“No.”
“We don’t think so,” Rush amended. “Not with everything you said yesterday, and not from what I’ve found. According to your cousin, the guy who was supposedly stalking her lived in her apartment building. But while the address you gave us matches her employment records, she hasn’t lived there in over a year. Looks like her dad bought her a house, right next door to her mom’s new house.”
My eyelids slowly shut as my grip on the phone tightened. “Right.”
“You also said she looked haunted by something yesterday,” Rush went on. “You mentioned you thought the guy who’d been stalking her might’ve even been at the festival. If—” He cut himself off, and the following silence felt excruciating as I waited for him to continue. “Does she know who you are? Who you work for?”
At that, I focused on the bed in front of me. “I mean, I’m sure I told her what I do. But if I did, that would’ve been years ago. It’s possible one of my cousins or their wives have said something.”
Neither Briggs nor Rush said anything for a while before Rush continued on a sigh. “I can’t be sure?—”
“We’re sure,” Briggs cut in.
“I can’t be sure,” Rush ground out, “but if she’s been in contact with her dad all this time, it’s possible she knows what’s going on with the club and this new, blended family of mafia leftovers. If the Wreckers are behind all this, she might know they’re doing thisbecauseof us. She might know things we don’t yet, and what you saw yesterday might’ve been because she was worriedforyou.”
“Either way,” Briggs spoke up, “she wanted people to think she’d been taken, so she’s going to realize we’ve figured out she wasn’t if you or your cousins stop acting like we’re looking for her. As far as anyone knows, we don’t know where she is.”
My head bobbed for a while. “Understood.”
Briggs cleared his throat and asked, “How’s Monroe?”
I looked back at where my wife was staring at her newest paintings, brush hanging loosely between her fingers.
When it took too long for me to answer, Briggs lowered his voice to something far more careful than I would’ve expected from him. “Give her time, Gray.”
Swallowing thickly, I forced myself to say, “She wants to come in and work.”
I knew Mallory could hear me, but she didn’t so much as tense when the conversation clearly turned to her.
Briggs’ distinctive grunt rumbled through the phone. “What are y’all gonna do?”
I would’ve given anything to stay in that condo all day, wading through the chaos of the past few days—of even just today. I would’ve given anything to just climb back into that bed and talk with my wife about the changes in our lives.
But I knew she needed the distraction.
And with how things had been going recently, I had a feeling she’d open up about everything once she’d had time away from her own overwhelming thoughts.
Studying Mallory’s too-still form for a moment longer, I bit back a sigh and said, “We’ll see y’all soon.”
“Walk me through it again,” I demanded once Gray had slid into the driver’s seat of his truck and cranked the engine.
“Her dad’s mafia, Peach. I dunno what else to say, other than I missed a detail as significant as that,” he said as his stare shifted my way and lingered, eyes bouncing between mine as he studied me, searching for a reaction I knew he was waiting for, since we were talking about Tessa.
But I wasn’t sure I had the mental capacity to do anything more than digest what Gray was saying—tryto digest what he was saying, seeing as I was making him repeat everything he’d just told me as I’d cleaned my brushes and we’d rushed out the door.
“Well, I’m sure your thoughts were on other, equally riveting things.” The snide remark was out before I even knew I was thinking it and dripped with bitterness.
Maybe I did have the mental capacity.
“I’m sorry,” I hurried to add when a mixture of hurt, frustration, and acceptance flashed across Gray’s handsome features. “It’s a knee-jerk reaction. I still shouldn’t have said it.”
His jaw worked for a moment before he gave the slightest shake of his head. “I’ll apologize every day, for the rest of our lives, but it won’t take back what I did.”
“You don’t have to,” I assured him. At the smile that tugged at his mouth, screaming his disbelief, I leaned closer to catch his stare again when he went to put the truck in gear. “Do you need me to apologize every day for what I did to you?”
Pale eyes flashed my way again, looking at me like I was absurd for even suggesting it.
Before he could respond, I amended, “Would you ask me to?”
