“AJ!”
He stares up at the ceiling, and a single tear glistens on his cheek. “I should’ve refused. But I was so close to gettin’ promoted to captain, I didn’t think I had a choice.” A harsh laugh shakes his body, but there’s no joy in the sound. “Would you believe right about the time you started your run, Harris handed me that promotion? I called you. But…” Another tear joins the first. “If I’d just said no, we’d have been up at Lake Livingston that whole weekend, and none of this would have happened.”
“Aaron.” I cup his cheek, urging him to look at me. His eyes are bloodshot, ringed with guilt and exhaustion, but steady on me. “You can’t change the past. I might not remember that day, but I do know even when we were fighting, we loved each other.”
AJ rests his forehead against mine. It’s such a simple gesture, but intimate in a way I can’t explain.
“We did make up that mornin’.”
Something about the way he says the words triggers a memory.
AJ standing in the doorway of our bedroom, fixing his tie with a smile. “…make-up sex is pretty damn hot.”
Heat blooms in my cheeks. If I felt steadier—if we didn’t have that damn press conference in a few hours—I’d take him into the bedroom and suggest he recreate that reconciliation. But when I do finally work up the courage to take him inside me, we can’t have all these secrets still hovering between us.
I brush my fingers along his cheek, drying the last of his tears. “I think it’s time you told me everything.”
AJ pushes to his feet and starts to pace. The shift in his demeanor is so abrupt, it catches me off guard. Until I realize he can’t do this as my husband. He has to be Captain Stone.
“Reyes sent samples of your blood and stomach contents to a lab in Chihuahua. They came back a few days ago. You were poisoned with concentrated oleander nectar mixed into grape juice. More than enough to kill you. But you were also hypothermic, and his theory is that the cold saved your life. It slowed your digestion, your heartbeat, even the swelling in your brain after the skull fracture. It bought you time.” He scrubs a shaky hand over his face. “Barely.”
My stomach twists in on itself, a sour burn coating my tongue. My throat tightens, and I fight not to gag.
“Drink!”
A man’s voice. Angry. Rough. I don’t want to listen.
I shove the memory down hard, balling my hands into fists and squeezing until I’m here again, bright red crescents throbbing on my palms.
AJ’s gaze narrows on me. “Grace? What is it? You’re remembering something.”
I don’t want to answer. Especially not now. Not when I’m about to stand up in front of cameras and reporters and let the world—including whoever took me—see that I’m still alive.
But I asked him to be honest. I owe him the same. “Just…a voice. Someone telling me to drink. And a bitter taste in my mouth. I don’t know what it was, or when it happened. Or if it’s even a real memory.”
He crouches down in front of me. “What else? Did you hear other people? Were you hot? Or cold? Sitting? Standing?”
“I…I don’t know.” A headache starts at the base of my skull and tightens around my head like a fist. My stomach roils. A sob threatens to break through, but I swallow it down. “Please, AJ. Don’t ask me to remember more. Not right now. If I have another panic attack, there’s no way I’ll be able to stand up in front of the cameras and the reporters and prove to everyone—especially the assholes who took me—that I survived.”
He exhales slowly, his gaze softening. He’s not Captain Stone right now, he’s AJ. My husband. “Okay. Do you want to take a break?”
“No. I can hear the facts. I want to. I…need to.”
With a nod, the Ranger in him takes over. Pushing to his feet, he clears his throat and pulls a picture from under his laptop. “These are the ropes you were bound with when Reyes found you. Someone made these, Grace. By hand. They wove oleander flowers all through them. We’re tryin’ to narrow down where they came from. Pritchard’s fiancée is a botanist, but oleander grows damn near everywhere.”
The white and gold braided cord is almost…pretty. Or would be if not for the scars around my wrists.
“The dress you were wearing was custom,” AJ says, his voice softer now. “We can’t be sure, but it might have been made specifically for whatever twisted ritual they put you through.”
Silk whispers over my skin. Clings to my breasts. Brushes the top of my feet.
AJ cracks his knuckles, the sharp sound pulling me back from the abyss. “The first drawing you did? The moon was full. It was so fucking big, I thought…maybe it meant something. So I checked the lunar calendar. Reyes found you the morning after the full moon.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing over the collar of his Henley. “When you disappeared, I was out on the trail that first night until dawn. I remember how bright the moon was. But I never gave it a second thought until yesterday. You were taken on the full moon. It’s got to mean something.”
I close my eyes. Lanterns glow above me, swinging in the frigid air. Shadows sway on all sides. I can’t feel my cheeks. Or my lips. My hands... I shiver. Why can’t I move my arms?
Raw agony slices through my side, and all the air leaves my lungs.
“Grace. Come back to me.” AJ’s gentle tone soothes the pain. His arms wrap around me, and I find the strength to shove the memory into a tiny box and shut the lid with a bang.
