Nate clears his throat. He’s so quiet, sometimes I almost forget he’s in the room. “Speaking of creeps… Marvin’s been acting twitchy as hell lately.”
“He used to be a halfway decent guy,” Jasper says. “Until he broke chain of custody on a piece of evidence against the cartel four years ago. After that, he turned into a whiny piece of?—”
Connor clears his throat, then cuts his gaze to Veronica.
“You do realize I’m eighteen now, right?” V says.
“Marvin’s an ass,” AJ grits out. “But twitchy? That’s new.”
“Trust me. I’ve got a PhD in twitchy. Marvin’s hiding something. He took half a dozen calls on Friday—outside.” Nate shoves his hair out of his eyes and drains the last of his coffee. “When I left, the dude looked like country music’s top ten, personified.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Parker asks.
“Standing on the corner after his wife left him for his best friend and took the dog, his truck, and his Stetson?” With a small shake of his head, Nate gives his partner the side-eye. “I thought you were born here.”
“I was. Country’s a hell of a lot more than that.” She snorts, but even their banter can’t quell the unease turning my stomach into a twisted knot.
The way he looked at me on Friday night made my skin crawl. But maybe my fear being filmed for the whole world to see moments before was what set me off.
I lift my mug to my lips, letting the honeyed warmth seep into my bones, and focus on the family I have around me. Parker and Nate are still arguing about the virtues of country music. Jasper, Emi, and Connor are talking baseball stats and spring training games. And Veronica sits on the floor, her back against her mom’s legs, stroking Belle’s side while the dog snores loudly.
AJ drapes his arm around my shoulders. “I won’t let anything happen to you again, darlin’. On my life, we’ll keep you safe.”
I turn to him, cup his cheek, and brush a soft kiss to his lips. “I know.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
AJ
I stop outside the station door. The last time I crossed the threshold, Grace was nothing but a ghost I couldn’t stop chasing. Now she’s back in my arms at night. Sharing her coffee with me in the morning. Laughing, healing. And somehow, that makes the ground under me shake harder than when she was gone.
Losing her once damn near killed us both. I won’t lose her again. I can’t.
Parker joins me, her hands shoved in her jacket pockets. “You fixin’ to stand out here all day? Or are we doing this?” she asks.
“We’re doing this. Not much choice, I reckon.”
I hold the door open for her, my jaw clenched. Feels like I’m walking into a fight I ain’t ready for, though I don’t know why.
The scuffed linoleum floors, the mix of burnt coffee, sweat, and gun oil hanging in the air, the low hum of conversation punctuated by ringing phones…it’s all the same. I’m the one who’s different.
Harris is waiting for me—for us. “Lieutenant Elmore, you’re on desk duty until I say otherwise. Stone? My office. Now.”
“Mornin’ to you too, Chief,” I mutter, too low for him to hear, as Parker stalks over to her desk.
He’s already back in his chair when I shut the door, his cheeks red and splotchy. “The lab came up empty on the dress. Marvin was spinnin’ his wheels all week tryin’ to find out how your wife got to the trail. Your story’s fishier than week-old gas station sushi, and I ain’t buyin’ it. Bring Grace in so Marvin and I can question her.”
“No.” I cross my arms and widen my stance. “She’s not a suspect. She’s a victim. A goddamn survivor. And she’s already told you everything she knows. And I recall you promisin’ me you wouldn’t let Marvin anywhere near her.”
His cheeks get redder, and he sputters, “Th-that ain’t a request, Stone.”
“Two weeks ago, we thought harassing victims was a bad thing. We change our policy while I was out?”
I don’t wait for him to answer. “You want to drag her in here, sit her in an interrogation room, and grill her like she’s done somethin’ wrong? Try to get her to break? She won’t. She’s tougher than anyone in this fucking building. But she’s tryin’ to heal. And I’ll be damned if I let you interrupt that process because Marvin can’t track down a clue to save his life.”
Harris’s jaw flexes, but he doesn’t fire back right away. For a second—maybe two—I almost think he’s gonna agree with me.
“You think everything is about her,” he snaps. “It ain’t. It’s about a case with no leads, no evidence, and a whole goddamn town breathin’ down my neck. You don’t get to pick and choose what parts of her story are useful. That’s my job. She can heal and answer my questions. Stop lettin’ your personal life interfere with the job.”
