Chapter Twenty
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The antiseptic sting of hospital air clung to everything.
Walls, furniture, skin. Griff leaned against the bland beige of the corridor, arms crossed over his chest, eyes on the door across from him where Caleb was being checked out.
Down the hall, behind another closed door, Hallie McQueen was being treated for the bullet wound to her shoulder.
Last update they’d gotten said the injury wasn’t life-threatening.
Still, that didn’t ease the tightness in his chest.
It had been an hour since they’d pulled Margo away from her son and slapped cuffs on her wrists. An hour since Caleb had been carried from that back room at Stitched in Time, wide-eyed and shaking, but alive.
And the threat, that gnawing, looming pressure that had followed them for days, was finally over.
Well, almost.
They still didn’t know if Margo had murdered Hannah, though it was pretty clear Margo had hired those gunmen. If so, it was possible she’d hired them to kill Catherine. That was something Griff hoped Margo would own up to when they had her in interview.
Which would happen soon.
As soon as Lily and he got back to the station and formally charged Margo with a whole list of crimes. Including kidnapping her own biological son and putting him and a whole bunch of other people in extreme danger.
Griff exhaled slowly, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders one inch at a time.
He glanced down the bench at Lily, who sat slumped beside him, her head tilted back, eyes closed but not asleep.
She looked as wrecked as he felt—her clothes wrinkled, her hair wild from the wind and chaos, her body running on fumes.
But she was here. Alive. Whole. Safe.
And so was Caleb.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
She opened her eyes and turned her head toward him, offering a tired but real smile.
“We made it,” she murmured.
He nodded, voice gravel low. “Yeah. We did.”
There was more to say, always more, but it didn’t need to be said now. They both knew what they’d faced. What they’d stopped. What it had cost. And what it had proved—that no matter how messy or haunted or impossible it felt, they were a damn good team.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and a nurse stepped out of Caleb’s room, giving them a small, reassuring nod. “He’s okay. Just shaken up. You can go in if you’d like.”
Griff stood and reached a hand down to Lily. She took it without hesitation.
Together, they stepped toward the boy they’d fought like hell to save. And together, they stepped into whatever would come next.
The lights were low in Caleb’s room, the beeping from the monitor steady and calm. Griff held the door for Lily as they stepped inside.
Caleb sat upright in the hospital bed, a bandage on one wrist and a plastic cup of water on the tray in front of him. He looked smaller than Griff remembered, younger somehow—like the weight of everything had pressed down harder now that it was over.
On either side of the bed stood his adoptive parents, Melissa and Eli Davidson. Melissa was petite and dark-haired, her expression a blend of fierce relief and residual worry. Eli stood a head taller, broad-shouldered with graying hair at the temples and steady, watchful eyes.
“Deputies,” Melissa said, her voice quiet but sure. “Thank you. For finding our son.”
Eli nodded, stepping forward to shake Griff’s hand. “We’re grateful. More than we can say.”
Griff returned the gesture. “We’re just glad he’s safe.”
Lily moved closer to Caleb, offering a soft smile. “You okay?”
Caleb nodded, rubbing his thumb over the edge of the blanket. “Yeah. Just… sore. My wrists. From the zip ties.”
Melissa smoothed his hair back gently. “The doctor said you’ll be just fine. They’re keeping you here overnight to be sure, but tomorrow we’re heading home. And we’ll talk to someone, like we said. A counselor.”
Caleb’s gaze drifted past her, landing on Griff and Lily. “That woman… Margo… Was she really my birth mother?”
A beat passed. Griff exchanged a glance with Lily, then looked to the Davidsons.
Eli stepped in, his voice calm. “Yes. She is.”
Caleb blinked a few times, absorbing that.
Melissa touched his arm. “You always knew you were adopted, sweetheart. But Margo… she didn’t want her name shared. We honored that.”
“But… why did she take me and hold me like that?” Caleb asked.
Griff saw the question land hard on the boy. Confusion, anger, betrayal, all fighting for space behind his tired eyes.
“Sometimes people make choices they can’t explain,” Melissa said gently. “It wasn’t your fault. None of this was.”
Caleb took a couple of moments, probably trying to process that, and he looked at Griff again. “And my… real dad?”
Griff hesitated, just long enough to glance at Eli and Melissa. Eli gave a subtle nod.
Griff stepped forward. “His name was Bobby Ray Moore. Was,” he emphasized. “He died a short time ago.” And Griff went ahead and added the rest since Caleb would no doubt be hearing it anyway. “Bobby Ray was convicted of killing Margo’s sister. But he didn’t do it, Caleb. We believe Margo did it.”
Caleb looked down at his hands. “And now Margo… what will happen to her?”
No one rushed to answer. There would be time for truths and counseling and grief later.
For now, Griff stepped a little closer and said what the kid needed most. “You’re safe. That’s what matters. And Margo won’t be able to get near you again.”
Caleb looked up at him and nodded.
Griff felt Lily brush against his side, her quiet presence grounding him in that moment. The storm had passed. But the pieces left behind would take time to heal.
And they’d be there for that, too, if Caleb had more questions.
Griff gave Caleb a nod, and Lily reached out to squeeze the boy’s hand gently.
“You’re going to be okay,” she said softly.
Caleb managed a faint smile. “Thanks… for coming to get me.”
Melissa and Eli both murmured their thanks again as Griff and Lily stepped out of the room and into the quiet hallway. The door whispered shut behind them, and for a few seconds, Griff just breathed.
The air still smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee, but there was something different about it now. Something lighter. The danger had passed. The kid was safe.
Down the hall, Jemma and Hayes were waiting near the nurses’ station. Jemma stepped forward, her dark ponytail swinging as she moved.
“Hallie’s okay,” she said before they could ask. “They’re taking her in for a procedure to remove the bullet, but it’s nothing life-threatening. She’s feisty as ever. Already arguing with the nurses.”
Griff exhaled, the tension in his chest easing. “Good.”
“Hallie made us promise to pass along her orders,” Jemma went on. “She wants you two to finish up with Margo. Get her officially locked up.”
Lily gave a wry smile. “That sounds like Hallie.”
Jemma added, “She also said, and I quote, ‘Tell them they’d better not wait around holding hands until the paperwork’s done.’”
Griff chuckled. “We’ll get it done.”
He gave a nod of thanks, and he and Lily headed for the exit. Outside, the cold air hit hard. It cut through his jacket and into his bones, but it felt like exactly what he needed.
They didn’t speak until they were in his truck, doors closed, the silence humming between them. Griff slid the key into the ignition, then looked over at her.
“Ready to put an end to this?” he asked.
Lily buckled in. “Let’s go finish it.”
He pulled out of the lot, headlights cutting through the dark. This time, there were no ambushes, no shadows waiting around the corner.
Just the end of a case that had waited fifteen long years for justice.
The station came into view just after they turned onto Main.
Even before Griff pulled in, the strobing lights of fire trucks and cruisers lit up the dark stretch of pavement.
The fire department was still on-site, their hoses rolled and packed but crews still lingering, coordinating with the CSIs who were combing over the parking lot.
The antique shop was roped off, yellow crime scene tape fluttering in the wind. So was Stitched in Time.
Too many crime scenes in one day.
Griff parked in front of the station, where the least amount of debris cluttered the ground.
He killed the engine, took off his seatbelt, and let his gaze drift toward the chaos behind the barricades.
The gunman from the roof had survived, barely, and had already been airlifted to a trauma center in San Antonio.
If Margo didn’t give them everything, maybe he would. Assuming he lived long enough.
He looked at Lily beside him.
Exhaustion lined her face, but her eyes still burned with determination. And something else—something that matched the ache building in his chest.
Before he could talk himself out of it, Griff leaned in and kissed her.
Not a quick, careful kiss.
Long. Deep. Hot.
Every ounce of tension, fear, and adrenaline poured into it, into her. She leaned into him, fingers curling into the front of his jacket like she didn’t want it to end.
When he finally pulled back, breath ragged, he kept his forehead against hers. “I just wanted to know what it was like,” he said quietly, “to kiss you when we weren’t running for our lives.”
She drew in a breath, eyes still closed. “So? How was it?”
He smiled, thumb brushing along her jaw. “Best kiss ever.”
Her lips curved, slow and sure. “Agreed.”
He wanted to kiss her again. Hard. Slow. All over again.
But there was still a job to finish.
He pulled back, straightened in his seat, and opened his door. “Let’s go make it official.”
Beside him, Lily opened her door, stepped out, and fell into step at his side.
Together, they walked toward the station—toward this final showdown with the person who’d tried to kill them and put a kid through hell. As far as Griff was concerned, he hoped Margo never saw the outside of a jail cell again.