Chapter Forty-Nine
Grace
AJ turns onto a quiet street lined with tidy lawns and colorfully painted mailboxes. The first spring flowers are starting to bloom in window boxes and garden beds.
If I had to guess, Connor and Isabel are probably on a first-name basis with all their neighbors.
My husband is tense, his knuckles pure white where he grips the steering wheel.
“I can be back here in twenty-seven minutes. Twenty-four if I use the siren,” he says, his voice gritty and strained.
The idea of him flipping on the siren to pick me up from girls’ night is so absurd, it eases a tiny fraction of my nerves.
He pulls into the driveway, cuts the engine, and my heart rate skyrockets. Until I spot the cameras. They’re tucked into the eaves. Over the garage. Watching the front steps. Just like home.
The tight knot in my chest loosens. Not completely, but enough for me to breathe.
“Your panic button will alert me, Connor, Jasper, Hardison, Parker, Connor’s former boss at the FBI, Zephyr, and Pritchard out in Connecticut if anything happens. I’ll pick you up at eleven.”
He doesn’t ask me if I’m sure. Doesn’t tell me he’ll drive me home right now if I want him to. Probably good, because I’m equal parts excited and terrified.
AJ gets out of the SUV and comes around to open my door. My knees wobble as I get to my feet, but Belle is at my side seconds later. With her harness in my hand, I feel almost steady. In control.
“Grace.” AJ rests his hand at the small of my back, presses his lips to my forehead for a long moment, and then straightens. “Have fun, darlin’.”
Fun.
I don’t remember fun. But if anyone can help with that, it’s Parker, Emi, and Isabel.
Belle helps me make it up the three short steps without losing my balance, and the front door bursts open before I can reach for the doorbell.
Parker—dressed in yoga pants and a baggy sweatshirt—ushers me inside, waves to AJ, and then shuts the door. As soon as she’s double-checked the locks, she pulls me in for a gentle, one-armed hug and whispers, “If this gets to be too much, let me know.”
The house smells like spicy queso, and my stomach growls. “As long as there’s food, I’ll be okay.”
At least…I’ll try to be.
“I…hope it’s okay that I brought Belle.” I cling to her harness like it’s a security blanket. It is, in a way. Not only do I have a panic button in my pocket, but there’s a second one hidden under the top strap of the harness.
“Hon, she’s welcome any time,” Isabel says, coming in from the kitchen with a bowl of chips and a warm smile. “Connor and I have been talking about getting a dog once Veronica goes off to college in the fall. Empty nest and all.”
She bustles about for a moment, setting the chips on the table, giving Belle a scratch behind the ears, and helping me off with my coat before hanging it on a rack by the door.
“Okay, Grace,” she says, “since this is your first official girls’ night, we have two questions for you.”
I must not hide the quick stab of panic in my chest, because her eyes widen. “Oh, shit. Don’t worry, hon. They’re easy and there are no wrong answers, okay?” At my slow nod, she continues. “First question. Are you a hugger? Or are fist bumps more your jam?”
“Fist bumps?” Memory is such an odd thing. I remember how to brush my teeth, work the television remote, and use the microwave. But sometimes, the most basic phrases confuse me.
Isabel’s dark eyes turn serious. “This is a judgment-free zone, Grace. Unless you don’t like queso. Then…well… Oh, who am I kidding? We’ll just make you something else.”
I lean on Belle, my legs shaking. “I’m…a hugger. I think.”
“Oh, good.” She wraps me in a gentle embrace, giving me a light squeeze before she lets go. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to meet after the press conference. But AJ had you out of there quicker than small town gossip.”
Emi comes in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. With no makeup, no heels, and her hair in a low ponytail, she almost looks like a different person. Except for her eyes. And her smile. “Second question. How do you like your margaritas? Frozen or on the rocks?”
“I…I don’t know.” My voice falters. I should have some idea. Shouldn’t I?
Emi’s hug lasts longer. Almost like she knows that simple question is threatening to send me over the edge. “Then I’ll make you one of each so you can decide,” she says softly as she draws me toward a couch that looks like it could swallow a person whole.
Parker takes my arm for the last few steps, helping me sink into the cushions while Belle settles at my feet.
“The three of us have been gettin’ together for a couple of months,” she says over the sound of the cocktail shaker rattling from the kitchen.
“When Jasper got hurt—shit, a little over a year ago now—he and AJ weren’t on speaking terms. But AJ asked me to check on Jas when he was in the hospital, and it was so damn obvious the two of them needed an intervention, I kept trying to make it happen.
I met Emi not long after she and Jasper got together. ”
“And Isabel?” Despite joining the group chat and starting to get to know these women, I never asked how they knew each other.
“Hardison and I were on the night shift protecting Isabel and her daughter after Veronica stumbled onto a drug ring while reporting for her school newspaper. Veronica’s at her bestie’s house tonight.
You’ll meet her soon. She’s a good kid. Eighteen.
Full of sass, smart as fuck, and twice as stubborn. ”
“Drinks are served!” Emi calls, practically waltzing in from the kitchen with a tray of glasses rimmed with salt. “Parker, the virgin one is on the right.”
Isabel follows and presses a warm bowl into my hands. Steam rises from the surface, carrying the delicious scent of melted cheese and peppers.
“Careful, it’s not for the faint of heart. But that’s where the margaritas come in,” Isabel says with a little chuckle.
“Spicy is…pretty much all I can eat,” I admit, scooping up some of the cheesy goodness with a tortilla chip. Heat blooms across my tongue, sharp and comforting at the same time. “Oh my God. Okay, I might never leave.”
“See? I knew the queso would hook her,” Emi says as she sinks down next to me. “It’s my grandma’s recipe. She said it was how she convinced my grandpa to marry her. Works every time.” The women all laugh, and I surprise myself by joining in.
Isabel clinks her glass lightly against mine. “You’re safe here, Grace. We’ve got cameras, locks, and enough carbs to keep us fortified for weeks. All you have to do is relax. And hopefully have some fun.”
Relax. Have some fun. But one word sticks in my heart. Hope. I hope my memories return. I hope these new friendships can help. I hope one day, I don’t feel so broken.
As Emi, Isabel, and Parker argue over what movie we should watch tonight, I take a bite of queso and smile as another broken piece of my life begins to mend.
AJ
I’m unloading all the shit I picked up at the local DIY Warehouse when Jasper pulls in next to me.
Sliding out from behind the wheel, his lips tighten in a brief flash of pain before he leans in and snags a six-pack of Shiner. “Paint, drop cloths, lumber? Should I be worried?”
“You see any duct tape or shovels? We ain’t buryin’ a body. Put the beer in the fridge and help me get this stuff inside.”
He ambles off, his gait uneven, muttering something about my lack of polite conversation skills.
Connor shows up, toolbox in hand, as Jasper hauls the last two paint cans down the hall. “I thought you said there’d be pizza. I don’t smell pepperoni.”
“You’ve gotta earn it,” I shoot back. Then, because I probably shouldn’t piss him off when we only have four hours to get all this shit done, I add, “It’s on the way. Grab a beer.”
Before I can shut the door, a dark blue sedan pulls up. “Goddamn. He actually came.”
Hardison stares at the house like it’s about to bite him. For a full minute, he doesn’t move from behind the wheel. But eventually, he notices me leaning against the door jamb.
I slide my gaze from him to my watch and back again. That gets him moving. He gets out, shoulders hunched and hands jammed in his jacket pockets.
“You call this ‘on time’?” I ask.
He shrugs one shoulder, his gaze darting back to his car for a beat. “Figured you added me to that thread by mistake. But, I decided showing up and getting the door slammed in my face was better than a write-up for insubordination.”
Well, fuck.
The vulnerability in his voice is so out of character, if it weren’t for his body language, I’d think he was playing me.
“No mistake. You already got your hands dirty by installing that trojan on Harris’s computer. Paint is the perfect companion to clandestine operations. Get your ass inside. There’s beer. Pizza’s on the way.”
He eyes me for another few seconds, then heads into the house. Tossing a quick glance over his shoulder, he adds, “Painting isn’t messy if you do it right.”
“Gonna give us all lessons?” I ask, flipping the lock behind me.
In the kitchen, Hardison accepts a beer from Connor. “Maybe. But if your plans involve ladders or power tools, there better be breadsticks to go with that pizza.”
“So…gonna tell us all why we’re here?” Connor asks.
I jerk my head for the three men to follow me down the hall, and open the door to Grace’s studio.
Every wall is a different color. Purple, blue, green, and orange around the big picture window looking out over the lake. Paintings in various stages of completion rest on easels, and a bulletin board spans the purple wall with old pencil drawings tacked one over another.
The memory hits hard. Grace perched on a stool, a brush in one hand and a palette in the other. The painting of the weeping willow tree is only half done. She was supposed to finish it after the marathon. But it’s sat there for three years, yet I could never put it away.
“AJ?” Jasper says, his hand on my shoulder.
“This used to be Grace’s sanctuary,” I manage. “But she won’t come in here now. Says it doesn’t feel like hers. So we’re strippin’ it. Everything goes in the garage, but it’s gotta be organized and labeled so she can find it again if she changes her mind.”
A long moment of silence fills the room. Connor nods. Jasper takes a deep pull on his beer, then starts rolling up his sleeves. Hardison shakes his head and mutters, “I knew I should’ve stayed home.” But he shrugs out of his jacket anyway. “We’re gonna need a hell of a lot of primer.”
An hour later, Grace’s studio is more construction zone than zen oasis. Connor keeps swearing at his tablet—and the spreadsheet where he’s recording every item as it goes into a box or a bin or on a shelf in the garage.
A dozen canvases are still stacked in the hallway, and we’ve ripped three drop cloths already. But save for a few streaks of purple left on the west wall, the primer’s mostly done.
Jasper’s up on the ladder, muttering about the cobwebs clinging to the overhead light while Hardison—the only one of us not covered in primer and sweat and pizza grease—dips an angled brush into the can of “Dove White” paint and starts in on the south wall.
He’s put away five slices of pizza and two beers, but even so, hasn’t stopped working for more than five minutes at a time.
“Y’know,” he says at last, glancing over at me, “most guys, when left alone for a night, sit on the couch in their boxers and watch bad action movies.”
“Guess I’m not most guys.” I swipe a rag over Grace’s drafting table, the only piece of furniture staying in the room, and hope to all that’s holy in this world I’m not making a mistake doing this.
“There are worse ways to spend an evening,” he says, dragging another perfect streak across the wall. “If I’d walked in here to find the room filled with IKEA boxes, I’d have bolted.”
The ladder rattles as Jasper barks out a laugh. “Fuckin’ A. Don’t give him any ideas or next week, we’ll all be elbow deep in cardboard and Allen wrenches.”
“Shut up and keep workin’,” I mutter, but I can’t help smiling.
Hardison shakes his head and keeps on painting. Jasper fights with yet another cobweb, and Connor hefts the last of the canvases to carry it out to the garage.
I’d forgotten—or maybe I never knew—what it was like to have people who showed up for you. Not colleagues. Not acquaintances. Friends. Real ones.
But I know now. And I sure as shit ain’t gonna forget again.