Connor cuts in, his voice putting an end to the brief moment of levity. “If the two of you are done? This still ain’t addin’ up. How does a cult keep themselves hidden for three fuckin’ years?” He leans in, forearms braced on the table. “Cults don’t survive without fresh blood. They need to recruit, have some sort of income stream to keep the lights on. If there’s nothin’ to find, either they’ve got help coverin’ their tracks?—”
Parker says what Connor won’t. “Or their recruits—their victims—are hidden so deep, no one’s gonna find them.”
Grace’s breath stutters in her chest. “They hid me. For three years.”
The words gut me. The whole room feels it. No one makes a sound for several long moments. Even Veronica stares down at her plate, poking her mashed potatoes with her fork.
Hardison leans back in his chair. “No one’s that off the grid. Grace, when you see that room—the wood one—is there electricity?”
She frowns, her eyelids fluttering closed. “I…think so. The lanterns burned oil, but…yes. The room had a light.”
“Then somebody’s paying a bill,” Hardison says. “The power company doesn’t care if you’re a plumber or the second coming of God. If there’s electricity, there’s paperwork. Receipts. We find those, we find a name.”
Veronica’s sharp brown eyes narrow on Hardison. “But if you don’t know where the cult is, how do you find the paperwork? No one’s gonna sign up for a credit card with the name ‘Glorious One, Cult Leader.’”
“That’s Zephyr’s job,” Nate replies. “But you’re not wrong, V. We just gotta hope someone—somewhere—got sloppy.”
Grace grips the edge of the table, her knuckles white. “What if they weren’t? Sloppy.”
“Then,” Nate says, his voice flat, “someone’s cleaning up after them. Which means we’ve got to find the janitor.”
Grace
Nate and Parker trade jabs as they clear the table. And while Connor washes the dishes and Veronica dries them, I bring Isabel and Emi to see my studio.
“It’s so empty now,” I say, still in awe that AJ—along with the rest of the guys—did all this for me.
Emi skims her fingers along the newly painted wall. “I knew you were a purple person.”
“I wish I remembered anything about decorating.” I lean against the drafting table, suddenly a little shaky. “AJ said he and I picked out all the furniture in this house together. So I must have had an eye for it. But now…” Tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, I sigh. “I can’t just pick something off a website. I need to touch it. Feel it. But after Friday night…”
“Hon,” Emi says, draping an arm around my shoulders, “If you need to go anywhere, Jasper and Connor will take you. With those two at your side, no one would dare bother you.”
The women close ranks around me, and the three of us stare out the darkened window at the lake. “God, I feel like such an ass for suggestin’ this, but if you gave an interview,” Emi says, “it might send some of the vultures back to their nests.”
“Emi!” Isabel takes a step back, her eyes narrowing. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’d be a softball piece. I promise. No hard questions. No questions at all that you don’t approve ahead of time. Hell, if AJ wants to vet them too, that’s fine. But people love a tragedy turned love story. That’s partly why they’re so fascinated by you now.” Emi rests her hand on my arm, warmth in her brown eyes. “Give them a glimpse into your life—maybe a bit of physical therapy, throwing the tennis ball for Belle, along with a little white lie that you haven’t remembered anything about the last three years—and they might back off a bit. Talk to AJ. See what he thinks.”
“Coffee’s on,” Jasper calls from down the hall.
We drift back to the living room, the clink of dishes fading as the scent of AJ’s dark brew replaces that of his—supposedly—famous roast and buttery mashed potatoes.
Parker presses a mug of tea into my hands, her quiet way of reminding me not to push too far, too fast. The warmth steadies me even as the dinner conversation churns like broken glass in my chest.
AJ takes his usual seat next to me, with Belle lying at our feet. His first sip of coffee seems to steady him as he links his fingers with mine. “You’ll have Connor or Jasper—or both—with you at all times,” he says. “But…please, darlin’. Don’t leave the house. The security system can’t protect you outside these walls.”
My heart rate kicks up, and I pull away from my husband. “No.” I tighten my grip on the mug and work to steady my voice. “I was locked away for three years, AJ. I can’t—I won’t—be kept hidden again. Not even in my own home. Not when I’m finally getting my life back.”
His eyes flash, protective fury warring with something softer. But I don’t let myself look away. I need him to understand.
Parker breaks the tension, easing down beside me on the sofa, her shoulder brushing mine. “Grace is right,” she says gently. “Hiding isn’t the same as keeping her safe. We need a plan, not a prison.”
From his seat by the fire, Connor leans forward. “The plan is to watch Grace’s back. If she’s here, Jasper or I will be with her.” He turns his gaze to me. “If you want to go out—for anything—we’ll go. But you’ll have both of us with you. That sound fair?”
I nod. “I don’t even know if I’ll want to go anywhere. I just need to be able to decide that for myself.”
“We got your back, Grace,” Jasper says. “Any creep playin’ at bein’ an amateur reporter is gonna regret it.”
