“And what’s he saying?”
“That medical professionals agree. It’s time to end this. My making a scene, going to the public, only strengthens the conservatorship claim.” She swallows loudly.
“It only has power if you believe it, Mia.”
“Yeah,” she sighs. I don’t know if it’s exhaustion or if she’s second-guessing herself.
The red Texas clay rolls by, fence-lined pastures with horses and cattle on either side. I long to reach out, grab her hand and calm her all over again. But not now.
Time to be a professional. To play things by the book, attempt to salvage what I can. Not push Mia into a situation she’s not ready for. One she may be clinging to, just to feel safe.
At the compound, I round the vehicle, grinding my teeth against the chronic ache in my hip. Concentrating on not limping, though the joint’s stiff and hurts like hell.
Grayson meets us at the door, arms crossed. His face is cut from marble, not an emotion in sight. But I can feel the agitated energy pouring off him as he ushers us back to his office.
“Ms. Love,” he says with a hand gesture toward a seat.
“Lowell,” she corrects, straightening her posture. It means more than my boss can understand.
Leather squeaks as Grayson sits behind his desk. The air smells of gun oil and old leather.
“I’ll keep this brief and to the point,” he says, resting his forearms on his desk. “Ms. Lowell, Lone Star’s legal team, received a call this morning from Edwin Crowe informing us of an escalation.”
A puff of air escapes her soft pink lips. Her eyes dart to me, searching. The corners of my mouth tip up. But my mind’s going too fast for meaningful pleasantries.
“He’s petitioning the court for an institutional review. Claiming your current behavior is linked to a complicated string of psychological diagnoses you’ve wrestled with for years.”
She shakes her head, a low hiss escaping her. “Of course. Let me guess. Manic depression, borderline personality, suicidal ideation…”
Grayson says, “I can’t speak to the medical side of things. But Crowe’s definitely making moves to get you back under his … supervision.”
Her voice shakes. “You mean, his control.”
“Your parents are concerned. That’s why they hired Lone Star Security. To get to the bottom of things.”
“What do you mean?” she sniffs unimpressed.
“They came to us with concerns about your security,” he explains. “Your relationship to your manager. A close call in Rhode Island before the incident here, and the fact Crowe may have taken out life insurance policies on you.”
“Standard for performers,” she counters, going pale.
“Maybe,” Grayson grumbles, unconvinced.
She stares at her fidgeting hands. “Don’t let my parents convince you they care or that they’re doing this for me.”
Ice threads her voice.
Grayson counters, “They seemed very concerned about you when we spoke.”
“Yeah, they’re good at that,” she spits out.
My boss grimaces. “After the shooting at the arena, they asked us to buy time, to try to get to the bottom of what’s going on. But you haven’t been very forthright.”
Her head jerks up, and she eyes me, confused. Hurt stings her eyes, pales her cheeks. “Did you know about this?”
Her question throws me off. “Your parents hiring Lone Star? Of course.”
“No. Did you know my parents wanted you to spy on me?”
