are or what you are planning to do, but it will not happen to my daughter. ”
I bite back my response when his brisk movement to get up in my face flaps out his coat enough to show I’m not the only one working a case. His leather belt houses a shield. I can’t tell from which precinct, and even though I can’t see his gun, I know he’s carrying one.
Although I could break cover, I don’t. Grayson weeded out the snakes in this division of the bureau within days of arriving, but rarely do they travel alone. Also, tell me one detective who can afford three-thousand-dollar loafers and a Rolex?
“Sorry, case of mistaken identity.” My fingers find a thread in the hem of my shirt. “Joys of baby brain.”
When Simone appears more surprised than understanding, I gaze down at her bump. After noticing how it hangs lower now that she was tugged, I shift them to the man glaring at me before I turn on my heel and walk away.
I quickly return to the Lamaze class, my mind racing with possibilities. Is Simone actually pregnant? And is the man who protected her really her father? Or was she the only option for an overworked team, and the unnamed detective had to take anyone he could get to his latest sting?
I’m eager to update Grayson, but since he’s already in an intense interrogation, I must wait.
“I need the names of all the students in your classes.” Grayson speaks slowly, like he does when demanding respect rather than earning it, as he steps closer to the instructor. His face is a mask of barely controlled anger. “Now.”
The instructor looks frustrated, like she’s spoken these words a dozen times already. “I can’t give you that information, Ethan. It’s confidential.”
I gasp sharply when Grayson pulls out his badge, his cover blown in the blink of an eye. “Agent Rogers.” He steps even closer, his presence intimidating. “This is a matter of national security.”
The instructor can’t catch her breath. She just stares at Grayson, appearing as shocked as I feel.
Her bewilderment doesn’t yank Grayson off the scent. “I require the names of every student in your classes.”
She thrusts the clipboard holding the names of the attendees from today’s class into his chest, but that isn’t good enough for Grayson.
“I need all your students’ names. Now!” He shouts his last word, startling the instructor so much she jumps to answer his command.
She quickly enters her office to print the student list, nodding as she goes. Her hand shakes as she reaches for the printer and pulls off a single piece of paper. She gives it to Grayson, who snatches it away without a word. His eyes scan the list, his jaw clenching more with each name he peruses.
With a huff, he stuffs the sheet of paper into his pocket before heading for the exit. “Let’s go.”
I wordlessly apologize to the instructor before following Grayson out of the building.
A million theories roll through my head during our commute back to the apartment.
No matter how many ways I work them, only one appears legitimate.
Something imperative caused Grayson to break cover.
He never breaks cover, not even when he should.
We make the drive back to the apartment in silence, the tension between us suffocating. As soon as we step inside the beachy abode, Grayson’s eyes snap to the television mounted on the far wall of the living room.
“I need all the surveillance footage from the sting we just undertook,” he demands, his voice sharp. “Everything, Brandon, not just what you think I want to see.”
My frown deepens the longer I watch him pace. “What’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer me. His focus is resolute on recovering the footage from this afternoon’s sting.
“Is it Piper and Shaw? The couple I followed out wasn’t—”
“It’s not them.” Grayson’s abrupt tone forces me to swallow. His leave-me-the-fuck-alone persona is new to me, and I hate it.
When he notices my shock, he curses under his breath before mumbling an apology.
I give him a tight smile, hoping it conveys that he can talk to me about anything, before I assist Brandon in gathering the data he is seeking.
There isn’t much to go off. The building is in a rural location, so there are no ATM cameras or shopfront surveillance.
We have only the dashcam in my car and the button cameras in our clothing.
As I gather as much footage as possible, my weary head filters through the events of the day. Grayson has always been intense with cases like this, but this is different. This seems personal.
Oh god.
My heart sinks to my feet as footage from Grayson’s camera button comes up on the laptop I used for surveillance today.
It starts with our exit of the bathroom.
Grayson isn’t interested in the footage of him guiding me out of the apartment with his hand on my lower back and his nostrils mere inches from my recently cleaned hair.
He fast-forwards the footage until we reach the part where I race away from his side to follow a lead.
When Grayson freezes, his shaky hand slowly backing away from the keyboard, I follow the direction of his massively dilated gaze. A woman is darting past the Lamaze class entry door. Her speed is so fast her face is a blur.
I struggle to breathe when a familiar rumble booms from the speakers of the laptop two seconds later. “Cameron?”
I stop staring at Grayson with my mouth ajar when his pursuit of the fleeing brunette captures her almost knocking me over as she exits the building at the same speed I entered it. She darts to an awaiting car, not bothering to apologize for her part in our near collision.
“Bring up Macy’s camera.” Grayson’s voice is eerily calm considering how raging the veins in his neck are. They look seconds away from popping.
Brandon jumps to his command, his brain clearly more capable of functioning under severe emotional distress than mine. He brings up the footage of my return to the building faster than I can snap my fingers.
“Stop.”
With two clicks, Grayson rewinds the footage to our near collision before he zooms in on the mysterious woman’s face.
“Her hair is dark now, not the strawberry-blonde I remember, but there’s no mistaking that face.” I can’t miss the conflict in his eyes as he murmurs, “It’s Cameron.” His voice is flat, almost unrecognizable. “She’s alive.”
An array of emotions he’s struggling to process filters over his face while my mood fluctuates as erratically as my hormones. I am ecstatic for him, pleased that years of hard work have finally paid off, but I’m also worried.
He’s been driven by the need to find Cameron for so long.
That’s been his motivation and what’s kept him going.
What will happen now that he’s finally found her?
Will his determination and drive to find the other women remain the same?
Or will they be forgotten, like I feel now when Grayson’s thumb traces the outline of Cameron’s beautiful face?