Chapter Twenty-Four Violet
Chapter Twenty-Four
Violet
Grayson didn’t even hesitate. Only minutes after the box hit my counter, he had his phone pressed to his ear. The sound of his voice was hard and surgical. Precise. Relaying only facts, as if he pushed all emotion away.
“Secure perimeter. Two units minimum. No lights, no sirens. Evidence techs inside only. Containment.”
Containment. The word scraped over my skin. There were going to be strangers crammed into my home, into the only safe place I had. But it’s not safe anymore. I stared at the box, knowing the heart inside had been ripped out of some poor woman.
I stood in the kitchen corner with my arms wrapped tightly around myself, watching Grayson pace while he spoke low to whoever was on the other end of his call.
Although the heart was wrapped in plastic, there must have been a hole in it, because the cardboard had begun to darken where the blood had seeped.
I couldn’t stop staring at it. It felt like the organ was still beating, like I could hear the thump-thump, thump-thump echoing in my head.
I must have been standing there staring at that box for longer than I realized, because when I blinked back to reality, noise swirled around me. Outside, doors slammed in a staggered rhythm. Boots hit my walkway. My house had become a crime scene for strangers with gloved hands and measured voices.
Agents filled the kitchen, and I was crowded, suffocated. Their presence was a pressure in the air. They moved with quick, blunt purpose. Gloves snapped, cameras clicked, and soft-voiced techs murmured jargon I couldn’t understand.
Someone else crouched by the back door to swab the threshold, others filing outside to the backyard. Another person lifted the cardboard and tilted it just enough to photograph the underside.
A man entered, authority surrounding him.
Someone called him Matt, and the older man shouldered through, his face shrouded in hard lines and a stern expression.
His focus landed right on me. When he was only a foot from me, his voice dropped, quieter, pitched so low it felt like it sank under my skin instead of hitting my ears.
“He’s coming soon. For you.”
I blinked in shock. The syllables tangled in my head, distorted by the hum of the chaos surrounding me. My heart seized, my breath shallow as glass.
“What did you just say?” The words scraped out before I could stop them, rolling over each other to prove how nervous I was.
Agent Matt Skillet’s gaze sharpened, flat and cold. “What?” His brows lowered. “I was telling Agent McKenzie that he’s coming through.” He cocked an eyebrow. “With the evidence bags for now.” He stepped back like the air around me wasn’t worth sharing.
But no—I knew what I’d heard. Or thought I had. And that was worse. Because the moment doubt slid into me, it lodged like a knife. Was this just my mind bending words into confusion so I looked like a lunatic?
“On her goddamn countertop?” Agent Skillet’s voice hit hard and heavy. “We’ve got two staged scenes in as many weeks, and now we’re collecting organs from backyards like you’re picking up dog shit.” He stood by the counter, then cut a hard look at Grayson.
Grayson didn’t show any expression as he looked at Matt.
“What the hell were you even doing here, Iverson?”
Grayson didn’t rise to it. He gestured me closer, and I moved toward him instinctively. He stood between me and Matt without making a show of it, one hand braced on the edge of the counter, the other finding the small of my back for the briefest second. Heat, pressure, a reminder. I’m here, Violet.
Grayson didn’t flinch under Matt’s glare.
His tone was clipped, all business. “She’s a civilian who’s been under repeated surveillance—the same SUV has circled her block more than once.
I arranged for a cruiser to sit out front until I could get here myself and follow up.
I cleared the house, and that’s when I spotted the box in the yard.
I handled it because I wasn’t about to let her walk into it first. That’s all there is to it.
The heart’s on the counter because I followed protocol and secured the scene before anyone else touched it. ”
Matt’s eyes narrowed, his jaw working as if he were chewing glass.
“Convenient,” he muttered, gaze flicking from the counter and back to Grayson.
“And here you are, right when a box with a missing organ shows up on her doorstep? The missing heart from a crime scene you were just at? You’ve got a cruiser posted like she’s a protected witness, and now you’re hand-delivering evidence no one else laid eyes on first. You want me to believe there’s nothing else I should know? ”
Grayson held his stare, unblinking. “Believe what you want. The facts don’t change.”
Matt’s mouth opened, ready to push, but a voice from the backyard cut across the room. “Agent Skillet. We’ve got impressions in the soil. You’ll want to see this.”
His glare lingered on Grayson for another beat, hard and heavy, before he finally shouldered past everyone and headed out the back door. Even after he was gone, the weight of his suspicion hung like smoke in the air.
The house felt invaded. Every corner held a stranger’s voice, their clipped commands cutting through the walls, their latex-covered hands touching what was mine.
Grayson stayed nearby, always between me and whoever passed too close.
I felt on edge, my skin sensitive, like the feeling you get when you’re coming down with the flu. Even the air itself seemed to hurt.
In my mind, I saw Matt watching Grayson with suspicion that burned like a brand. And eventually all those sharp eyes would swivel toward me.
One tech asked Grayson a question in low tones, something about chain of custody, and he stepped a pace away to answer, his voice dropping lower.
I was left in the corner again, my arms tightening around myself.
The box on the counter was gone now, having been sealed in evidence bags and carried out like a grotesque prize.
But the pool of congealing blood remained, a brown-red square darkening the white tile.
My gaze clung to it until it blurred.
A voice—smooth, practiced, and clinical—pulled me back. “Ms. Santos?”
I turned, startled. A woman stood in front of me, her blue nylon jacket perfectly in place.
“Yes,” I managed, though my voice was rough.
She turned to speak to someone, and I saw the bold white letters of FBI plastered on the back.
When she looked at me, I straightened my shoulders and tried to calm my center.
Her notepad was already open, pen poised. She gave a quick nod, jotting something down. “We’ll need to take your statement once things settle. Standard procedure.” Her tone wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t soft, either. I felt like I was being cataloged like a piece of evidence.
Civilian. Like I was already on the other side of some invisible line.
“Of course.”
Before I could answer, Grayson was back, his presence filling the space between us as he stood beside me. His jaw was set hard. “Not tonight, Landry. She’s in shock.”
The woman’s brow lifted. “It’s not optional, Iverson. We need her account of the events. Whether tonight or tomorrow, it’s happening.”
Grayson didn’t answer, but the silence between them was heavier than words. The agent scribbled something else, then closed her notepad with a snap. “You’ll be contacted about coming down to the station. Make sure you’re available.”
As Landry walked away, my stomach twisted. They’d want more than my statement tomorrow. They’d want to talk to everyone around me. Harper would be first. The only one—besides Grayson—who’d asked if I’d gotten home safe, who’d offered to walk me to the corner.
But tonight her questions replayed differently in my head. You get home okay? Are you all right? Why was I questioning the kindness of those around me? Was she just worried? Or was she watching me too closely? I couldn’t tell anymore.
My throat worked as I swallowed, trying to steady myself. I caught Grayson’s gaze, searching for something solid. Instead, all I saw was the reflection of my fear. “Am I in trouble?” I whispered.
His expression didn’t change, but his hand came to the small of my back again, steady, anchoring. “You’re involved now. That’s enough for them.” His jaw was set hard. “And because I’m here, no matter what I told them, I’m part of this as well.”
I wanted to argue, to scream that I hadn’t asked for any of this. But the stain on the counter was proof otherwise. As I stared at Grayson, I saw something flicker across his expression, but it was gone before I could examine it further. And in my mind I recalled again the suspicion on Matt’s face.
Was Grayson hiding things from me? Was I fabricating this false paranoia? I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed them, feeling so tired I could sink to the floor and sleep for an eternity.
Boots pounded down the hallway, another door slammed, and the hum of voices never stopped. My house wasn’t my house anymore—it was theirs. And now, so was I.