Stepping back from the assembled crib and changing table, I say, “What do you think? Boyish enough for a future linebacker?”
Macy twists her kissable lips before inspecting the crib from afar. “I think it’ll take fifteen weeks of overtime to pay you back, so he’ll need a high-paying job to help his momma out.”
She’s dropped multiple hints about repaying me. I’ve not accepted a single one.
When I spin to gather up the boxes and plastic the crib and changing table came in, I catch Macy mid-yawn. She looks exhausted yet continues to demonstrate exceptional acting abilities.
Her ploy lasts two seconds. That’s how convincing my stern gaze is to people skirting the truth. “Fine. I’ll go to bed earlier than my grandparents.”
When she climbs under the sheets and groans about not being able to find a comfortable position, I wish I could stay like I did last night. The only reason I don’t is because I don’t trust myself. I’ve been playing the role of excited daddy-to-be and devoted husband so well today that more than once I’ve forgotten that just because you hope something is true doesn’t mean it is.
I also need to put some hours into Cameron’s case before guilt swallows me whole. My sole focus today has been on Macy and ensuring her son doesn’t arrive until as close to his due date as possible, but I can’t forget the reason I’m miles from home. Macy, Cameron, Kendall, and more women than anyone could ever comprehend are counting on me to solve this case. I can’t let them down.
“You good?” My two words break through a final sigh rustling between Macy’s pursed lips.
After waiting for her to nod, I say goodnight and switch off the light. I leave the door open, not wanting anything in my way if she spirals into her guilt again like she did earlier today.
I hate that my gifts upset her, when all I wanted was to make her feel worthy, but I also understand.
The paperwork Macy was working on before the baby equipment arrived rustles when I plonk my ass onto a single armchair. I spread them out on the coffee table before reviewing the reports Macy had mentioned before the delivery driver interrupted us.
It is odd that Cameron’s kidnappers dumped the van within an hour of her abduction. It’s not typical for an entity like theirs to do that. It’s usually done when faking a death, like the ruses Tobias regularly ran when he needed to place a witnessinto a protective detail better than witness protection. But no matter how often I run the theory that Cameron’s kidnapping was staged through my head, I can’t remove Cameron’s panicked face when she clung to me from my mind, so the thought never lingers for long.
Cameron was abducted, and it is my mission to find her.
I just need to squeeze a few more matters into my already bulging schedule so I can keep the promise I made to Macy when a tear trickled down her cheek a second after her son’s healthy heartbeat rang throughout the ultrasound room.
The next morning, I’m still going through the particulars of Cameron’s file. My eyes are blurry from a lack of sleep, but I don’t need perfect vision to register that we have an early-morning visitor. Someone is knocking at the front door of Macy’s apartment, their bangs similar to those law enforcement uses when issuing a warrant.
As I get up to answer the door, Macy slips into the bathroom for the umpteenth time in the past six hours. I should probably cut back on how often I offer her a drink. She used the bathroom a record thirteen times last night. Yes, I counted.
After scrubbing my eyes to rid them of the gunk crusted in the corners, I swing open the door. I don’t spot anyone until a cough forces my eyes to lower. Macy is short compared to her male counterparts, but this petite blonde is fairy -sized. Her head barely reaches my nipples, and she looks like a light breeze could carry her away.
“Agent Cartwright, at your service.” She salutes me, mistaking a protocol usually reserved for the military. “I was briefed on the situation, and I am here to help.” She clears the wide berth of my shoulders before assessing Macy, who is leaving the bathroom, like she’s the target in question. I realize that is the case when the agent murmurs to herself, “I should have brought a larger extender.” Her eyes are back on me, determined and somewhat scary. “I didn’t realize she was so far along. No fear. I packed spare extenders. They’re in my car. I’ll be right back.”
She races out of the apartment with a spring in her step that announces this is her first assignment.
She is barely out of eyesight when Macy’s words crack out of her mouth like a whip. “You replaced me?” She enters the living room, her steps thunderous. “I don’t need a replacement. This ismycase.”
Although I am absolutely loving the return of her gall, I hook my thumb in the direction the kindergarten student fronting as an agent went, and say, “I have no fucking clue who she is.” When Macy scoffs as if I am lying, my spine straightens. “I have no reason to lie to you, Mace. And why would I buyand assemblea changing table and crib if I were planning to replace you?”
“Probably because she’s still in diapers.” Macy’s tone is furious until what she said dawns on her. A smile lifts her cheeks before the most beautiful noise erupts from her lips. I’ve missed her laugh. “I’m such a bitch.”
“It’s not bitching when it’s true.”
I join her in the living room before spinning to face the door I left hanging open. The large windows in this building showcase the pristine coastline that stretches for miles on this side of the country, but the entry doors overlook the visitors’ parking lot. It isn’t usually an appealing visual, but watching AgentCartwright’s clumsy attempt to gather something from the trunk of her car without entering it is entertaining.
With a stomach extender hooked under her arm, Cartwright slams down the trunk of her ride and pushes the lock button on her keys, flashing orange lights into the low-level apartments.
“Are you legally allowed to drive if you can’t see over the steering wheel?”
Macy kicks me in the shin like she’s not seconds from laughing like a hyena. “I’m not sure, but I’ll ask Santa about his rules for taking the sleigh out for a spin when he comes to collect his missing elf.”
Spit flies from my mouth when I struggle to hold back a howl. It lands at the feet of Agent Cartwright when her small stature fills the doorway like she took the stairs between the parking lot and the apartment two at a time. If her wheezing is anything to go by, she did.
After taking in my six-foot-four stuttering frame and Macy’s equaling stuttering five foot seven inches, Cartwright murmurs, “The FBI has no minimum height restrictions.” A playful glint fires through her eyes before a mischievous aura radiates from her. “They only request that I use a booster seat while driving.”
I lose the ability to hold in my laughter. I howl like a wolf, and Agents Machini and Cartwright are right there with me.
