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)
I bite back my response when his brisk movement to get up in my face flaps out his coat enough to show I’m not the only one working a case. His leather belt houses a shield. I can’t tell from which precinct, and even though I can’t see his gun, I know he’s carrying one.
Although I could break cover, I don’t. Grayson weeded out the snakes in this division of the bureau within days of arriving, but rarely do they travel alone. Also, tell me one detective who can afford three-thousand-dollar loafers and a Rolex?
“Sorry, case of mistaken identity.” My fingers find a thread in the hem of my shirt. “Joys of baby brain.”
When Simone appears more surprised than understanding, I gaze down at her bump. After noticing how it hangs lower now that she was tugged, I shift them to the man glaring at me before I turn on my heel and walk away.
I quickly return to the Lamaze class, my mind racing with possibilities. Is Simone actually pregnant? And is the man who protected her really her father? Or was she the only option for an overworked team, and the unnamed detective had to take anyone he could get to his latest sting?
I’m eager to update Grayson, but since he’s already in an intense interrogation, I must wait.
“I need the names of all the students in your classes.” Grayson speaks slowly, like he does when demanding respect rather than earning it, as he steps closer to the instructor. His face is a mask of barely controlled anger. “Now.”
The instructor looks frustrated, like she’s spoken these words a dozen times already. “I can’t give you that information, Ethan. It’s confidential.”
I gasp sharply when Grayson pulls out his badge, his cover blown in the blink of an eye. “Agent Rogers.” He steps even closer, his presence intimidating. “This is a matter of national security.”
The instructor can’t catch her breath. She just stares at Grayson, appearing as shocked as I feel.
Her bewilderment doesn’t yank Grayson off the scent. “I require the names of every student in your classes.”
She thrusts the clipboard holding the names of the attendees from today’s class into his chest, but that isn’t good enough for Grayson.
“I need all your students’ names. Now!” He shouts his last word, startling the instructor so much she jumps to answer his command.
She quickly enters her office to print the student list, nodding as she goes. Her hand shakes as she reaches for the printer and pulls off a single piece of paper. She gives it to Grayson, who snatches it away without a word. His eyes scan the list, his jaw clenching more with each name he peruses.
With a huff, he stuffs the sheet of paper into his pocket before heading for the exit. “Let’s go.”
I wordlessly apologize to the instructor before following Grayson out of the building. A million theories roll through my head during our commute back to the apartment. No matter how many ways I work them, only one appears legitimate. Something imperative caused Grayson to break cover. He never breaks cover, not even when he should.
We make the drive back to the apartment in silence, the tension between us suffocating. As soon as we step inside the beachy abode, Grayson’s eyes snap to the television mounted on the far wall of the living room.
“I need all the surveillance footage from the sting we just undertook,” he demands, his voice sharp. “Everything, Brandon, not just what you think I want to see.”
My frown deepens the longer I watch him pace. “What’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer me. His focus is resolute on recovering the footage from this afternoon’s sting.
“Is it Piper and Shaw? The couple I followed out wasn’t—”
“It’s not them.” Grayson’s abrupt tone forces me to swallow. His leave-me-the-fuck-alone persona is new to me, and I hate it.
When he notices my shock, he curses under his breath before mumbling an apology.
I give him a tight smile, hoping it conveys that he can talk to me about anything, before I assist Brandon in gathering the data he is seeking. There isn’t much to go off. The building is in a rural location, so there are no ATM cameras or shopfront surveillance. We have only the dashcam in my car and the button cameras in our clothing.
As I gather as much footage as possible, my weary head filters through the events of the day. Grayson has always been intense with cases like this, but this is different. This seems personal.
Oh god.
My heart sinks to my feet as footage from Grayson’s camera button comes up on the laptop I used for surveillance today. It starts with our exit of the bathroom. Grayson isn’t interested in the footage of him guiding me out of the apartment with his hand on my lower back and his nostrils mere inches from my recently cleaned hair. He fast-forwards the footage until we reach the part where I race away from his side to follow a lead.