Chapter Twenty-One
AJ
Another one of the nurses, Marta, barges through the door of Grace’s room. “Everyone out. Senora Grace needs her bandages changed.”
I’m fixin’ to tell her I’ll turn my back and close my eyes, when Reyes clears his throat. “AJ, this would be a good time for us to go over the precautions you’ll need to take on the flight tomorrow.”
There’s an odd edge to his voice, and something dark and dangerous churns in his brown eyes.
Leaning down, I press a gentle kiss to Grace’s forehead. “You should rest until it’s time for dinner.”
The nurse tries to shoo me out of the way, but Grace fumbles for my hand. “AJ… You’re coming back, right?”
I cup her cheek. “I promise, darlin’. I’ll be just down the hall.”
Marta gives me a light shove, and this time, I take the hint and back out of the room. I don’t look away from Grace until the last possible moment, and a small piece of my shattered heart mends when she doesn’t look away either.
Jasper, Connor, and Parker wait with the doctor in the hall. Reyes keeps his voice low as he motions for us to follow him. “I am sorry for the ruse, but Grace has done so well today, I do not wish to chance overwhelming her.”
“What’s this really about, doc?” Connor asks.
He takes us into a room with green tile floors and large surgical lights mounted over a metal table. It’s pristine—like everything else in this clinic.
“I do not know who left Grace at the clinic’s back door. Or where they found her. But once I realized she was alive, I did my best to preserve any evidence of what was done to her.”
Fuck. This ain’t gonna be good.
A thick padlock secures a stainless steel cabinet in the corner. “Only I have the key,” he explains as he opens it and then sets a large, metal tray on the operating table. “This is everything Grace was wearing.”
I can’t do more than gape at the pile of silky white material stained with so much blood, I don’t know how she’s still alive. Before I can touch it, Parker slaps a hand against my chest and steps between me and the table. “That’s evidence, boss.”
“That’s my wife’s blood. Get out of my way,” I growl.
Jasper sidles up next to her. “AJ, she’s right. Let us handle this. Or…at least put on some goddamn gloves.”
“And here,” Reyes says, sliding a second tray next to the first, “is the bag she was in. Gloves are in the dispenser behind you.”
The bag she was in.
This was a mistake. I should be with Grace. Not staring at her bloody clothes and a fucking burlap bag some asshole shoved her dying body into. But I can’t walk away either. I promised her I’d keep her safe. This is how I do it.
Jasper hands us each a pair of gloves. Connor and Parker focus on the second tray, while my brother and I carefully lift the white material. The long, sleeveless dress looks expensive.
“No label,” my brother muses. “Someone probably cut it out.”
“Goddamn it!” I shout as Jasper moves the dress enough for me to see what’s underneath. A pair of plain cotton panties and two lengths of white and gold braided rope. “She was tied up? In the fuckin’ bag?”
“Sí,” Reyes says softly. “Her wrists and ankles. If it helps, it did not appear that she struggled much against the ropes. The poison she was given would have caused paralysis.”
Poisoned. Paralyzed. Bound and stabbed.
For the rest of my life, I’ll carry the vision of my wife in this bloody dress, trapped inside a burlap bag and dumped in the middle of nowhere.
Jasper leans down to peer at the rope. “Are these…flowers?”
Pink and white petals litter the tray. A handful of stems are woven into the rope. “Yeah, but what kind?” I ask. “I don’t know shit about flowers.”
Connor peers over at the wilted blooms. “Doc? You got some plastic bags around here somewhere? Small ones. Like Ziplocks? And tweezers.”
“Sí.” In just a few seconds, he sets the bags and several pairs of forceps between the two trays.
“Bag all those petals and stems,” Connor says. “I know a botanist who can probably tell us what they are.”
Parker takes a step back, her sharp-eyed gaze sweeping over the trays. “Guys, this wasn’t ‘murder.’ Not from the unsub’s point of view. This was a ceremony. Hell, it could have even been some sort of demented wedding.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from the bloody silk. What kind of fucked up wedding ends with the bride dying?
God. Did someone really take Grace to be their wife? Then kill her for it?
The idea makes me want to punch a wall. Or vomit. No. Both. I swallow hard. “Explain.”
She waves at the two trays. “That rope was handmade. Someone took the time to weave the flowers into the braids. They’re fresh—or were a few days ago. And the dress…” Running a gloved finger over one of the seams, she shakes her head. “This was hand-stitched. No sewing machine.”
“How can you tell?” Jasper asks.
Parker shakes her head. “You realize you’re being the world’s most cliche man, right? Look.”
My brother and I lean down to focus on the stitches. “Holy shit,” I mutter. “They’re uneven.”
“There’s no tag because this wasn’t bought from a store.” She turns to Reyes. “I know you were focused on saving her life, but did you happen to notice how well this fit her? Was it baggy? Tight? What about the length?”
The doctor purses his lips. His eyes close for a long moment. “I had to cut it off of her. When we got her onto the table, the dress came almost to her ankles. I cannot be certain, but I believe it could have been made for her.”
“You think Grace was taken for—what?—to be some lunatic’s wife?” Nausea claws its way up my throat, and I swallow against the sour taste of bile.
“It’s only a theory,” Parker says. “But…it would explain all of this.” She plucks a flower petal from the tray and drops it into one of the plastic bags. “Dr. Reyes—?”
“Alejandro, please.”
Parker nods. “Okay, Alejandro. Did you collect any evidence from Grace’s body? Fingernail scrapings? What about her hair? Has she showered since she woke up?”
For a split second, my entire world turns red. I whirl on Parker, anger turning to fury tinged by fear. “My wife is not evidence!”
“Yes. She is,” Parker snaps back. “She has to be. There hasn’t been a single lead in almost three years. This is a gold mine. But if we go home without asking the right questions, we could miss something that keeps Grace safe.”
Jasper clasps my shoulder. “She ain’t wrong, AJ.”
His tone—gentle, but with an edge as sharp as steel—grounds me enough to blow out a long, slow breath.
“I know. I fucking trained her. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Turning to the doctor, I cross my arms over my chest. “Well…Alejandro?”
He gestures to the second tray. “There is an envelope under the burlap sack with fingernail scrapings. I did not check her hair. Lourdes and Marta bathed her while she was unconscious, but I did not ask them to look for…evidence.”
“Connor, bag that envelope,” Parker says. “We only have another twenty minutes before dinner. Once we get back to Austin, we could lose access to all of this. Jasper, photos and video of everything.”
“Parker, if you think you’re cutting me out of this investigation…”
She huffs. “Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—you’d kick my ass before you’d let me. But this is your wife we’re talking about. Do you really think you can be objective? About anything here?”
Again, she’s right. So I stand back, hands shoved in the pockets of my jeans, watching.
Connor runs his gloved hands over the burlap sack, examining every inch of the fucking thing like it holds the answers to life, the universe, and everything. “AJ, take a look at this.”
The piece of bluish plastic in his palm ain’t more than an inch long and half as wide. “What the fuck is it?”
“Hell if I know. It was caught in the burlap. Get me one of those bags.”
Once it’s sealed, I hold it up to the light. “Looks like it broke off somethin’ bigger. Tell me we ain’t gonna rely on APD to analyze all this shit.”
With a grim smile, Connor folds the burlap so it can be bagged as well. “Nope. I know a guy.”