He’s out, and he’s safe.
At last, I can breathe freely.
I close my laptop before tucking the evidence I used to snoop under my seat. I’ll tell Grayson about how I witnessed the fight when the moment is right. I don’t want to force him to admit anything he said during their fight, any more than I want the fantasy stripped from me. He most likely said he loved me to end their fight. He didn’t mean it. Right?
I’m about to sling open my door and hobble to the driver’s seat, needing something to keep my hands occupied when Grayson returns to my side, when a knock taps at my window.
I jump, startled someone snuck up on me unawares. An elderly lady stands outside my car, bundled in a thick cardigan. Her white hair is pulled back in a neat bun, and she is sheepishly smiling.
“Sorry to bother you, dear. My battery is dead. Would you mind giving me a jump?”
Really, karma? Now?
I slant my head to hide my grimace. This is karma biting back for the stunt I pulled on Cameron yesterday.
A brisk wind whips out the lady’s cardigan, and when she shivers, I remember how badly I want to stay on karma’s good side. “Of course. Let me grab the cables.”
Careful not to place excess weight on my foot that had a shard wedged in it, I climb out of my car. The cuts sting, but I clench my teeth and limp to the trunk.
After pulling out the jumper cables, I follow the woman to her car parked five rows back. She pops up the hood while I untangle the leads that are as messy as my head. I can’t stop replaying Grayson’s words, and they have me the most distracted I’ve ever been.
This is evident when I attempt to connect the cables to the battery’s terminals. The terminal clamps aren’t connected to the battery. They’re flapping in the salty breeze whipping off the coast.
While frowning so hard I’ll worry about a new wrinkle, I lock eyes with the lady no longer seated behind the wheel. She balances her chunky hip on the wheel arch of a dark SUV parked next to her sedan. “Ma’am, your battery isn’t dead. It’s?—”
Before I can finish my sentence, pain explodes behind my eyes, and the world tilts sideways. I crank my neck to see what slammed into me so fiercely that I’m instantly dizzy, but my legs buckle out from beneath me, and I collapse to the ground in a heap before I can see anything.
The last thing I see before I’m struck again is the evil grin of the elderly woman when she leans over me and whispers, “Go to sleep, dear. It will be less painful this way,” while jabbing a syringe into my neck.
36
GRAYSON
As I leave Cameron’s apartment, my breaths rattle in my hollow chest. Our fight was ugly. Words flew like knives, and accusations and truths tangled together so ruefully that it was hard to tell them apart. But as I step out of the elevator and into the lobby, I feel lighter on my feet. Freer. Even with Cameron’s mental stability weighing heavily on my shoulders, I know the direction I need to take to right my wrongs and still have a chance at happiness.
Cameron isn’t well. I know that now. Years on the job clarified issues I couldn’t pinpoint when I was barely a man, and they’ve given me the skills to fulfill my obligations to both Cameron and myself.
I will get Cameron the help she needs, and together, we will work through this.
It just won’t be as a couple.
That stage of my life is over, and it is time to work out who I truly am. Am I an agent? A profiler? Or am I still a teen unsure of which career path I wanted to take, only to have circumstances beyond my control lead me to a career I was only considering?
I really don’t know, but the woman I’m racing for is best suited to help me figure this out.
As I reach the parking lot, I scan the interior of Macy’s bureau-issued sedan, expecting to see her in the passenger seat. She’s nowhere to be found. The passenger seat is empty, and the driver’s side is just as barren.
A chill runs down my spine as I quicken my pace. I practically sprint to the car while scanning the area. The lot is full of cars, but everything seems normal.
If only my intuition were reaching the same conclusion.
I call Macy’s name. My shout bounces off the steel-and-concrete structures surrounding me, but that is the only reply I get.
After pulling out my phone, I dial her number. It rings once before a faint buzz coming from inside the car steals my focus. I yank open the passenger-side door with so much force that the hinges creak, finding Macy’s phone in the middle console. My missed call illuminates the screen, but there’s no indication of where she has gone.
Panic claws at my chest. Macy would never leave her phone behind. It is every agent’s lifeline, not to mention one who is both searching for a loved one and only weeks away from giving birth.
“Mace?” I call out again, aware that something is wrong but trusting her skills as an agent not to let panic fully engulf me.
