Chapter Seventy-Two
AJ
Parker sneaks into the room a little after five p.m., silently slipping through the door, little more than a shadow to anyone watching. She goes straight to Grace’s side, crouches down, and takes her hand.
“Hey there, hon.” Her voice is soft. Light.
But I catch the crack in it. She smiles, then lowers her head for a moment and brushes away a tear before Grace can see it.
When she looks up again, her tone is steadier.
“Me and AJ—we’ve got you. We ain’t goin’ anywhere until you do.
Got it? You’re not alone. Not now. Not ever. ”
The way she grips Grace’s hand makes the promise feel solid. Heavy. Real.
I clear my throat, shifting closer to the bed. It’s time to let Grace in on the plan. She might not be able to talk, but she’s clearly here. And Emi’s goin’ on the air in an hour.
Grace’s hand curls in mine. Her eyes are still a little glassy, like she can’t quite focus, but the sound she makes—not a word, but definitely a question—tells me she knows there’s something in the works.
“Darlin’, we need to tell you somethin’.”
Her brows knit. She squeezes my fingers hard, and my gut twists.
Fuck.
Parker slides a hip onto the very edge of the bed, and leans close. “Grace, we came up with a plan. A way to keep you safe. But me and AJ…we’re stayin’ right here with you. Can AJ tell you what it is?”
Grace tries to nod, but almost immediately winces.
“Wait. I’ve got an idea.” Parker digs into her bag and comes up with Grace’s sketchbook. She flips to a blank page and helps Grace curl her fingers around a pencil. “Language…it ain’t always what people think. Try writin’ something.”
For a long moment, I don’t think anyone in the room even breathes. Grace’s hand shakes, but she manages two words.
“What plan?”
The sheer joy of being able to communicate with my wife almost does me in. Until Parker smacks my arm and hisses, “She asked you a question. Answer the woman.”
“Sorry, darlin’. Connor thinks there’s a way to draw attention away from the hospital.
Maybe get Prophet and his cartel buddies a little desperate.
Emi’s gonna help us. On the six o’clock news, she’ll do a little human interest story piece about you needing surgery for an injury sustained before you were found.
She’ll report that it was successful and you’ve been discharged.
That you’re home. Jasper…” I chuckle, because I know my brother ain’t happy about this next bit.
“Jasper’s shavin’ his beard. He’ll drive my car back to the house with one of Connor’s former FBI buddies passin’ as you. ”
Grace frowns, but only gets two letters down before the pencil slips from her grasp. Parker’s right there to pick it back up again.
Eventually, she scratches out, “Too dangerous.”
I soften my tone, my hand resting on her forearm.
I need to keep touching her. To reassure her she’s not alone.
Or maybe…to reassure myself. “Hardison will be here with us. And I called the chief. He’s sending a couple of other Rangers in street clothes to the hospital.
The full moon is the day after tomorrow. They’ve got to be gettin’ desperate.”
Grace’s throat works, her lips purse and press together before a strangled sound escapes. Eventually, she steadies the sketchbook and writes, “Belle?”
“She’s at Emi’s,” I reassure her. “You know she spoils that dog rotten.” I brush my thumb over Grace’s wrist, feeling the rapid beat of her heart. “She’s safe, darlin’. Just like you.”
Grace stares at the page, then at me. God, I’d give anything to ease the glassy, shell-shocked look in her eyes. But despite the exhaustion, despite her brain betraying her, despite the hole in her goddamn skull, she’s still fighting.
I squeeze her hand again. “We don’t move forward unless you agree. Emi can go on in half an hour, or she can pull the segment and we keep all hands on deck here.”
Her pencil scratches one last time. “You. Parker. Don’t leave.”
I dip my head, pressing her hand to my lips. “I promise. We’re staying right here.”
Grace
The television hums above the bed, a low drone I can’t quite tune out. AJ found the news channel earlier and left it on mute, saying it would help keep me distracted until Emi’s segment came on. I’m not sure if it’s working or just making things worse.
Parker fiddles with the remote, tapping it until the volume rises enough for me to hear the anchor.
“And now, with an update on the Grace Stone kidnapping case, Emmylou Marsh,” the man says.
The camera pans to Emi, poised, perfect makeup, hands folded in front of her. She painted her nails dark red just the other day. Right after she did my toes.
“Grace Stone miraculously reappeared on the Butler trail a little over two weeks ago with no memory of her life. Her injuries required brain surgery, and she underwent that surgery this morning at Austin Memorial. But I’m pleased to report that Ms. Stone has been released and will be recovering at home with her family. ”
God, I wish that were true. I’d do anything to get out of this hospital. Even out of this bed.
Footage of me—or at least someone who looks like me—appears on screen.
Jasper, who really can double for AJ without his beard, thanks to his dark glasses and Stetson, wheels the other me through the hospital’s front doors.
The woman smiles faintly, a scarf pulled low over her face and a bandage covering her left eye.
Emi’s voice plays over the clip, crisp and confident.
“I have a short statement from the family. ‘After everything Grace has survived, she deserves peace. We’re grateful to the surgical team, and to everyone who worked so hard for so long to bring her home. What she needs now is privacy and time to heal.’”
The camera returns focus to Emi, and she smiles, her eyes shimmering. “Good for her. Back to you, Jim.”
My chest tightens with the effort of merely breathing. Shit. Panic edges closer, until I fumble for Parker’s hand. I want to know who this other me is. If she’s good enough at her job to defend herself if the cult comes for her. If they even told her what Prophet did to me.
“Write it down, hon. Don’t worry about talkin’ yet. That’ll come back to you soon.” She slides the sketchpad onto my thighs.
“Worried. Jas. Fake me.”
I blink hard, trying to clear the fuzz at the edges of my vision. It’s been hours, and I still feel like I’m walking through quicksand. Or…thinking through quicksand. Can you think through quicksand?
Shit. I can’t focus. All I want to do is sleep. But I need to hear Parker’s answer first.
Parker leans closer, her blond brows pinching together. “Grace, you’re okay. Promise. Jas and a whole team are headin’ to your house right now. AJ’s just outside talkin’ to Connor, who’s posted up at the entrance to your subdivision. And Hardison’s chatting up the nurses down the hall.”
She sounds so confident. And one thing I’ve learned about Parker the past few weeks? She doesn’t sugarcoat anything.
I want to tell her I’m grateful. That I trust her. But I’m so tired, I just keep hold of her hand until I drift off to sleep.