AJ’s hand covers mine. He crouches beside me without a word. He doesn’t ask about the drawing. Doesn’t ask if I’m okay. He just…stays.
For several minutes, neither of us move. It’s enough to simply be. To feel the warmth of his skin, smell his aftershave, hear his soft, steady breaths.
But we can’t stay like this forever. Not when I finally understand why everything under the lanterns terrifies me.
“It’s an altar,” I say, my voice barely stronger than a whisper. “That’s where they tried to kill me.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
AJ
“I can do this.” Grace glares at me, a hundred and twenty-five pounds of grit and fire, and I back off.
“Okay. I’ll open the wine.”
Her steps are mostly steady. She doesn’t reach for the wall once as she carries plates, two at a time, into the dining room. Pride swells in my chest—along with worry about her pushing too hard, too soon.
By the time I pull the roast out of the oven, and Connor’s fussin’ with vegetables like he’s auditioning for Texas’s next Top Chef, the table looks like it’s set for Christmas.
Grace sinks down in her chair with a sigh, her left hand trembling slightly, but the smile on her face lights up the room.
Dinner starts off with laughter and the kind of gentle ribbing you only find in the closest of families. Parker laughing at the amount of butter Belle stole off the counter before I caught her. Emi’s shock at how much hot sauce Grace put on her mashed potatoes. Connor reminding his step-kid, Veronica, not to feed Belle green beans under the table. Grace even joins in the teasing when Emi tells everyone that Jasper used to think kale was some sort of “fancy parsley.”
“They’re nothing alike. I can’t remember if I even like the stuff, but I know I’d never mistake it for parsley,” she says. “We need to find you a Veggie 101 class.”
Everyone laughs, and the knot I’ve carried in my chest for more than two weeks now fades away.
But the quiet doesn’t last. Connor’s phone buzzes, and he checks the screen. Isabel tenses. Veronica looks to her mom. “If he can check his phone…” she says.
“He’s working, V. You know they’re tryin’ to find out who took Grace. This is important.” Isabel gives her daughter’s arm a squeeze, and Veronica stabs another green bean with a sigh.
Connor slips the phone back into his pocket. “Zephyr found at least four cults whose ‘holy’ texts use the phrase ‘the Glorious One.’ But none of them have ties to Texas. There’s one in California, another in Montana, and two overseas.”
“Oleanders are popular in California.” I rest my hand on Grace’s thigh under the table. “But that’s a long way from where Grace turned up in Mexico. No other hits on the phrase?”
“Hundreds. Most in worship songs. It has ties to Buddhism, Vaishnavism, and a handful of other religions, but according to Zephyr, none of them would use it the way Grace remembers it.”
Grace’s knife hits her plate a little too loudly. Her left hand trembles, and she clutches it to her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together. “I’m not wrong. About the wording,” she whispers, then forces her voice a little louder. “I can hear him—the man who locked me in that tiny room. I can’t see him, but his voice…” Her breath hitches. “He was talking about me. I’m the one who was going to ‘banish all darkness and bring about the Glorious One’s return.’ That’s why they…” Her gaze darts to Veronica, then back down to her plate. “Why they did what they did.”
Isabel takes her daughter’s hand. “V, if you want to go watch television, you can. Or use AJ’s office and call Mitzi.”
“I can handle this, Mom. Promise.” The young woman turns to Grace, her eyes sharp, but steady. “You can say it. I heard Connor talking the other day. They tried to kill you. I’m sorry. That blows.”
Grace blinks at her, then lets out a sound that might be a laugh. “Yeah. It really does.”
The look Connor gives his stepdaughter is nothing short of awe. But then his brows furrow. “Lil’ bit, we’ve talked about your eavesdropping.”
She shrugs, completely unapologetic. “Hey, I can’t help it if you leave your office door open.”
Parker snorts, nearly choking on her wine. “Please. That’s how AJ ended up with a whole damn posse on the flight down to Mexico. The man can’t whisper to save his life, and won’t shut a door in a dust storm.”
I’m fixin’ to tell her I wasn’t about to put Reyes on hold after he told me my wife was alive, when Hardison leans back in his chair, arms crossed, and one eyebrow disappearing under his shaggy black locks.
“If AJ was running his mouth loud enough for the whole damn station to hear, why am I lying to the chief again? And why wasn’t I right there with you, Lieutenant Loose Cannon?”
Parker rolls her eyes at him. “Because you dumped all your paperwork on me and cut out early that night. You were probably face down in a brisket plate by the time the call came in.”
Hardison doesn’t miss a beat. “Right. You were drowning in forms, I was drowning in BBQ sauce.”
