Chapter Thirty-Eight
AJ
The coffeemaker hisses, filling the kitchen with the rich, dark scent I depend on to get me going in the mornings.
After I put the ring back on Grace’s finger last night, I watched her sleep for an hour, memorizing everything about her. All the things I’d forgotten and all the things that have changed.
Her lips still form a perfect bow. But the scar across her cheek pulls tight against the pillow. Her fingers are still calloused, but after rediscovering her favorite body lotion, her skin has started to glow again.
The electric kettle beeps, and I pull the tin of Cafe Vienna from the cabinet. It’s still early, but the chief ain’t a patient man. If I don’t call him soon, he’ll either break down my door, have me arrested, or go to the press. Hell, he might do all three out of spite.
Emi made a few calls last night. If any of the three major news outlets in the city get any info on Grace, she’ll know before the story airs. We hope.
Grace shuffles into the kitchen wearing one of my sweatshirts over her pajamas. The sleeves are so long, only the tips of her fingers peek out from the cuffs. Her brows are pinched together, a faint crease between them.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Did you sleep okay?”
She rubs the back of her neck with a frown. “I think so. I’m just a little…fuzzy. It’s early. I’ll be fine after some coffee.”
The faint tightness in her shoulders, the way she blinks a beat longer than normal, the rasp to her voice… Is it stress? Or do I need to worry?
I study her for a moment, until she stares pointedly at her empty mug. “You gonna make that for me, handsome? Or leave me to face the day uncaffeinated.”
Her grin dispels any lingering concern, and I reach for the kettle. Cinnamon and chocolate fill the space between us as the hot water hits the instant coffee powder. I give the mixture a slow stir, then set the spoon in the sink.
Without a word, she wraps her hands around the mug and takes a sip. Her eyelids flutter. I’m about to turn away—unsure how much longer I can go without our little ritual—when she pauses with the cup halfway to her lips.
Her head tilts, and after a beat, she sets the mug in front of me.
The simple gesture hits me so hard, I can’t breathe.
I take the cup, my hands trembling enough I’m scared I’ll drop it. The first sip is enough to undo me.
Grace’s brow furrows. “You don’t like sweet coffee. I don’t understand why I did that. It just felt…like I was supposed to.”
“You were,” I manage. “It…it was a thing.” From her frown, she’s not satisfied with my answer, so I fake a grimace, like I used to. “Still tastes like flavored water.”
Something flickers across her face. Confusion, but also the faintest smile. “No. It tastes like cinnamon and vanilla and everything good in this world.”
My chest aches. I take a second sip—like I always did—and pass it back to her. “It tastes like you.”
She curls into my chest, her left hand over my heart. I feel the weight of her ring—or rather the lack of it around my neck. But then I cover her hand with mine and remember. The white gold band is back where it belongs.
Parker meets my gaze in the rear view mirror. “Harris didn’t scream at you?”
“Nope. Didn’t give him much chance. Just told him we’d come in at ten and we were bringin’ you with us.” In the back seat, I hold Grace close. She stares straight ahead behind the dark glasses. Until Parker takes a left at the next light. Then her breath hitches and she curls against me. “Darlin’?”
“I’ll be fine. Turns are still…hard. Don’t worry.”
I snort and press a kiss to her hair. “You might as well expect a flea not to bite.” Turning my attention back to Parker, I ask, “Did you talk to Hardison?”
“As if he’d risk that.” Parker slows and pulls into the station’s back lot. “He’s been at the station since oh-dark-thirty. Zephyr sent him a little somethin’ to install on the chief’s computer. She’s gonna go hunting around in there and see if there’s anything we need to know.”
I offer Grace my hand to help her out of the SUV. She grips the door handle, hesitates for half a second, and stands on her own. But after eyeing the uneven pavement, she lets me wrap an arm around her waist for the short walk into the station.
Harris waits at the back door, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. He’s trying to look relaxed, but the moment he sees Parker, his shoulders tense up. His free hand rubs the dark bruise on his jaw.
I have to clench my teeth so I don’t smile.
“This ain’t doggie daycare,” he says, voice rough. Behind him, Hardison’s eyebrow twitches.
Dammit. The man better work on his poker face right quick.
“Belle won’t leave Grace’s side.” I fix my stare on the chief’s busted lip. “If she hadn’t been outside when you showed up last night, we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation. You’d be missin’ half your face, and I’d be scramblin’ to bury the body.”
“Is that a threat, Stone?” Harris’s lip curls into a sneer.
“Nope. Just the God’s honest truth.” I give Belle a glance. Her ears are back, teeth bared, but she’s not growling. Not yet.
Harris shakes his head. “I should suspend you right now.”
“Do it. See if I give a fuck.”
The dare hangs between us for so long, I think he might actually do it. But eventually, he jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Elmore. Interrogation Room One. Stone. My office. Hardison? Take Mrs. Stone—”
“No.” I tighten my arm around Grace. “She doesn’t leave my side.”
“Mine either,” Parker adds.
Harris sputters, but Hardison clears his throat. “Chief, unless you’re planning on arresting them…let it go. We can get what we need in a group interroga—interview.”
Damn. Nate might have some decent acting chops after all.
Harris leads us down the hall to the smallest, darkest interview room in the whole goddamn building. Asshole.
I help Grace into the hard metal chair, then take a seat next to her. Belle sits on her other side, fully alert, while Parker leans against the wall by the door.
“Your wife has supposedly been missing for—” Harris checks the file on the table “—two years, eleven months, and somewhere between three and ten days. Care to explain her miraculous reappearance?”
As I lay out the details, sticking to the story we rehearsed the previous night, Grace keeps her gaze pinned to a spot on the table in front of her.
Fuck.
She wasn’t ready for this. None of us were.
I rest my hand on her thigh, and she laces her fingers with mine.
“Convenient. No witnesses. Just like when she disappeared,” Harris says. “I don’t believe for a goddamn second that she can’t remember anything.”
Grace lifts her head, her fingers so tight on mine, one of my knuckles cracks from the pressure.
“Believe what you want,” she says, her voice soft but mostly steady.
“It’s the truth. AJ had to tell me my own name.
My entire life is…blank until that morning.
Until AJ was holding me in the back of a car and everything hurt. ”
Harris nods at her right hand where it rests on the table. At the thick scar visible around her wrist. “You were tied up. Probably for a long time. Stabbed. With a head injury. And you just…let a strange man you didn’t know put you in the back of a car?”
“I…” Grace shifts her gaze to mine, and a hint of a smile curves her lips. “Yes. Clearly some part of me knew I could trust him.”
The chief scribbles something across the page only Hardison can see. The change in Nate’s expression is subtle. A brief tightening around his eyes. A tic in his jaw until he gets himself under control.
“Captain Stone,” he says, a smug edge to his voice that better be a fucking act, “did it ever occur to you that by bringing your wife anywhere but the hospital, you’ve compromised any evidence she may have had on her person at the time she reappeared?”
Parker unzips her backpack and withdraws an evidence bag. “Here’s the dress she was wearing. Sealed, signed, and dated by me and Stone. Her nails were clean. I’m not a fuckin’ rookie, partner. And you know it.”
“I don’t care if this was signed by the goddamn Pope,” Harris sputters. “You still broke chain of custody.”
My eyes narrow on the man who stopped us from going to the cabin the day Grace disappeared. I dedicated a corner of my crime board to the theory that he’d ordered those stakeouts on purpose. But I never found a single shred of proof. He’s an asshole, but he’s clean.
I lean forward, letting Harris see the full force of my anger. “And I’d do it again. We’re done answering questions, Chief. It’s your turn. How’d you know she was back? Because I sure as shit didn’t tell you, and neither did Parker.”
Harris shifts in his chair like he’s not sure I should be privy to that information. But after a long moment, he meets my gaze. “Marvin told me.”
“Marvin?” He could’ve claimed a psychic pigeon whispered in his ear and I’d have been less surprised. “How the fuck did he know?”
“He was worried when you called out this week.” Harris shrugs. “You know how he is.”
“If you mean a busybody with a hero complex,” Parker mutters, “yeah. We know.”
Harris ignores her. “He stopped by your place night before last with a bottle of whiskey. He reckoned the anniversary of Grace’s disappearance was weighin’ on you, and saw you with a blonde who looked a lot like your missing wife. Figured you’d finally broke.”
“And he waited an entire day to call you?” I ask. “That dog don’t hunt, Chief.”
Harris closes the file in front of him. “Put yourself in his shoes, Stone. Would you tell me if you thought Elmore was losin’ her grip on reality? He only confided in me when you didn’t answer his call yesterday.”
Fuck.
I pull out my phone and check the history.
Missed Call From: Marvin Kinkaid, 1:07 p.m.
Grace’s physical therapy starts at one. By that time, I would have been on the treadmill, trying to outrun my demons. The ones who keep whispering in my ear that her captors are still out there. Just waiting for the right time to finish what they started.