Chapter 23 Grayson #2
They weren’t when I fixed the medical tape keeping the weight of her son off her uterus. They were as spiked as her tone when she asks, “Ready?”
I click on the comms button before replying, “Ready when you are.” Her steps into the elegant foyer falter when admiration for her kickass attitude forces me to add more words to my reply. “Thanks for doing this for me, freckles. It means the world that you’re helping me with this.”
She doesn’t respond. She can’t with the eyes of the doorman on her, but the slight spike in her pulse tells me everything I need to know. She needed to hear my praise as badly as I needed to say it.
The doorman, security guard, and elevator attendant watch Macy as she moves through the expansive foyer, their stares too desirous to raise suspicion.
Even being heavily pregnant doesn’t reduce Macy’s appeal. She draws the eye of everyone in the room, and it takes more than a stern finger point to direct unwanted suitors’ focus away.
I learned that the hard way during our last three undercover gigs.
After exiting the elevator on the fifth floor, Macy walks up to apartment 5E and knocks on the door.
My heart leaps into my throat when the door opens seconds later, and Cameron’s petite frame fills the doorway.
Her face is pale, her eyes wary, but Macy was right.
A second after she takes in Macy’s plumped-out midsection, the fear in her eyes fades.
Macy blinds Cameron with a grin so beaming it bounces off Cameron’s dilated gaze.
“Hi! I recently moved in, and although this is highly inappropriate and somewhat embarrassing, I smelled your dinner while collecting my dry cleaning from the concierge”—Macy wiggles the empty plate—“and I couldn’t stop myself from checking if you have any leftovers? ”
Cameron hesitates. Then, slowly, she opens the door wider. “Sure. Come in.”
When Macy steps inside an area we can only monitor through her button camera, I grip the comms mic so firmly that my knuckles go white. “She’s in.”
Brandon hums to display he heard me, but he’s too busy categorizing every inch of Cameron’s penthouse-size apartment to issue a verbal reply.
He takes in everything—the letters on the entryway table, the handful of photos scattered on the mantel when they veer past the opulent living room, and the products on the kitchen island.
Even something as simple as a spice only being sold at one grocer can break a case like this.
Unlike when she was a teen, Cameron is confident in the kitchen.
Almost theatrical. I imagine the smell of garlic and roasted chicken—Cameron’s favorite combination—when Macy follows her into the kitchen.
Cameron only ordered one dish when we ate out, but now she moves around the room, making her favorite meal from scratch.
When Macy’s face reflects off the mirrored backsplash, my heart thumps loudly. Earlier today, Macy and I shared a kiss that was exciting and fresh. Now she’s undercover in my once-missing girlfriend’s apartment.
Seeing them together is weird as fuck. I feel like a ghost haunting a life I once lived.
I adjust my earpiece when Cameron’s voice filters through the static clear enough for me to note her apprehension. “Here you go.” She hands Macy a takeout container brimming with chicken and rice.
“Oh, poo.” Macy takes in the smeared plate in the sink before lowering her bottom lip into a pout. “I was hoping we could eat together.”
“I’d just finished when you knocked.”
Even with Cameron giving clear signs she wants Macy to leave, she doesn’t. She bumps her hip against the island, her expression casual but persistent. “Have you always known how to cook? I took lessons a while back, but I still burn water.”
Cameron laughs, the jingle tight. “It’s just chicken and rice.”
“That smells fabulous.” Macy often utilizes the ego-stroke ruse. It works well for her, so you can understand my shock when she went straight for the jugular during her interrogation of Samuel. “If you have the recipe on hand, I’d love to return the favor one day.”
“It’s fine.” Cameron dismisses the offer with a wave, then leads to what she’s praying will be Macy’s exit of her apartment. “As I said, it’s just chicken and rice.”
Watching them interact is like having an out-of-body experience.
It is haunting and frighteningly beautiful.
Cameron is the person I’ve been searching for, the one whose abduction carved my very existence.
My job, my life purpose, everything I am is based on how it helped me find Cameron.
But Macy was the first person who made me feel alive again.
Seeing them side by side is surreal, like two halves of my life colliding in a way that shouldn’t be possible.
As Macy follows Cameron to her front door, she tries to keep their conversation alive. She talks about the weather and a new restaurant she wants to try the next time she visits San Diego. She even mentions the Lamaze class, hoping it might slip Cameron up.
It doesn’t. Cameron isn’t interested in a long conversation. Her expression reveals she’s only seeking one outcome.
She wants Macy gone.
Macy is relentless. She keeps talking, her tone polite but probing. I know her well enough to recognize when she’s fishing, but Cameron doesn’t suspect a thing.
When they reach the foyer of Cameron’s apartment, Macy finally remembers the best part of a fishing expedition—hooking the bait.
“I know a way to repay your generosity that won’t have you worried about food poisoning.
” The sheer excitement in Macy’s tone forces Cameron to shift on her feet to face her.
“I can sketch you. Maternity sketches are all the rage. They’re far better than a standard shoot, and I have plenty of openings since I’m new to town. ”
“You want to sketch me?”
“Yeah.” Macy shrugs. “Why not?”
“Um…” Cameron is lost for a reply. What mother-to-be wouldn’t be?
She wants Macy gone, but she’d be a fool to give up an opportunity like this.
Maternity sketches cost an arm and a leg.
Macy charged four figures per sketch when she used her skills to infiltrate the homes of a handful of Dr. Valdemar’s patients, and the Cameron I knew would never pass up the chance to be the only star under the limelight.
“I have a new sketchbook in my apartment. I can do it now.”
“Now?” When Macy nods, Cameron struggles to maintain eye contact. “We don’t have enough time. It’s late.”
Macy clasps her hand like they’re long-lost friends. “I will only do an outline tonight. Then I can fill in the rest at home. It will only take a few minutes.”
“Oh… okay. I guess that’ll be okay.”
Macy appears as surprised as I feel. She just hides it better. “Great. Let me grab my sketchbook. I’ll be right back.”
As she races for the exit faster than I like, I shift my focus to Brandon. “I need somewhere close that sells sketchbooks and charcoal.”
My reply comes from the last person I anticipated. “A local bodega has what you need. Your order will arrive in nine minutes.”