20
MACY
Even with my argument with Grayson going into the wee hours of this morning, I stare at the ceiling, counting the minutes since he shut me out of my own investigation
Sleep never came. Not after our argument, and not after Grayson brought me a chamomile tea and a slice of the dessert we had shared earlier.
The worry in his eyes was unmissable when he placed the ginormous slice of pie onto my bedside table, and I almost folded. But since my hesitation was barely visible behind the stubbornness, I rolled away from his wordless peace offering and sulked in silence.
I’m a federal agent. I am not a fragile first-year rookie who needs to be coddled to make sure she doesn’t break.
If only my body weren’t disagreeing with me. My back is aching, my hips are throbbing, and my stomach feels stretched and heavy, like I swallowed a medicine ball.
I shift, eager to find a comfortable position. My efforts are pointless. I’m restless, angry, and a little afraid that I’m losing my edge.
That I’m losing myself.
Grayson is preparing breakfast. The clatter of the fry pan is as loud as the rattle of the water pipes in the apartment next to ours. Adeline must be awake and preparing for her first undercover sting. I would be excited for her if my heart weren’t broken from being removed from this assignment weeks earlier than planned.
My eyes return to my closed bedroom door when shuffling comes through it. Grayson didn’t sleep either. I know this by the way his footsteps drag, and by the discomfort sitting heavily on my chest. He’s worried we won’t move past this, though he is just as resolute in his decision to sideline me.
I force myself out of bed, wincing when my feet hit the cold floor of the bathroom. My belly is impossibly tight, and my ankles are swollen.
After doing my business, silently praying the toilet’s flush doesn’t scald Adeline, I pad into the kitchen with my arms crossed and my chin held high, ready to fight.
Grayson glances up at me. Though he looks tired, I still love his carefree smile when he greets me. He wears dark jeans and a light-blue shirt, and he’s clipped his badge to his belt as if he isn’t minutes from going undercover.
He appears ready for war, but I wonder if my hormones are playing havoc with more than my sexual appetite when he plates up breakfast. Next to a fried egg on buttery toast, he places avocado wedges. After a sprinkling of salt, he slides the plate across the island to me.
“Eat,” he demands, his voice so low it tickles my toes.
It’s an effort not to snap at him, to shout that I don’t need his protection or his breakfast, but the smell of eggs on a buttery base makes my stomach growl. So instead, I plonk my backside onto one of the stools dotted around the island, poke my fork in my egg’s yolk to make sure it’s runny, then cover my snarl with the rim of a recently filled mug of tea.
Although he’s throwing out multiple white flags, I grumble under my breath, “I’m not an invalid, Grayson.”
He sighs, rubbing at his stubble. “I know you’re not. But I can’t risk this, Mace. I can’t risk you or your baby.”
I stab the avocado slice with my knife like I’m angry he cares enough about me and my unborn son that he doesn’t want us to get hurt. It is all a ploy. “This case is important to me. You know that. I’ve been working on it for months. I can’t just watch it unfold from the sidelines.”
He flattens his hip against the counter next to me, then folds his arms over his chest. I wish he wouldn’t. His movement drags the cuffs of his shirt up high on his thick biceps, and I am suddenly worried that my stance is still rooted in jealousy rather than mutual respect for a fellow agent.
I don’t care if they’re a first-week rookie or a thirty-year veteran; you don’t join another agent’s case, then push them so far left field they can’t even see the sideline.
“I’m not asking you to watch from the sidelines.” The avocado and egg combination dancing on my tongue tastes even more divine when he adds, “I’m asking you to lead this investigation… from here.”
I gasp, surprised. “What?”
Smiling, he pushes a tablet toward me. “Profiling. There are too many suspects for one agent to handle. I need help with this.”
“I’m not a profiler.” The shock in my voice can’t be missed.
“No, you’re not,” he agrees. “But you know this type of suspect better than their mommas do. You know their telltales, their ticks. You will spot their guilt better than any agent I could bring onto this case.” His praise floors me. “Since I need to be on the field, I need someone I can trust to helm this operation while I’m not here.” My lips barely part before he continues talking, revealing the reason for his change of heart and foilingmy campaign to object. “And you can do that from the living room. You will coordinate the stings, analyze any data brought back, and callallthe shots. Adeline and I will be in the wings the instant we’ve returned from the field, but you’re in charge of this entire operation. It isyourbaby.”
His offer isn’t exactly what I want. I should be out there, in the thick of it, soaking in the adrenaline of a high-profile case. I want to experience the rush of being another step closer to bringing Kendall home, but it’s something, and the fact that Grayson is willing to compromise allows me to swallow my pride and reluctantly surrender.
“Fine,” I cave. “But I want updates, Malfoy. Constant updates.”
Relief flickers in his eyes. “You’ll have them, freckles. I promise.”
