Had anyone ever said his name the way she did? So it sounded like music in her mouth?
He couldn’t say if his feet even touched the tile as he flew to her side, threading his fingers through hers. He basked in the feel on her hand sheltered within his own.
“My memory’s all fuzzy.” She pressed two fingers to the thick bandage wrapping her head. Her voice was hoarse from the days she’d spent on the ventilator. But miraculously, and to his eternal delight, all the things that made herherwere still there in her words. “I feel like my brains got scrambled.”
“More like they were stuffed inside a pressure cooker.” He loved the way that brought a soft smile to her face.
“What happened after we found Dale and Sissy? The last thing I remember was going into the den to get the blankets and then…” She drifted off and a deep line appeared between her eyebrows. Her eyes flew wide as a piece of her memory snapped into place. “Orpheus.”
She tried to sit up again. For the second time, he had to gently push her back onto the narrow mattress. “It’s okay. He’s dead.”
“You got him?” There was such fear in her eyes. But behind it was hope.
“I got him.” He nodded, then frowned. “And it almost cost you your life. I never should’ve left you to—”
“No,” she cut him off. “You did what had to be done. He had to be stopped. Oh, Hunter,thank you!”
She tugged on his hand and he didn’t hesitate to let her pull him into a hug.
It was a bit of déjà vu, since they’d gone through this exact routine in the doorway of Dale and Sissy’s house. But he’d have been happy to repeat the process on a loop for the rest of his life if it meant he got to keep holding her in his arms.
The urge to bury his nose into the crook of her neck and suck in that sweet, clean smell that was uniquely Grace was strong. But he satisfied himself by simply catching the lock of hair that poked from the bottom of her headwrap and rubbing it between his fingers. Her soft cheek was so warm and alive next to his.
When she pulled back, he saw another line appear between her eyebrows. “What about the troll farm? Did Sam and Hannah find the double agent?” Her gaze snagged on his upper arm. “Wait. Weren’t you shot? Didn’t you—”
“It was just a graze.” He rolled up the sleeve of his T-shirt to show her the large bandage covering the healing gouge through his flesh. He was black and blue from the crash. And his knee and hip still got sore by the end of the day. But he was alive, Orpheus was dead, and Grace was safe. So all was right with the world. “And if you promise me you’ll lie back and relax, I’ll fill you in on everything you’ve missed.”
“We’re goin’ to get the others while you two catch up,” Merit said from the end of the bed.
Grace’s parents, Calvin and June, had gone to the cafeteria with Grace’s other brother, Noble, and his wife and children. It’d been decided the group would eat lunch in shifts to ensure there were friendly faces surrounding Grace the moment she woke up.
“Are Momma and Daddy here?” Her gaze was hopeful when it landed on her brother.
Merit made a face. “Where else would they be, silly goose?” Shaking his head at the ridiculousness of her question, he herded the others out the door.
Hunter was left alone then to tell Grace how they’d discovered it’d been the FBI director’s personal secretary who’d been the mole inside the government. How the troll farm had been raided and its employees arrested. How Orpheus’s real name had turned out to be Pavel Siderov, and how, despite being trained by the FSB, Russia was denying all association with the man.
“It’s been the top story for days,” he finished. “Luckily, Director Morgan has been able to keep your name away from the press. But I don’t suspect that’ll last long. Prepare to be a celebrity. The FBI agent who exposed two-hundred traitors working as Russian agents while pretending to be patriots is going to be hailed as a hero.”
She blew out a windy breath. “The last thing I want is fame.”
He understood the sentiment. His idea of hell was to live a life in the public eye.
Then her face crumpled. “And I certainly don’t deserve it. At least not all of it. Stewart might’ve been a serious pain in the ass. But he was there with me every step of the investigation.”
“I suspect when the press sniffs you out, they’ll sniff out your partner’s name as well. He’ll go down in the history books as a paragon of American exceptionalism. There’s comfort in that.”
“Is there?” Her expression was full of heartache. Just as he’d known it would be. He’d had eight days to mourn the loss of his friends, to allow the edge of his sorrow to dull ever-so-slightly. But her wounds were still fresh. “Is there ever any comfort to be found after that much senseless violence and death?”
“Yes,” he assured her, knowing it was the truth. The human condition was amazingly resilient. She would have a period of mourning her losses and second-guessing herself and lamenting that things couldn’t have been different. But, eventually, she would move into acceptance. And then her true healing would begin. “And with the help of friends and family and probably a good therapist,” he added, “you’ll find it even quicker.”
Her sad eyes searched his. “You speak from experience.”
He nodded. “And plenty of it.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“So am I,” he assured her. “Sorry the world isn’t a kinder or fairer place. Sorry bad people are allowed to hurt good ones and there’s no way for me to stop all of them. But I’ll never stop trying to do exactly that. And you won’t either, Grace. You’ll take some time to heal your body and your soul, but then you’ll hop right back in the saddle and continue to do your part to bring just a little more peace and justice to this blue marble hurtling through space.”
