Chapter Forty-Three
AJ
Grace’s voice cuts down the hall. “Dammit!”
I jolt upright in my chair. She’s fine. I know she’s fine. But the frustration in her tone rips through my chest like shrapnel.
“Try again. You unclipped four clothespins Friday. Today, I want six.” Karen—part cheerleader, part drill sergeant—has worked wonders during Grace’s physical therapy sessions.
Another week, and she won’t need me to fasten her bra or tie her shoes anymore.
I want her to have that independence. God, I want it for her more than anything. But I’d be lying if I said I won’t miss those moments that have kept us tethered so tightly together since she came home.
“That’s five,” Karen says with pride. “One more, and you can stop. Two more, and we’ll go out on the deck so you can throw the tennis ball for Belle.”
The dog barks, and I chuckle as I close my office door. Karen is very good at her job.
The video call comes in almost as soon as I open my laptop. Zephyr’s face takes up the left half of the screen, with my brother and Parker sharing the other side.
“No Connor?” Jasper asks.
“He’s meetin’ with Hardison. The head of major crimes at APD is hollarin’ about bringing Grace in for an ‘interview,’” I grit out.
Jas snorts. “Interview my ass. It’d be an interrogation.”
“Oh, they won’t push too hard,” Zephyr says with a hint of a smile. “Captain Keller has a whopper of a gambling problem. AJ, I’m sending you a bit of leverage. Should you need it.”
“Hot damn.” Jasper shakes his head. “Where were you when I was on the job?”
Something dark flickers in Zephyr’s gaze. “Nowhere…good.”
Fuck.
She runs a hand through her teal locks and the darkness fades. “I’m coming up empty on the lantern. I’ve tried everything. Proportions, the angle of beveling on the glass, the twist of the handle, down to the seams on the base. It’s not mass market. No match in any catalog online.”
I slump back in the chair. “So, it’s custom.”
“Possibly.” Zephyr shrugs. “Or antique. The glasswork has an old-world vibe. Could be hand cut. I’m still digging. Nothing on the dress either. What I wouldn’t give for a closer look at it. Or actual measurements.”
“Harris was already madder than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs,” Parker says. “Turnin’ in the dress was the only card we could play to keep AJ on the job.”
“You think you can trace it?” I ask. A small spark of hope flares to life amid all the shit raining down on us from every direction.
“No idea. But whoever made it might have used a commercial pattern. If they did—and the pattern’s proportions are online and the perp used a credit card—well…that would only leave about a thousand retailers to hack into.”
“How long would that take? We’re running out of time. The news conference is in four hours.”
“A fair bit longer than that.” Zephyr lifts the biggest teacup I’ve ever seen and takes a long sip. “But I could write an algorithm to handle the hacking while I caught some shuteye. Pritchard’s got to stop assigning me two cases at once. Or find some way to clone me.”
I rub the back of my neck, my gaze locked on the crime board I pulled out for this conversation. Grace’s drawing is pinned to the top left corner, with the photo of the blood-stained white dress just below it.
“And nothin’ on the oleander?” It’s our last lead. Hell, at this point, it’s our only lead.
“I haven’t heard from Mikayla yet today. She’s been working on the pollen. It’s definitely from somewhere between the twenty-fifth and thirty-fifth northern parallels. But that’s as far as she’s been able to narrow things down.”
Zephyr brings up a map of the United States and Mexico, with a band of teal—not unlike the shade of her hair—stretching across half the land mass.
“Well, that ain’t much help. Grace could’ve been anywhere from California to Georgia to Monterrey, Mexico.” Slumping back in my chair, I scrub my hands over my face.
“Not quite that far of a range. At least not when she was stabbed,” Zephyr says.
The color band fades away, replaced by large ovals of blue, some overlapping, some completely isolated.
“These are the only places it could have been cold enough for hypothermia to set in. She could have been held anywhere. But they tried to kill her somewhere cold. I’m betting east Texas, New Mexico, or within two hours of the US-Mexico border. ”
Parker cuts in, her voice sharp. “Has Grace remembered anythin’ else? Even the smallest detail could make the difference.”
My gut twists. I drop my hands. “No. Nothin’ new. Or…nothin’ she’s been willin’ to share with me.”
Jasper’s lips flatten, and he gives a small shake of his head. “AJ, have you even told her we think she was taken by a cult?”
Silence stretches for too long. Zephyr holds the tea cup like a shield. Parker looks like she’s about to lose her shit on me, and Jas… The disappointment in his gaze is clear as day.
“I haven’t brought it up.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Parker snaps. “Let me guess. She’s too fragile? You don’t want to cause her any pain?”
“Somethin’ like that,” I mutter.
I’ve never seen Parker this mad. Her steely gray stare bores right through me. Thank fuck she’s still at home or Chief Harris and I might be sportin’ twin bruises.
“Let me guess. You haven’t told Grace about the oleander connection either.” Her eyes roll skyward at my silence. “Dammit, AJ. You’re the walking embodiment of every bad decision a man can make in the name of ‘protecting’ a woman. She ain’t a porcelain doll. Stop treating her like one.”
Her words cut deep, and shame crawls up the back of my neck. “She’s been through so much—”
“Exactly,” Parker says, the fire in her voice cooling by degrees. “And she survived. Hell, she’s done a fair bit more than that. Did you know she joined our group chat on Saturday night?”
I give Parker the side-eye. “What group chat?”
“Men,” she mutters. “The one with Emi, Isabel, and me. When Emi set up Grace’s phone, she added her. Your wife is a hell of a lot stronger than you’re giving her credit for. And she’s gettin’ a little more of herself back every day.”
Fuck.
Dropping my head into my hands with a groan, I wonder when I became such a goddamn hypocrite. For all my talk about how strong Grace is, I’ve been the weak one. Terrified of pushing too hard. Of breaking her when she’s only just put herself back together.
“Scared don’t mean broken.”
“Aaron,” Jasper says softly. “Grace does need protectin’. Just not from herself.”
I drag in a breath, steadying my voice. “You’re right.” The admission is bitter on my tongue. But it’s necessary. “I’ll tell her. Before the press conference. If she remembers anything else, I’ll let all y’all know.”
The call ends, and the silence in my office is deafening. Through the wall, I catch Grace’s soft laugh, the sound light. Happy. At peace.
I hope what I have to do next doesn’t shatter that peace into dust.