Chapter 31
MACY
Recently cleaned wet hair swishes against my back as I peer out the window for the umpteenth time this morning. I’m early. I always am with anything related to Kendall. I’d rather be early than show up late. It was the one thing my father ingrained in me before his staff took over his teachings.
I intertwine my fingers to stop my fidgeting as tension bubbles under my skin.
I’d thought about this for years, but I pictured myself anxiously pacing, waiting for my colleagues to brief Kendall before they released her into my care.
I never expected to meet the man who loved her enough to keep searching for her long after most gave up.
But here I am, waiting in the foyer of a local hotel for Crew to arrive.
I feel off balance, like I’m about to step onto a moving train.
But I am also excited. My veins are bubbling with as much euphoria now as they were when Grayson was adamant he needed to tape my belly before our meeting.
Though he knew the bed rest was fabricated, he erred on the side of caution.
The tension in the bathroom this morning was off the charts. Mercifully, my unborn son has no issues keeping the focus on him. He booted Grayson’s hand hard enough for me to fold in two, and for Grayson’s laugh to boom around the bathroom.
It was lovely to hear after so much uncertainty.
When Crew enters the hotel, I immediately recognize him.
His face doesn’t look as harsh as it did when I confronted him in the parking lot of the Lamaze class.
He also doesn’t appear as old since suspicion isn’t hardening his features.
He is a handsome man in his mid-thirties, and he wears a suit like he should be commanding the boardroom of a Fortune 500 company.
He exhales sharply when he spots my gawk before he crosses the room. He’s carrying a battered messenger bag, and his strides are efficient and long, reaching me quicker than three heartbeats.
“Macy?” He thrusts out his hand in offering as if confident in his assumption.
I nod, and we shake hands. His hold is firm but lacks the arrogance often seen in powerful men. It is reassuring and genuine. “Crew, it is so nice to meet you.”
After I officially introduce him to Grayson, we settle into a corner booth of a little café attached to the hotel.
Crew removes a handful of files from his bag and spreads them over the table between us while I stare at him, trying to reconcile the man across from me with the boy who was pictured with Kendall a month before her abduction.
It’s weird imagining him with Kendall. Even after all the composite sketches and age-progressed images, I still picture my sister as a fresh-faced college student, her hair in a messy ponytail and a bright smile across her face. She was always laughing, as if the world were her own private joke.
The faint wrinkles creased in the corners of Crew’s eyes, and the flecks of silver at the temples of his dark hair, prove that time has passed.
We’ve all changed.
I more than anyone.
Crew seems like Kendall’s type, though. He has a magnetizing intensity and a sturdiness that draws you in like a magnet. I want to trust him and believe that together we will bring Kendall home.
Over the next hour, Grayson, Crew, and I dive into the files. We trade theories and piece together fragments of Kendall’s last known sighting. It isn’t as far back as I once believed, and it proves what I’ve always known. My sister is alive.
Crew kept everything. His personal emails and phone records with Kendall are the highest stack. He even kept a concert ticket stub with Kendall’s phone number scribbled on the back.
It’s from the night they met. Crew said he spotted her across a packed mosh pit, and he knew in an instant that she’d be his wife one day.
I won’t lie. I swooned like crazy during his story, and then I had to fight back tears.
Stupid hormones.
I ought to go easier on myself. To be loved like that is the greatest gift a man could give a woman. It is most likely what Kendall has held on to all these years, and what has kept her going.
Crew is as meticulous with his notes as I am, and as we break them down, hope flickers like a candle inside me. We’re making progress, yet despite my excitement, I can’t miss how often Grayson glances at his watch.
He’s hiding the cause of his distraction, but I know him too well.
He’s meant to gallop in on a white horse and save Cameron in a little under forty minutes.
The drive from the hotel to her apartment is thirty-five minutes.
He’s cutting it close, and his concern about his possible tardiness dots his brow with sweat.
I tickle Grayson’s arm, my breath hitching when a spark jolts through my hand. I brush it off because of the love bubble Crew’s stories formed. It doesn’t belong to me.
“Go,” I say, stealing Grayson’s focus from my sister’s sale documentation. “I’ve got this.”
He stares at me with furrowed brows for half a second before he shakes his head. His brisk shake wafts the scent of my shampoo through my nose. “No. I am as invested in this case as you are. I want to stay.”
Though I value his support, he can’t heal until he focuses on himself. “I’ve got this,” I say again, squeezing the section of his arm he slapped while recalling how Cameron clung to him.
Reminding him of her fear from that night is cruel, but I’ll do anything if it’s for the greater good.
He searches my face for any signs of regret about my offer. When he fails to find any, I give him my best reassuring grin.
Finally, he gives in. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will. I promise.”
He acts as if I never spoke my last two words. “Anything, freckles. I don’t care how minute it seems.”
“I will.” I keep my reply short, confident that if my voice were to crack, he’d never leave.
His lips brush my temple, and he sucks in a deep breath before he dumps enough notes onto the table to pay our bill three times over and heads for the nearest exit. When he leaves, my heart only cracks a smidge. I’m being the bigger person. That should be rejoiced, not commiserated.
Crew peers at me over the glasses balancing precariously on his noticeable but still-dainty nose. “Freckles?”
I try to bite back my smile, but it appears anyway. “It’s a long story.”
He dumps his pen onto a file, unflinching when it rolls into his lap. “I’ve got all day.”
My pulse quickens as I graze my bottom lip with my teeth.
“It will take longer than a day to unravel… that.” I relish the warmth spreading across my chest, which announces that everything isn’t as lost as believed.
Even with Grayson racing across the city to meet with his long-lost love, I am content.
That doesn’t mean I have hours to gossip, though.
“And we have extremely pressing matters that require our utmost attention.”
Crew hesitates for several seconds. “Rain check?” I feel like I’ve found a lost family member when he mumbles under his breath. “Because if he wants to date my future sister-in-law, he’ll need a thorough once-over.”
I laugh, the jingle foreign and unexpected. “He doesn’t want to date me. We’re friends. That’s all.”
“Hm-hmm. Friends. Right,” Crew murmurs before he gathers his pen from his lap and transfers a handful of notes from the margins in my textbook-sized file into an equally fat binder.
Crew and I spend the next several hours poring over Kendall’s file. He’s so sharp he asks questions I hadn’t even thought of. We’ve connected several dots, and the optimistic flicker I mentioned earlier has grown into a wildfire.
We’re going to find her. I can feel it.
As Crew drives me home, we exchange numbers and agree to keep each other abreast of any developments we unearth. We are collaborating on this case; however, as with my placement on Grayson’s team, my consultancy role with Crew’s agency must remain under wraps.
It is better this way. Safer. This syndicate has nabbed too many victims, and Crew refuses to let them add another Machini to their long list.
Crew gives me a quick, awkward hug at the front door of my apartment, then waits until I’m safely inside before leaving.
I wave him off through the lace curtain hiding the incredible view before I head to the kitchen.
My plan is chamomile tea while decompressing the day with a slice of pie, but Grayson’s laptop is open on the kitchen counter.
As I gather a half-eaten pie from the fridge, I try to ignore it.
He wouldn’t wear camera buttons on a date, so why even contemplate spying?
It would be pointless, but you wouldn’t believe that with how fast I secure his laptop and access the surveillance program we used for the Lamaze class stings.
Curiosity wins this round, though I promise to give it a worthier battle when my heart isn’t overflowing with hope.
Surprisingly, Grayson registered the serial number of a button camera in a shirt that looks oddly similar to the one he dressed in after showering this morning.
After a brief swallow, I click on the link on the equipment register.
It takes me to footage obtained today around the time Cameron would have left for her appointment.
I click the first file of footage in a long list. My position as lead agent on this case requires me to gather and document all surveillance my team receives.
Yeah, right. My spying has nothing to do with my job.
The footage of Grayson checking his reflection in the tinted window of our bureau-assigned sedan proves he’s wearing the light-blue button-up shirt we wired up with surveillance days ago. It is the same ocean-blue color of his eyes, and it clings to the ridges of his body as if tailored for him.
The frantic bob of his Adam’s apple is unmissable when he spots someone in the background of his reflection. Cameron is making her way to her vehicle, her hands minus the appointment card I spotted on her entryway table.
With the button camera’s closeness to the sedan hindering my view, I switch to the building’s security network.
In three clicks, I have a perfect view of the parking lot.
I zoom in until Grayson and Cameron are the only two people in the frame, then sit back to watch the drama unfold.
All I need is popcorn, and I’d have the perfect high-octane entertainment.
Cameron approaches her vehicle, fiddling with her keys, as Grayson watches nervously from the sideline. I hold my breath along with Grayson when Cameron tries to crank the ignition. As expected, nothing happens. She tries again—still nothing.
Frustration doesn’t morph on her face until Grayson approaches her stationary vehicle. He keeps his hands in his pockets, acting casual, while requesting that she pop the hood.
Cameron only winds down the window half an inch. The gap is barely big enough to speak through. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
She doesn’t look at him. Not even for a second.
What is wrong with you?
Grayson remains consistent, forever stubborn.
“It sounds like you have a dead battery. Are you sure you don’t want me to take a look?
” She brushes off his offer with a brisk headshake.
Grayson acts as if he doesn’t understand universal gestures for no.
“It could be a loose connection. It will take two seconds to fix, and then you can be on your merry way.”
Is it just me, or does he sound a little moody?
It’s understandable. She still hasn’t looked at him.
“Two seconds?”
A ghost-like grin hikes my lips when Grayson replies in true Grayson style. “Three seconds, max.”
I breathe out slowly when Cameron pops open the hood as requested.
Finally. Grayson tinkers with her motor like he knows what he’s doing.
He’s a genius, though this is out of left field for him.
He fakes it like a pro, just like he did when he set up the crib and changing table in the corner of my room.
After a minute, Grayson shakes his head, flopping his blond spikes side to side. “It’s not the battery.” I don’t breathe when he pulls the spark plugs I removed yesterday from his pocket. The hood hides him, so Cameron is unaware of our scheme, but I am still nervous.
I almost asphyxiate when Grayson suddenly peers back at the surveillance camera mounted on a light pole above the lot.
He stares straight at me for several long seconds, like he knows I’m watching.
He couldn’t. The camera captured this footage hours ago.
But you’d swear that he’s assessing my soul through my eyes.
His stare is white-hot, and it has me squirming in my seat.
Even through a monitor, the tingles I felt this morning when he strapped my belly are undeniable.
As they shift my hope to an emotion I can’t control, I almost beg him to slot the spark plugs back into their rightful spot. To walk away as if Cameron means nothing to him. But nothing but air bubbles leave my mouth.
He needs this, and I need to continue being the bigger person.
I swallow my disappointment when, a second after he returns his focus to the engine, he stuffs the spark plugs back into his pocket and continues with the ruse I orchestrated.
He tells Cameron that her battery is dead before he offers her a ride into town.
She dismisses his offer with a wave, still not looking at him, before she attempts to call a taxi. I realize I have competition to claim the title of Grayson’s best friend when a security prompt flashes across the screen.
Remotely, Brandon blocks Cameron’s cell signal, leaving her with no choice but to accept Grayson’s offer. She hesitates, then, seeing the empty lot, gives in.
Grayson walks her to his sedan, the space between them as wide as the . I panic my ploy is failing until Grayson reaches across her to open the door for her. His hand brushes her forearm, and as much as Cameron tries to hide it, I can see how much it affects her.
She gasps in a sharp breath before her eyes rocket to Grayson.
I take in the same features she absorbs in rapid succession.
His icy-blue eyes, partially stubbled jaw, perfectly straight nose, and lips that taste like heaven.
She drinks them all in as the vein in her neck thuds as uncontrollably as my heart.
For a split second, I think she’ll pull away. But then, suddenly, she throws herself into Grayson’s arms and clings to him as if she’s been treading water for hours.
My heart painfully twists the more their reunion unfolds. I’m happy for Grayson. Honestly, I am. But I’m also heartbroken. I want that type of connection, that kind of security. To be loved by a man who will search for me for years and still adore all my imperfections would be a dream come true.
While breathing deeply, I close the laptop before giving myself a few minutes to grieve what might have been. Then, I head straight to bed so I can mourn in private.