Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“So you drove his car through the football grounds until both the football field and his Mustang weren’t salvageable?”
See? I told you she is smart.
“Yeah…” I reply, ashamed. Not about what I did. But about how bogged the Mustang became. If it were still drivable by the time I had finished honoring Cameron’s revenge act, she wouldn’t have been walking home at that time of night. She could still be here if I hadn’t been so careless.
“Don’t do that.” I send a silent plea for her not to read me as easily as she can when she sees straight past the barriers I attempt to throw up. “Don’t blame yourself. The guilt will eat you alive.”
“Too late,” I reply before I can stop myself. Hating the remorse in her eyes that she doesn’t deserve to have, I use the skills I’ve gained in bucketloads since leaving the academy. “How do you know about the damage I did to St. Eugene’s grounds? You would have been in your final year of college at the time. Your records show you studied at the Academy of Arts in San Fran.”
She hesitates for only a second. “One… thanks for making me feel as old as dirt.” She ribs me with an elbow, letting me know her comment is meant to be playful. “Two, the gallery I mentioned earlier is in the same neighborhood as St. Eugene’s. Your antics that night were the talk of the town the entire week I spent there negotiating a showing.” Lines sprout from her tiny yet still-noticeable nose when she murmurs, “But I never heard anything about an abduction. Who were the assigned agents?”
“My father.” For two short words, it takes a mammoth effort to deliver them.
The whistle I used earlier returns, this time from Macy’s side of the car.
I huff. “It didn’t do any good having the golden boy of the bureau on her case. She is still missing seventeen years later.”
Leaning over and squeezing my hand, she strokes my ego so well that I’m worried I’ll struggle to exit the vehicle safely once we arrive at our destination. “You won’t be able to say the same soon because that title no longer belongs to your father. It belongs to you, Grayson.” Another squeeze and another reassurance. “You will find her. We will find her. I know we will.”
A grin tugs at her lips when I lift my chin, and then she shifts her focus back to the landscape flashing past her window, no more words needed to authenticate the sheer honesty in her eyes when she made her pledge.
We fall into comfortable silence, the engine noise as we bridge the miles between us and the apartment oddly comforting since the weight on my shoulders is nowhere near as heavy now as it was seconds ago.
An hour later, I take the exit for the sleepy coastal town we’re currently undercover in when a groan pops from Macy’s lips. After placing her hand on her stomach, she gently circles it.
“Are you okay?” I ask while seeking somewhere safe to pull over.
“It’s okay. Keep going,” she encourages, her pained expression switching to relief. “It’s just the baby doing somersaults.”
I nearly reach out to touch her belly, but stop myself just in time, certain that anyone outside our car would view it as inappropriate.
I shouldn’t have bothered remembering protocol when it comes to this lady. After another grunt, more in humor this time than panic, Macy snatches up my hand and places it over her swollen midsection.
“Wow.” I breathe out slowly, feeling the kicks and tumbles she mentioned. “That’s incredible.” I lock eyes with her, equally amazed. “And a little freaky.”
Her lips twitch before her laughter fills the cab of the car. “I’m so glad you said that. I was getting worried you’re immune to all the stuff men are meant to be weird about.”
Taking a page out of her book, I murmur, “Stuff… what stuff?”
“Breast pads, stool-clogging vitamins, and heartburn-eradicating drinks. I’m not a pro on the male psyche, but I’m reasonably sure you were meant to snatch your hand back within a second of me placing it on my stomach. Not keep it there for eternity.”
I slowly withdraw my hand from said body part, but not without protest. Though my pouting lip is immature, it keeps Macy’s smile firmly planted, so I let it hang.
It tucks back in when we finally reach our destination. As we pull into the driveway of our building, I notice a government-plated sedan parked in our spot.
“That son of a bitch!” Macy mutters, flinging off her belt.
The silver clasp almost smacks me in the face with how far she flings it, and she exits the car remarkably fast for someone heavily pregnant.
I have to jog to catch her, but I’ll allow more than one hit if she chooses to respond with violence when I recognize the face of the man she’s approaching. It is the agent who was assigned to the case with her at the start of the investigation—the douche who claimed the only bed available.