Chapter Fifty-Seven
AJ
“I can do this.” Grace glares at me, a hundred and twenty-five pounds of grit and fire, and I back off.
“Okay. I’ll open the wine.”
Her steps are mostly steady. She doesn’t reach for the wall once as she carries plates, two at a time, into the dining room. Pride swells in my chest—along with worry about her pushing too hard, too soon.
By the time I pull the roast out of the oven, and Connor’s fussin’ with vegetables like he’s auditioning for Texas’s next Top Chef, the table looks like it’s set for Christmas.
Grace sinks down in her chair with a sigh, her left hand trembling slightly, but the smile on her face lights up the room.
Dinner starts off with laughter and the kind of gentle ribbing you only find in the closest of families.
Parker laughing at the amount of butter Belle stole off the counter before I caught her.
Emi’s shock at how much hot sauce Grace put on her mashed potatoes.
Connor reminding his step-kid, Veronica, not to feed Belle green beans under the table.
Grace even joins in the teasing when Emi tells everyone that Jasper used to think kale was some sort of “fancy parsley.”
“They’re nothing alike. I can’t remember if I even like the stuff, but I know I’d never mistake it for parsley,” she says. “We need to find you a Veggie 101 class.”
Everyone laughs, and the knot I’ve carried in my chest for more than two weeks now fades away.
But the quiet doesn’t last. Connor’s phone buzzes, and he checks the screen. Isabel tenses. Veronica looks to her mom. “If he can check his phone…” she says.
“He’s working, V. You know they’re tryin’ to find out who took Grace. This is important.” Isabel gives her daughter’s arm a squeeze, and Veronica stabs another green bean with a sigh.
Connor slips the phone back into his pocket. “Zephyr found at least four cults whose ‘holy’ texts use the phrase ‘the Glorious One.’ But none of them have ties to Texas. There’s one in California, another in Montana, and two overseas.”
“Oleanders are popular in California.” I rest my hand on Grace’s thigh under the table. “But that’s a long way from where Grace turned up in Mexico. No other hits on the phrase?”
“Hundreds. Most in worship songs. It has ties to Buddhism, Vaishnavism, and a handful of other religions, but according to Zephyr, none of them would use it the way Grace remembers it.”
Grace’s knife hits her plate a little too loudly.
Her left hand trembles, and she clutches it to her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together.
“I’m not wrong. About the wording,” she whispers, then forces her voice a little louder.
“I can hear him—the man who locked me in that tiny room. I can’t see him, but his voice…
” Her breath hitches. “He was talking about me. I’m the one who was going to ‘banish all darkness and bring about the Glorious One’s return.
’ That’s why they…” Her gaze darts to Veronica, then back down to her plate. “Why they did what they did.”
Isabel takes her daughter’s hand. “V, if you want to go watch television, you can. Or use AJ’s office and call Mitzi.”
“I can handle this, Mom. Promise.” The young woman turns to Grace, her eyes sharp, but steady. “You can say it. I heard Connor talking the other day. They tried to kill you. I’m sorry. That blows.”
Grace blinks at her, then lets out a sound that might be a laugh. “Yeah. It really does.”
The look Connor gives his stepdaughter is nothing short of awe. But then his brows furrow. “Lil’ bit, we’ve talked about your eavesdropping.”
She shrugs, completely unapologetic. “Hey, I can’t help it if you leave your office door open.”
Parker snorts, nearly choking on her wine. “Please. That’s how AJ ended up with a whole damn posse on the flight down to Mexico. The man can’t whisper to save his life, and won’t shut a door in a dust storm.”
I’m fixin’ to tell her I wasn’t about to put Reyes on hold after he told me my wife was alive, when Hardison leans back in his chair, arms crossed, and one eyebrow disappearing under his shaggy black locks.
“If AJ was running his mouth loud enough for the whole damn station to hear, why am I lying to the chief again? And why wasn’t I right there with you, Lieutenant Loose Cannon?”
Parker rolls her eyes at him. “Because you dumped all your paperwork on me and cut out early that night. You were probably face down in a brisket plate by the time the call came in.”
Hardison doesn’t miss a beat. “Right. You were drowning in forms, I was drowning in BBQ sauce.”
Connor cuts in, his voice putting an end to the brief moment of levity.
“If the two of you are done? This still ain’t addin’ up.
How does a cult keep themselves hidden for three fuckin’ years?
” He leans in, forearms braced on the table.
“Cults don’t survive without fresh blood.
They need to recruit, have some sort of income stream to keep the lights on.
If there’s nothin’ to find, either they’ve got help coverin’ their tracks—”
Parker says what Connor won’t. “Or their recruits—their victims—are hidden so deep, no one’s gonna find them.”
Grace’s breath stutters in her chest. “They hid me. For three years.”
The words gut me. The whole room feels it. No one makes a sound for several long moments. Even Veronica stares down at her plate, poking her mashed potatoes with her fork.
Hardison leans back in his chair. “No one’s that off the grid. Grace, when you see that room—the wood one—is there electricity?”
She frowns, her eyelids fluttering closed. “I…think so. The lanterns burned oil, but…yes. The room had a light.”
“Then somebody’s paying a bill,” Hardison says. “The power company doesn’t care if you’re a plumber or the second coming of God. If there’s electricity, there’s paperwork. Receipts. We find those, we find a name.”
Veronica’s sharp brown eyes narrow on Hardison. “But if you don’t know where the cult is, how do you find the paperwork? No one’s gonna sign up for a credit card with the name ‘Glorious One, Cult Leader.’”
“That’s Zephyr’s job,” Nate replies. “But you’re not wrong, V. We just gotta hope someone—somewhere—got sloppy.”
Grace grips the edge of the table, her knuckles white. “What if they weren’t? Sloppy.”
“Then,” Nate says, his voice flat, “someone’s cleaning up after them. Which means we’ve got to find the janitor.”
Grace
Nate and Parker trade jabs as they clear the table. And while Connor washes the dishes and Veronica dries them, I bring Isabel and Emi to see my studio.
“It’s so empty now,” I say, still in awe that AJ—along with the rest of the guys—did all this for me.
Emi skims her fingers along the newly painted wall. “I knew you were a purple person.”
“I wish I remembered anything about decorating.” I lean against the drafting table, suddenly a little shaky.
“AJ said he and I picked out all the furniture in this house together. So I must have had an eye for it. But now…” Tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, I sigh.
“I can’t just pick something off a website.
I need to touch it. Feel it. But after Friday night… ”
“Hon,” Emi says, draping an arm around my shoulders, “If you need to go anywhere, Jasper and Connor will take you. With those two at your side, no one would dare bother you.”
The women close ranks around me, and the three of us stare out the darkened window at the lake. “God, I feel like such an ass for suggestin’ this, but if you gave an interview,” Emi says, “it might send some of the vultures back to their nests.”
“Emi!” Isabel takes a step back, her eyes narrowing. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’d be a softball piece. I promise. No hard questions.
No questions at all that you don’t approve ahead of time.
Hell, if AJ wants to vet them too, that’s fine.
But people love a tragedy turned love story.
That’s partly why they’re so fascinated by you now.
” Emi rests her hand on my arm, warmth in her brown eyes.
“Give them a glimpse into your life—maybe a bit of physical therapy, throwing the tennis ball for Belle, along with a little white lie that you haven’t remembered anything about the last three years—and they might back off a bit. Talk to AJ. See what he thinks.”
“Coffee’s on,” Jasper calls from down the hall.
We drift back to the living room, the clink of dishes fading as the scent of AJ’s dark brew replaces that of his—supposedly—famous roast and buttery mashed potatoes.
Parker presses a mug of tea into my hands, her quiet way of reminding me not to push too far, too fast. The warmth steadies me even as the dinner conversation churns like broken glass in my chest.
AJ takes his usual seat next to me, with Belle lying at our feet.
His first sip of coffee seems to steady him as he links his fingers with mine.
“You’ll have Connor or Jasper—or both—with you at all times,” he says.
“But…please, darlin’. Don’t leave the house.
The security system can’t protect you outside these walls. ”
My heart rate kicks up, and I pull away from my husband. “No.” I tighten my grip on the mug and work to steady my voice. “I was locked away for three years, AJ. I can’t—I won’t—be kept hidden again. Not even in my own home. Not when I’m finally getting my life back.”
His eyes flash, protective fury warring with something softer. But I don’t let myself look away. I need him to understand.
Parker breaks the tension, easing down beside me on the sofa, her shoulder brushing mine. “Grace is right,” she says gently. “Hiding isn’t the same as keeping her safe. We need a plan, not a prison.”
From his seat by the fire, Connor leans forward. “The plan is to watch Grace’s back. If she’s here, Jasper or I will be with her.” He turns his gaze to me. “If you want to go out—for anything—we’ll go. But you’ll have both of us with you. That sound fair?”
I nod. “I don’t even know if I’ll want to go anywhere. I just need to be able to decide that for myself.”
“We got your back, Grace,” Jasper says. “Any creep playin’ at bein’ an amateur reporter is gonna regret it.”
Nate clears his throat. He’s so quiet, sometimes I almost forget he’s in the room. “Speaking of creeps… Marvin’s been acting twitchy as hell lately.”
“He used to be a halfway decent guy,” Jasper says. “Until he broke chain of custody on a piece of evidence against the cartel four years ago. After that, he turned into a whiny piece of—”
Connor clears his throat, then cuts his gaze to Veronica.
“You do realize I’m eighteen now, right?” V says.
“Marvin’s an ass,” AJ grits out. “But twitchy? That’s new.”
“Trust me. I’ve got a PhD in twitchy. Marvin’s hiding something. He took half a dozen calls on Friday—outside.” Nate shoves his hair out of his eyes and drains the last of his coffee. “When I left, the dude looked like country music’s top ten, personified.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Parker asks.
“Standing on the corner after his wife left him for his best friend and took the dog, his truck, and his Stetson?” With a small shake of his head, Nate gives his partner the side-eye. “I thought you were born here.”
“I was. Country’s a hell of a lot more than that.” She snorts, but even their banter can’t quell the unease turning my stomach into a twisted knot.
The way he looked at me on Friday night made my skin crawl. But maybe my fear being filmed for the whole world to see moments before was what set me off.
I lift my mug to my lips, letting the honeyed warmth seep into my bones, and focus on the family I have around me.
Parker and Nate are still arguing about the virtues of country music.
Jasper, Emi, and Connor are talking baseball stats and spring training games.
And Veronica sits on the floor, her back against her mom’s legs, stroking Belle’s side while the dog snores loudly.
AJ drapes his arm around my shoulders. “I won’t let anything happen to you again, darlin’. On my life, we’ll keep you safe.”
I turn to him, cup his cheek, and brush a soft kiss to his lips. “I know.”