Chapter 25
By the time Freya laid everything out to the GhostEye team last night, I was half-in-awe and half-ready to carry her out of there in my arms. She didn’t miss a single detail.
Dates, timelines, tone of voice, discrepancies.
She asked smart questions and answered them like she’d been running homicide for ten years.
Ava was the only one available to take it all in. Enzo and Rio were tied up at the San Francisco offices, but when Freya turned to leave, Ava mouthed “wow” and mimed fireworks exploding over her head. Safe to say she was as impressed as I was.
And with what I’ve seen the GhostEye tools do in the past, and my redheaded hacker on the case, I’m sure they’ll have more soon.
It took everything out of Freya, though. I could see it.
As soon as we got home, she thanked me for being with her, mumbled something about self-care, and padded off toward the bathroom like a zombie. I left her to it. The last thing I want is for her to feel like she has to think about me, too.
I went out to the workshop and spent a couple of hours planing down the last edge of a crib side. Sanded the feet. It felt good to do something with my hands. Something for the baby.
It blurred yesterday, but it does nothing for today.
Morning came too fast.
Today, I’m meeting the formidable Faith Johnson.
I got up early to make food for Freya’s mom and grandma.
They’d had an early flight, and I knew they wouldn’t have eaten much.
The oven blasted warm air into my face as I pulled out fresh-baked chocolate muffins.
I set out fruit, poured fresh juice—tried to make sure they started the day with something better than the bitter coffee and stale croissants the airlines serve.
Fresh-squeezed orange juice is now chilling in a pitcher. The table’s set. I even put out some cloth napkins that were here when I moved in, but which have never been used. I don’t know who I am anymore.
Freya bounds down the stairs and toward the door. “The guards just let in their taxi.”
She looks flustered. Nervous.
Should I be even more worried about this than I am?
Freya keeps her eyes glued to the peephole, and then I hear tires crunch on gravel, footsteps climbing the wooden porch, and Freya swings the door open.
“Heeeeeey!” she squeals.
Her mom and grandma push in, arms wrapping around Freya, the women jostle around in a group hug, and a cacophony of high-pitched noises comes from the chaos.
I linger behind, feeling very out of place but knowing I need to wait patiently to be introduced. I can’t imagine how much these ladies missed Freya.
Finally, they separate, and Freya’s mom slips off her shoes. “It’s tidy,” she says, glancing around until her gaze lands on me.
She doesn’t smile.
Her grandmother rushes over, not worrying about the shoes. Freya told me she’s a wild child in an old lady’s body.
“Well, hello there, Anton,” she says, opening her arms for a hug that smells like lavender. She embraces me, rubbing her hands over my back affectionately. “Aren’t you just a tall drink of water?”
I give her my warmest hug back. Damn, it feels good to be received this way. Finally, I pull back, and her grandma beams at me.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Johnson.”
“Call me Lita.” She peeks around me toward the kitchen. “Dang, it smells good in here.”
The other Mrs. Johnson steps in behind her, expression polite but unreadable.
Her outfit is immaculate—pressed slacks, cardigan, expensive-looking gold chain at her throat.
She is the spitting image of Freya but twenty, thirty years on, though honestly, she still looks so young, they could maybe be sisters.
Her gaze travels from my toes to my face. “Nice to meet you, Anton.” She offers her hand. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All good, I hope.” Though I’m notably not getting a hug.
“Of course,” she says in a way that is polite and yet somehow not reassuring.
Freya breezes between us with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “There are muffins and juice. We need to leave soon for the hospital, but Anton figured you two would need a bite first.”
Freya ushers her family to the dining room table. It’s all open plan, so going to the kitchen is no escape from Faith Johnson’s eyes pressing firmly into my back as I grab the food.
I pour juice and try to gauge the temperature of the room now that I’m facing them. Lita’s warm and chatty, and instantly wants to know more about me. “Freya told me you have your own private investigation company?”
She looks at me inquisitively over her glasses.
“That’s right, but I recently decided to change gears. Late-night stakeouts aren’t how I want to spend evenings once the baby comes.”
Lita glances at Freya, making an expression that tells me she thinks what I said was sweet.
Mrs. Johnson seems unaffected by my commitment and sips her juice like she’s tasting for poison.
“So what’s changing gears mean?” Lita asks.
“I…” am suddenly feeling hot under the collar.
I’m acutely aware that my being financially stable might not be Lita’s question, but by the interrogation in Faith Johnson’s eyes, it’s hers.
There are no short answers that will reassure them, but I’m not one to spill my past, and explaining to them how and why I’m okay with money is not something we can get through in the twenty minutes we have before leaving for the hospital.
I aim for sincerity because that impression is worthy, too. “I’m a craftsman by nature and something of an entrepreneur, so I’m starting my own woodworking business.”
Freya intervenes with supporting detail. “He’s making our baby’s crib.”
At that, I get an adoring gaze from Lita.
Faith isn’t moved, so I add something in for her sake. “I have plenty of startup capital, and there’s no rush to turn a profit. It’s important to me to have a job that gives Freya flexibility in her career and me time with the baby.”
Faith’s features relax.
It cools my nerves.
Lita folds her hands together on the table. “Frey, that’s a good man, there.”
I don’t deserve admiration for organizing my life around the baby and trying to be a supportive partner. Women do that every day without an ounce of praise.
Faith wipes her hands on the napkin she’s laid on her lap, even though she still hasn’t tried any food. “Workshop space would be very expensive in LA.”
Freya’s head whips around, and she meets her mom’s gaze. “I told you, Mom, that Anton and I haven’t talked about where we’re living.” She says the line as though it’s a warning against anything else to come.
Her mom purses her lips, very much getting the memo, but it’s easy to see that Faith Johnson isn’t used to taking a backseat. Thankfully, for me, she does in this moment, and I appreciate that.
I can only imagine how hard this is for her. Her only daughter is pregnant and possibly never moving back to LA, and it’s not as if Faith can leave due to her job.
“So today’s scan,” Faith says, “have you two discussed it?”
“We’re finding out the gender,” Freya says.
Lita shimmies her shoulders as if that excites her.
“I mean the important things,” Faith explains.
“Mom,” Freya says, as if both expecting her question and used to ones this intrusive. “We’ve talked about it.”
A part of me feels this is Faith massively overstepping her role. But then, another part of me remembers that Freya was born with sickle cell anemia, and it wasn’t expected. Faith has been through unthinkable things as she wondered for years what the fate of her child’s health would be.
So, I have to give her this one. “We decided we’re ready for anything that doesn’t put Freya at risk. A perfect baby for me is one that arrives safely.”
Lita lowers her head. “Amen.”
And for the first time since entering this house, Faith nods in approval and finally tackles her muffin. With a knife and fork.
“So, Anton,” Faith says, with less attack but still more an interview than a casual conversation over breakfast. “You were in the military? Navy SEALs, is that right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And what inspired you to do that? I always wonder what pushes people to go into the military.” She takes a bite of muffin from her fork.
I can’t tell if she asks it like, why in the world would anyone do that or from genuine curiosity. I can see why this woman is Queen of the Courtroom. She’s incredibly hard to read, composed as shit.
Now I know where Freya’s alpha female energy comes from.
I’m honest. “I joined because I wanted to do good in the world. I stayed because I found out how much bad there really was.”
Lita taps her daughter’s arm. “I’ve heard that line before.”
Faith smiles. It’s pursed but a smile nevertheless.
I guess being a district attorney, you have to first start off with the idea of making a difference, too. Hopefully, Faith will realize we have more than doing good in common, but also, wanting to make her daughter happy.
I’m not known for my charming first impressions, but I won’t stop until we get there. If Freya decided to stay in Echo Valley, and I’m hoping more and more by the day that she does, Faith knowing she’s safe here is important to me.
She folds her hands in front of her and places them on the table. “And you were in for how long?”
“I was in the SEALs for four years. I did my first year, loved it, then got offered a top-secret assignment. Unfortunately, when that was done after three years…let’s just say they had to pull me.”
I had to be burned. I’m sure their erasing my service is what made me so comfortable with the idea of going vigilante when my marriage broke down.
“Honorable discharge?” Faith asks, but this time, I see she’s expecting me to say yes.
Either because she’s softening or because she knows her daughter wouldn’t choose a total degenerate.
“Yes. When I took the secret mission, I figured four years was the max anyone could do in the SEALs and come out without physical or psychological damage. It sounded exciting at the time, but sometimes, I wish I could have stayed enlisted.”