His words are full of emotion when he unveils the actual cause of his fury. “You can’t do that again, Macy. You can’t put yourself in danger like that.”
There’s so much tension in the air, so many untapped feelings being exploited, I once again speak without thinking. “I won’t do it again.” When air whizzes from Grayson’s nose, I sit up straight before adding words I know he won’t discount as easily. “I promise I won’t.” I don’t issue promises I don’t plan to keep. Ever. “But I also need you to stop treating me like I’m fragile.” His lips twitch, but I beat him to the punch. “I’m pregnant, Grayson. That doesn’t make me incompetent.”
The room stays silent for a few uncomfortable seconds before I break it with a murmur. “I’m also an agent, a damngoodagent, so you need to trust that I won’t take unnecessary risks for me or my child.”
I gleam like he told me I’m beautiful when he lathers more syrup on the already drenched pancakes. “You are a good agent, a fucking brilliant agent… but you also bend the rules so much that they’re on the verge of snapping.”
“Because I was taught how by the best.”
He smirks, and it sets my heart racing. Grayson is a fantastic agent because he can straddle the boundary between virtue and vice; he can play both sides of the field. I wanted to be just like him when I left the academy, so I studied his techniques in depth. Everything I learned, I learned from Grayson and Tobias, so if he wants to call me out as being rogue, he needs to look in the mirror.
Because he can’t deny the truth, Grayson moves our conversation in another direction. “You need to trust me.” Like he did to me earlier, he doesn’t give me a chance to speak. “I read your previous write-ups about Samuel. The intel is solid, and the sting operation you orchestrated to net him would have gone off without a hitch.” I wait, knowing there’s more. “But…” Toldyou. “There was no reason you couldn’t have had backup. If you had been honest, I could have warned you about the penthouse booking and stopped your blood pressure from skyrocketing when you had no way of checking in.”
I nearly argue, then reconsider. Everything he’s saying is true. I’m just too stubborn to admit that. Instead, I bow out of our fight with a cowardly chin dip.
When Grayson arches a brow, waiting for a more detailed response, I clear my throat with a cough, then say, “It won’t happen again. Anything I find out, I will bring it to you first.” He doesn’t need my following two words, but I give them to him anyway. “I promise.”
“Okay. Good.” He stands, then moves to the door. His hand is on the light switch when he ensures there’s no possibility of my sleeping tonight. “Rest. If you’re anything like Darcy, you want a full eight hours before fronting the cameras.”
I could act daft, but his high praise earlier ensures I will never play that card. “I declined my parents’ invitation to be a guest speaker at the fundraiser this year.”
That’s what had me green at the gills earlier tonight. I wasn’t freaking out about the graphic diagrams in the book Grayson had purchased for me. It was from declining my father’s invitation via an emotionless blank email. It read:Thank you for the invitation, but I regretfully decline.No greeting. No farewell. No mention whatsoever of the years of hard work I have put in to try to bring his youngest daughter home. It was cold and detached—nothing like how I would want my child to respond to an invitation of mine when they are an adult.
That brief second was the first time I’d ever considered a future for both myself and my unborn child, and it left me hesitant to attend my date with Samuel. Though fleeting, it needed to be ruminated on.
“I know.” Grayson twists to face me, diverting my focus back to him. “That’s why I accepted on your behalf.” Before I can say he has no right to do that, he proves that he does. “The fundraiser raises enough money to run this entire division of the bureau, and every event takes off the streets at least two to three perps who can’t help but immerse themselves in the mix, hopeful it won’t have us looking at their intentions with the sinister once-over they deserve. We also can’t move any further on the information Samuel kindly shared until Wednesday. So yes, we’re going to the gala, where you’re going to remind the reporters that your sister is out there, waiting to be found, and then we will collar a handful of pedophiles who think they can donate away their sins.” After thirteen years of trying to conceal my feelings, my crush resurfaces without remorse when he throws my response back at me. “You’re pregnant, Agent Machini. You arenotincompetent. So strap on your big-girl panties and show everyone precisely that.”
With that, he flicks off the light and exits my room, leaving me speechless.
11
GRAYSON
The drive from San Diego to San Francisco is long, but it’s worth it to keep Macy’s unborn child safe. Due to her due date rapidly approaching, she couldn’t fly commercial. Although this division of the FBI has access to a private jet, the fundraiser has never been an official bureau-assigned or funded operation.
It’s always been solely on Macy’s shoulders.
The eight-hour road trip gives us plenty of time to talk and plan our next steps. Not all our conversations center on the case we’re currently working on. More often than not, it slips into personal territory.
I’ve tried to tell Macy about Cameron, hating that I can’t hammer her about honesty while being deceitful, but like all the other times I’ve attempted to tell her, fate intervenes before I can. The first time today was when we got cut off by an irate motorist. The second time was when Macy rammed my head into the window to ensure she didn’t miss the off-ramp for a disgustingly unhygienic restroom, and the third, now, is from the GPS announcing that we have arrived at our destination.
I swallow a lump in my throat while my eyes drink in the sprawling grounds surrounding a large estate. When Macy pullsup in front of a palatial-sized mansion, I exit the car, eager to stretch. My jaw drops at the sight before me. The estate is massive, featuring manicured lawns, an elaborate fountain, and a mansion that suits the leafy street of this gated community.
My family never went hungry, but even a multimillionaire would feel out of their comfort zone in this monstrosity.
“Wow.” I shift on my feet to face Macy. “This is…” With words eluding me, I shrug.
Macy musters a fake smile, but it does little to slacken the tension sparking in her eyes. “It’s a lot.” Her voice is tinged with a mix of nostalgia and bitterness. “But it isn’t my life anymore.”
I raise a brow and impatiently wait for her to elaborate. She inhales deeply while looking around as if she’s seeing the place for the first time. “When I became a part of the bureau, my parents weren’t exactly thrilled. My mother wanted me to follow in her footsteps, to take over the ‘family business.’” She air quotes her last two words. “But I wanted something different. I wanted to make a difference.”
Reading between the lines, I say, “You wanted to find your sister.”
I’m not asking a question, but she still agrees with me. Our stories are remarkably similar yet distinct. We have the means to find the people we’re seeking, but the conditions attached make the assistance useless.
Macy’s is in the form of money, and mine is in the form of protocols.
I return my focus to Macy when she continues. “My parents don’t hold back when they think they’ve been done wrong.”
