AJ squeezes my waist, drawing me against his chest. His lips brush my temple, steady and grounding, and Belle leans harder into my leg, her warm weight reminding me I’m not alone. The flashes and whispers fade into background noise as AJ guides me toward the double doors, every step both terrifying and freeing.
At the podium, Nate clears his throat and sweeps his gaze over the crowd. “Mrs. Stone is done for today. You have more questions, you direct them to me. But keep in mind, this is an active investigation, not a late-night true crime special. You take one step outta line and your press credentials won’t be worth the paper they’re printed on.”
The doors shut behind us, and the muffled voices of the reporters fade away.
“You did great, darlin’.” In the empty hallway, AJ slides his fingers into my hair, cupping the back of my head and slanting his lips over mine.
The promise in his kiss seeps into every part of me. I’m home. I’m safe. I’m loved.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Grace
Outside, the wind whips through the trees, leaving them as battered as I feel. For the past eighteen hours, my face has been splashed across all of Austin’s television screens. But instead of a photograph, it’s me. Walking—sort of—talking, and daring the people who took me to try again.
They know the poison and the blade and the skull fracture didn’t kill me now.
Will they try to finish the job?
My stomach twists into a knot, and the edges of my vision pulse as the headache creeps in.
For hours, a team of installers has been in and out of the house, wiring every room like it’s Fort Knox—panic buttons tucked into corners, cameras with three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views, tech so advanced it makes me dizzy.
AJ calls it peace of mind. A “shield around our slice of the world.” But it’s not. It’s proof I’m not safe. And he knows it.
“Ma’am? Sorry to bug you, but I need to get into that corner to mount a motion sensor.”
Lucas stands by the kitchen island, a clipboard tucked under one arm. He’s six-four and built like a linebacker, but his grin takes the edge off the sheer size of him. When he first walked in the door, I wanted to bolt to the bedroom, bury myself under the covers, and pretend all these people were part of a bad dream.
But then he’d offered me a warm smile. “Don’t worry, ma’am. I read the manual twice. But it’s more fun to ignore it and see where that gets me.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. “So…we’re in good hands?”
“Best you’ll find,” he’d deadpanned, and for a second, I felt almost normal bantering with a stranger in the middle of my foyer.
Now, he moves around my house with ease. He feels…safe. Like he knows when to be quiet, when to make a joke, and when to be serious about the dangers this system will protect us from.
I take my sketchbook and pencil with me as I shuffle from my favorite spot on the couch to one of the less comfortable chairs on either side of the fireplace. I haven’t been able to spend more than a couple of minutes at a time in my studio. It still feels…wrong. So whenever I have the focus to put the pencil to the page, I’ve been drawing in the living room.
The acrid tang of burnt metal curls from the soldering iron. The scent twists my stomach, dragging me unwillingly to another place. Another time.
Sun kisses my cheeks. My tank is soaked with sweat, but the gentle breeze helps keep me from overheating. The barely there thud of my running shoes on the pavement, strength in my legs, my watch beeping as I pass eight miles.
Lightning hits me square in the chest.
My muscles spasm.
Can’t…breathe.
The clear, blue sky fades to gray. Everything’s blurry. Dark. I hurt. Why do I hurt?
“Grace?” A man—his voice familiar, but too bright and out of place for the dark in my head—calls my name, but I can’t find the strength to respond. “Yo, AJ! Get in here!”
AJ. He’ll find me. He’ll save me. He always does.
I’m moving. Being lifted. Being taken.
No. Not there. Don’t let them put you in there!
