Don’t look at me like that. I said no—multiple times—but I needed more than words since Thompson had enjoyed the festivities too much one long weekend. He responded to my rejection with the violence he usually screamed in my face each day.
Since no one had spiked my drink, I won that battle.
I wish I could say the same about my altercation with Agent Moses.
Mistaking my sigh as a yawn, Grayson’s eyes pop up from a file he’s reading—a file we wouldn’t have to peruse if he hadn’t hidden it while I slept.
It would have taken Grayson hours to duplicate the false files I’d lodged on this case every two weeks for the past five months, but he did it because he wanted Thompson to have plenty of time to brag while stealing months of hard work.
Thompson isn’t smart enough to realize that not even Grayson’s father’s salary could see him splurging on a top-of-the-line Audi, so how could a low-ranked agent afford such a flashy ride?
The hours Grayson put into his sting give cause for the reason he looks so tired. Despite what he tells you, Grayson’s bags have absolutely nothing to do with how many butt clenches he did during my share of the driving.
Though you wouldn’t believe that from the concern in his voice. His tone only portrays worry for me when he subtly hints that I look like shit. “You should go to bed, Mace. It’s late.”
It is, but I’m not tired.
When I say that to Grayson, he raises one impeccably shaped brow. He truly has a face that belongs on a magazine, but his stop-lying-to-me expression makes it seem as if he needs a thirty-minute bathroom break.
I laugh at the image rolling through my head before saying, “I’m tired, but I can’t lie down right now. I’ve been sitting all day.” I stretch cramped muscles as I twist to face him. “You can have the bed tonight.”
With a stubborn look in his eyes, he shakes his head. “I’m not taking the bed. You need it more than I do.”
“You look like shit.” He shoots me a riled look. “What? It’s the truth.”
I’m such a liar. Since we left the gala in a hurry, he only took off his suit jacket. His bow tie hangs open, dangling down thelapels of his white dress shirt, and he has undone the top three buttons, rolling the sleeves to his elbows. He looks like sex and sin in one deliriously handsome package.
“Take the bed and give me the file. You’ll be amazed by what a new set of eyes can find.”
I almost had him over the fence until I underhandedly requested access to Cameron’s file. He struggles with handing over the reins as it is, and I know how much harder it is when the case is personal. However, he cannot continue doing this. He can’t keep burning the candle at both ends, or there will soon be nothing left of him.
“I won’t touch anything or mark any notes in her file. I just want to get up to date with the case.” He sighs, his shoulders slumping when I say, “Please, Grayson. Let me help you.”
He looks at me, his eyes searching mine for something before he finally nods. “Okay.” He picks up the file from the coffee table before handing it to me. “This is all I have at the moment. It’s not much, but it’s a start.” He speaks as if the file isn’t thicker than it was designed to hold.
Still stiff from our long commute, I place the file onto the kitchen counter before opening it and scanning through the information. Grayson has been working tirelessly on Cameron’s disappearance, but so much remains a mystery.
“Did you ever discover what she thought she heard in the minutes leading to her abduction?”
Grayson shakes his head before he enters the kitchen to restart the coffee maker. I suggested he sleep while I look over the file, but it was wishful thinking. It’s hard to sleep when the nightmares of your past haunt you even while you’re awake.
I know that better than anyone.
“Did police surveil the area and speak to any witnesses? Perhaps they heard the same thing Cameron did?”
“Yeah.” He pushes the button of the recently replenished coffee percolator. “No one heard anything. Most of the residents were asleep, and those who were awake stated that they only heard screeching tires and the scuffle that followed.”
I confirm I heard him with a chin dip, then keep reading. Considering Grayson’s age and physique, he did a remarkable job defending Cameron. It was five assailants against one, and he held them off for almost ten minutes.
I murmur my thanks when he places a chamomile tea on the island before I scan the pages until I find the pathology report on the blood found at the scene of the burned-out van.
Though my sigh is silent at learning the blood was Cameron’s, Grayson still notices it. “There was no bone or organ matter in the blood.”
“Any tissue matter?” Even though I hate his downcast expression, I need to know precisely what they found. If she had been shot, there would be bone or organ matter, but knife wounds might only look like a pool of blood.
Grayson wets his dry lips before shaking his head. “The only tissue logged into evidence was from the scrapings they took from under my nails.”
“You scratched one of the perps?”
