Chapter Forty-Five
AJ
I pull the duvet up to Grace’s shoulders, lean down, and press a kiss to her forehead. She agreed to rest when I promised her I’d not only help her wash her hair before the press conference, but I’d do it naked.
I’d worried hearing the evidence we’d gathered would break her. But it might have made her even stronger.
Slipping out of the bedroom, I unlock my phone. Connor picks up on the first ring.
“What happened with Hardison?” I ask as I close myself back in my office.
“Harris was fixin’ to hand the case back over to APD,” Connor says. “But when Hardison came in this mornin’, he was going on about how badly they done fucked up last time and how the Rangers were gonna show ‘em how it was done.”
Worry prickles along my spine. “I ain’t about to argue with him about APD’s shoddy police work, but does Hardison have any idea why he changed his tune?”
“Nope. And Zephyr hasn’t found anything on his computer. But with all the angles she’s workin’, can’t say I’m surprised.”
A ball of ice settles in my gut. “This don’t feel right. Harris handed the case to APD—and shut me out—less than forty-eight hours after Grace was taken. Why would he be so territorial now?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Connor says. “Outside of the twenty minutes he spent with me, Hardison’s been stuck to Harris like glue all day. He’s got good instincts, AJ. Almost as good as Parker’s. If there’s somethin’ to find, he won’t stop until he digs it up.”
With a sigh, I sink into my chair. “You’ll be there? At the press conference?”
“What the hell kind of question is that? Of course I’ll be there. Are you okay?”
I stare at the crime board leaning against the wall. “I…hadn’t told Grace about the oleander poison. Or…anything, really. Until an hour ago.”
“Shit,” Connor mutters. “I’d read you the riot act for keepin’ all that from her, but it sounds like you’re beating yourself up enough already. How’d she take it?”
“Better than I would have.” I run a hand through my hair, tugging hard enough a few strands come loose in my fingers. “But…fuck, man. After tonight, the whole world’s gonna know she’s alive. How long until they come for her again?”
He doesn’t answer right away. That ain’t good.
“I can pack a bag. Take her up to the cabin. It’s got a decent security system.
” My voice, already rough around the edges, cracks.
The last time I went to our grandfather’s cabin on Lake Livingston, it was to save Jasper and Emi from a mess of cartel hitmen.
If I’d been even two minutes later, they’d both be dead.
“No. You can’t make Grace leave her home. Not when she’s still findin’ her way back. Plus, you’d be all alone up there.”
“Even here, it’s half a mile to the nearest neighbor. I’ve got security cameras at the front and back doors, but—”
“That ain’t enough,” Connor says, his voice calm and steady. “But I’ve been workin’ on a solution.”
“You… What kind of solution?” The man’s already done so much for us. He claims we’ll never be square. But helping to save him and his family was my fucking job. This? It’s a hell of a lot more.
“I called Graham.”
It takes me a second to place the name. “Your brother’s guy?”
“Yeah. He’s part of Ryker McCabe’s K&R team in Seattle. Their logistics specialist—a former Navy SEAL—is married to the woman who runs Emerald City Security.”
“Is that name supposed to mean somethin’ to me?”
He chuckles. “It might if you watched the news once in a while. Emerald City is the name in security. Ain’t no one better.
Their systems have helped put a stop to a couple of high-profile crime rings in San Francisco, Denver, and Chicago.
But they don’t do home installs. Unless you happen to be family. ”
“I ain’t family.”
His laugh turns into a snort. “For fuck’s sake, AJ. How can you still think that? If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead. Isabel and Veronica too. They’re sendin’ a team of installers out on a red-eye tonight. They’ll be at the house by ten tomorrow.”
The knots turning my shoulders to granite don’t unravel completely, but they loosen a fraction. “Connor—”
“And tonight, Jasper, Parker, and I have you covered. You and Grace won’t be alone. Not for one damn second.”
“I can’t lose her again,” I manage through the overwhelming wave of relief threatening to carry me away.
“You won’t. Grace’ll have a wall around her everywhere, AJ. One with teeth. Anyone tries to get to her, they’ll have to go through us. All of us.”
Grace
My nap was nothing but a never-ending series of nightmares. If only I could remember what they were beyond dark shadows and people chanting words I couldn’t understand.
I was so exhausted when I woke up, I couldn’t even muster the energy to ask AJ to join me in the bath.
Now, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the closet like it could swallow me whole at any moment. I know the clothes are mine. Some of them even feel…almost familiar. But they all belong to the woman I used to be.
Emi pops out, a deep green sweater in her hands. “This one will bring out the color of your eyes and soften the bruising a bit.” She studies my face. The dark purple covering my cheek and temple has started to fade into a sickly yellow. “It’s strong, but not flashy. It says survivor, not victim.”
She lays the sweater in my lap, and I run my fingers over the soft knit I can’t remember buying. “I don’t want to pretend everything’s fine. It isn’t.”
“You don’t have to, hon.” She crouches in front of me and takes my hands. “The bruises speak for themselves. What we’re doing here is making sure people see you. Not just the damage.”
I want to ask her how she can be so sure there is a me under all the damage, but she pulls a shopping bag from her oversized purse and dangles it in front of me. “I went to the beauty supply store and got you everything you’ll need for makeup.”
“You…” My throat tightens, and I just stare at the bag. First the phone, with all that music, the group chat—where messages fly by at a dizzying speed, and whenever I say something, the heart emojis and replies come almost immediately—and now this?
“I don’t… You hardly know me. Why would you—?”
Emi’s eyes soften. She sets the bag down and takes a seat next to me on the bed.
“Because you deserve to have choices again, Grace. When you’re ready, I’ll go with you to the store.
Help you pick out anything you think you might want that isn’t in here.
But since the world can’t know you’re alive for another two hours, this…
well…it’ll get you started.” She grins and squeezes my hand.
“You’re tougher than you think, funny as hell, and Parker’s already adopted you as her sister.
That’s enough for me to know we’re going to be great friends. ”
The heavy weight I’ve been carrying on my shoulders all day lifts a fraction. I’m not brave enough to hug Emi, so I run my thumb over the sweater again, grounding myself in its texture.
“Come on,” she says, rising and holding out her hand. “Let’s get you into this and start on the makeup.”
I let her help me up, then trade the fuzzy pink sweater for the one she picked out. “See?” Emi angles me toward the mirror. The green makes my eyes look sharper. More alert. Alive. “This is the one. Strong, not flashy.”
Once I take a seat at the vanity, she arranges tubes, bottles, and brushes all in a row.
“We’ll keep it simple. A touch of concealer, some powder, and a hint of color on your lips.
No eye makeup. Nothing heavy. But, if you decide you want to go all out for a date or just…
’because’ some time, you call me and I’ll come show you what to do with all the rest of this. ”
Her steady hands move with confidence. Gentle dabs here and there, soft brush strokes. Warmth blooms in my cheeks as she evens out the harsh edges of the bruise.
“In all the pictures from…before…I didn’t have much makeup on,” I whisper.
“And we’re not changing that. What we want most is for the cameras to see your eyes. To see the woman you are now.”
When she’s finished, I almost don’t recognize myself. The scar on my cheek is still there—it always will be—but it doesn’t catch the light like it did before. The bruise isn’t gone, but it’s softer now.
Emi smooths my hair, tugging a few strands into place over the butterfly bandages on my scalp, then crouches so we’re eye level in the mirror.
“Grace, people are going to want to see two things today—that you’re human, and you’re still standing.
You don’t need to smile. Or be funny. Or look perfect.
You don’t need to hide the strength you have, or fake strength you don’t.
You just need to breathe. And if it gets to be too much, lean on AJ.
Or look for me and Parker. I’ll be in the first row, and she’ll be standing in the back. Okay?”
The bruise throbs under the thin veil of concealer, the sweater doesn’t completely cover the scars around my wrists, and panic still threatens to turn my stomach inside out.
But Emi’s words put a tiny crack in the wall of fear I’ve been hiding behind for over a week now.
Just wide enough for a hint of light to slip through.
I nod softly. “Okay.”
I smooth my palms over the dark green sweater for the tenth time in as many minutes.
After Emi left, the exhaustion tried to pull me under again.
Two cups of Cafe Vienna were enough for me to feel moderately human, but the caffeine also left me with a stomach full of angry hornets.
God, I hope I don’t throw up all over the microphones.
The doorbell sends my heart rate into the stratosphere, though Belle’s tail is wagging as she trots in from the kitchen.
“Parker,” AJ says, his voice subdued as he lets her in. The look she gives him could freeze Hell itself until he adds, “I told her. Everything.”
Well, I’m definitely filing that away for the group chat. If I survive the next couple of hours.
“Good.” She crouches down to greet Belle, scratching her behind the ears and cooing, “Hey, pretty girl. Got something for you and your mama. Let’s go show her what it is, okay?”
Belle barks, running over to me with her tongue hanging half out of her mouth.
Parker sets a box in my lap before dropping into the chair next to me. “Go ahead. Open it.”
“Please tell me you didn’t stop at the beauty counter again. Emi came over earlier with a whole bag of makeup, and I’m still trying to figure out when to use all the stuff you bought me last week!”
She grins. “I’ll write up a cheat sheet. I really should have done that for you on Friday, but…then I went and decked the chief, got myself suspended, all hell broke loose…” With a soft shake of her head, she meets my gaze. “What’s in there should make tonight a little easier on you.”
“Is it tequila? A ‘get out of this press conference free’ card? Or a whole boatload of Xanax?” I lift the lid, and pull out a sleek, black leather dog harness with a long, sturdy handle. “Oh, my God.”
“It’s a mobility support harness,” Parker explains, scooting to the edge of the chair. “It distributes weight across Belle’s body, so you can lean on the handle without hurting her. I figured…it might let you ditch the walker.”
I curl my fingers around the soft leather, testing the weight of it. Belle sniffs the straps with an inquisitive little ruff, like she knows it’s for her.
All those angry hornets settle a bit. Not gone, but muted. Like Parker’s gift soothed them.
“You—” My voice breaks, and I swallow hard before trying again. “How did you even know something like this existed?”
She shrugs, the movement casual, but there’s something in her eyes I can’t read.
“You don’t go anywhere without Belle, and this way, you won’t have to try to manage her and the walker.
I started the paperwork to get her registered as a proper service dog, but until we jump through all those hoops, places that don’t usually allow dogs should understand she’s not with you just for shits and giggles. ”
“Will you…um…help me with the buckles?”
“I gotcha, babe.” She drops to her knees, adjusting and fastening the various straps until they lie flat against Belle’s sleek fur. “Try it out.”
Parker helps me to my feet, and Belle moves immediately to my right side. As if she knows my left hand is the weak one. As soon as I grip the handle, I feel steadier. The world doesn’t tilt quite so much under me.
We try a few hesitant steps. When my knee buckles, Belle is there to support me. I let the handle take part of my weight, and after a moment, when I haven’t crumpled to the ground, I try again until I’ve completed a whole circuit of the living room.
I wrap my arms around Parker. “Thank you.”
“That’s what friends do,” she says softly.