Chapter Sixty-Two
AJ
I rub my eyes, the case file in front of me blurring. A dead body found only a few blocks from the warehouse on Grand where Jasper almost lost his life last year.
My phone buzzes next to me. Before I can even say hello, Jasper’s voice bursts from the speaker.
“AJ, Grace collapsed. We were gettin’ her some art supplies, and when we left the store, we found a bouquet of fuckin’ oleander flowers on Connor’s truck.
It shook her somethin’ fierce. She’s dizzy and she ain’t…
here. I think she’s trapped in her memories.
We’re headed to Austin Memorial. Connor called VanHorn, and she’s gonna meet us there. ”
“Fuck! Jas…put her on. Please. Just for a minute. Let me try to get her back.” I shove my chair so hard it hits the credenza behind me.
“Go ahead,” he says, his voice far away now.
“Grace? Darlin’, listen to me. You’re gonna be okay. You’re home. You’re safe. You’re loved.”
“Not…your Nova,” she whimpers. “Prophet…”
“Goddammit. Listen to me, Grace. You ain’t back there. You’re in Austin. With Jas and Connor. I’m comin’ for you, darlin’. You’re home. You’re safe. You’re loved!”
Her sob cuts through me, sharper than any blade ever could.
“Jas!”
“I’m here,” he says.
“Keep tryin’ to get through to her. And for fuck’s sake, take down every word she says.”
“Will do. We’re pullin’ up now.” The call cuts off.
I burst through the door of my office and into the bullpen. “Parker!”
Whatever she hears in my voice must be enough, because she’s out of her chair in a heartbeat, keys and phone in her hand.
“Grace collapsed. Austin Memorial.”
She shoots Hardison a look across the desk, then turns for the door.
The chief barrels out of his office. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Lieutenant? You have paperwork. Weeks of it.”
“You want to fire me? Fire me,” she snaps. “Grace is hurt and I’m takin’ AJ to the hospital so he doesn’t drive himself right into the side of a bus. I reckon that’s a mite bit more important than any paperwork.”
“I can drive him.” Marvin steps in front of us, and Parker almost runs right into him. “All of my reports are already on Elmore’s desk. I’m free.”
Anger prickles along the back of my neck. He’s too calm. Too damn polished. Like it don’t even matter that Grace is hurt.
Parker doesn’t miss a beat. Just sidesteps him with a glare that could split concrete. “You want to help? File your own damn reports. Assumin’ you know how.”
Harris grabs her arm before she reaches the door. “If you ain’t at that desk first thing tomorrow, you’re done here. Understand?”
“Oh, I hear you. But if you make me choose between my job and her life, I know which one I’m pickin’. Spoiler alert—it doesn’t come with health insurance.”
The elevator doors whisper open on the fourth floor. Connor leans against the nurses’ station, hands balled into fists at his sides, but straightens the moment he sees us.
“Jasper’s got Belle in Room four forty-four. Grace is with VanHorn gettin’ a CT scan. AJ, go on back. Parker, I need you on with Zephyr. She’s got questions and I think you might be better at answerin’ them.”
I push through the double doors, scanning the bright orange placards until I find the right room. Inside, Jasper holds Belle’s harness with both hands, and I can’t tell who’s growling louder.
“Belle!” I snap my fingers. “Sit.”
She tosses her head at me, defiant, until I repeat the command then drop down to one knee so I’m at her level. “She’ll be okay, girl. She has to be.”
The dog whines, then leans her entire body against me. I wrap my arms around her, and, for a moment, let myself break.
Jasper’s hand comes down on my shoulder. One quick squeeze and I pull myself back together.
“She was mostly coherent by the time we got her upstairs,” he says, his voice rough. “But before…she was goin’ on about a Prophet. I wrote down everythin’ I could remember.”
He shows me his phone.
Prophet, please
Hurts
Can’t do this
Not yet…I’m not ready…
The next moon…
Not…your Nova…
I run a hand through my hair, pulling hard on the strands. “You send all this to Zephyr?”
“Yeah. It ain’t gonna help much, though. Unless she can find somethin’ about ‘your Nova.’ Or ‘Prophet.’ But when you can talk to Grace, maybe she’ll remember more.”
Maybe. Or maybe her battered mind will shield her from whatever horrible memory those goddamn flowers triggered.
The scent of antiseptic is too thick in the air. The hospital bed too empty. The room too quiet. It feels like hours pass, but my watch says it’s only been twenty minutes when the door opens and Dr. VanHorn wheels Grace back into the room.
Fuck. She looks so frail. Eyes glassy, mouth slack, and her hands shake as she fidgets with the hospital gown.
“Captain Stone.” Dr. VanHorn’s voice is calm—too calm as she rolls the chair right next to the bed and pulls back the sheet. “Grace’s vitals are stable, but I’d like to keep her overnight for observation.”
“No. I want to go home.” Grace tries to stand, but her left knee buckles and she collapses back into the wheelchair. “Shit.”
“Darlin’,” I drape her arm around my shoulders and help her to the bed, “you collapsed.”
She gives me a look that might as well say, “I know. I was there.”
The doctor slides a small tablet from the pocket of her coat.
“Grace’s CT scan worries me. There’s a small bone fragment lodged in her temporal lobe that wasn’t there when I saw her two weeks ago.
” She taps the screen, then points to a white slash amid a sea of dark gray.
“Scar tissue has started forming around it. Left unchecked, it could lead to increased pressure in her brain.”
Pressure. In her brain.
My throat goes dry. “And that means…?”
“Surgery.” Her voice is gentle, but the word lands like a hammer. “Soon. Within the week if possible. Right now, her intracranial pressure is only slightly elevated. But if it continues to rise, the risks increase. Seizures, partial paralysis, even the loss of speech.”
Grace jerks in my arms, a sharp inhale catching in her throat. I curl around her, pulling her against me like I can shield her from all the potential horrors the doctor just called out in harsh detail. “And if you take it out—she’ll be okay?”
Dr. VanHorn shakes her head. “I can’t take it out.
Neurosurgery is my field, but I was in a car crash last year that left me with minor nerve damage in my dominant hand.
But I can tell you that any brain surgery carries serious risks—bleeding, infection, stroke.
Because of the fragment’s location, I’d be especially worried about language and memory side effects.
Aphasia. Cognitive changes. Short and long term memory loss. ”
Grace’s hands ball into fists in her lap. She trembles once, then shudders like the weight of the words is too much to bear. “The last time someone cut into my head, I lost everything—even my name. I won’t—I can’t—go through that again.”
I cup her face, desperate to anchor her, to anchor myself. “Look at me, darlin’.” When her eyes finally lift to mine, fear swimming in their depths, I swallow hard past the fire in my chest. “We’ll find the best neurosurgeon in the country. You hear me? You’re not losing yourself. Not this time.”
Dr. VanHorn’s gaze flicks from me to Grace, then softens.
“If it were my wife, Captain Stone, there are three or four surgeons I’d call.
I’ll get you their names. Grace, I know you want to go home—and I actually agree, that’s the best place for you right now.
But I need you here for the next couple of hours so I can track your intracranial pressure.
If it stays stable, I’ll discharge you. If it doesn’t, you’ll be admitted. No arguments.”
Grace presses her lips together, her hand tightening on mine. “Two hours. I can’t stay here any longer than that. Please.”
I kiss her knuckles, holding on, hoping she’ll understand that I’m on her side. Always. Forever. “Two hours, darlin’. Then you, me, and Belle…we’re either walkin’ out of here together, or sleepin’ here tonight. All of us.”