I nod, amazed at how he always seems to be able to read my mind when I need it most.
“I don’t need to hear it to feel it.” His voice breaks, just a little. “And I love you. So much, there are times I can’t breathe from the weight of it.”
His words wrap around me, warm and steady, cutting through a fraction of my fear. I’m still terrified, but I know—deep down—we’ll be okay.
He catches one of my tears before it can fall. “You’ll get your words back. I promise.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
AJ
Parker sneaks into the room a little after five p.m., silently slipping through the door, little more than a shadow to anyone watching. She goes straight to Grace’s side, crouches down, and takes her hand.
“Hey there, hon.” Her voice is soft. Light. But I catch the crack in it. She smiles, then lowers her head for a moment and brushes away a tear before Grace can see it. When she looks up again, her tone is steadier. “Me and AJ—we’ve got you. We ain’t goin’ anywhere until you do. Got it? You’re not alone. Not now. Not ever.”
The way she grips Grace’s hand makes the promise feel solid. Heavy. Real.
I clear my throat, shifting closer to the bed. It’s time to let Grace in on the plan. She might not be able to talk, but she’s clearly here. And Emi’s goin’ on the air in an hour.
Grace’s hand curls in mine. Her eyes are still a little glassy, like she can’t quite focus, but the sound she makes—not a word, but definitely a question—tells me she knows there’s something in the works.
“Darlin’, we need to tell you somethin’.”
Her brows knit. She squeezes my fingers hard, and my gut twists.
Fuck.
Parker slides a hip onto the very edge of the bed, and leans close. “Grace, we came up with a plan. A way to keep you safe. But me and AJ…we’re stayin’ right here with you. Can AJ tell you what it is?”
Grace tries to nod, but almost immediately winces.
“Wait. I’ve got an idea.” Parker digs into her bag and comes up with Grace’s sketchbook. She flips to a blank page and helps Grace curl her fingers around a pencil. “Language…it ain’t always what people think. Try writin’ something.”
For a long moment, I don’t think anyone in the room even breathes. Grace’s hand shakes, but she manages two words.
“What plan?”
The sheer joy of being able to communicate with my wife almost does me in. Until Parker smacks my arm and hisses, “She asked you a question. Answer the woman.”
“Sorry, darlin’. Connor thinks there’s a way to draw attention away from the hospital. Maybe get Prophet and his cartel buddies a little desperate. Emi’s gonna help us. On the six o’clock news, she’ll do a little human interest story piece about you needing surgery for an injury sustained before you were found. She’ll report that it was successful and you’ve been discharged. That you’re home. Jasper…” I chuckle, because I know my brother ain’t happy about this next bit. “Jasper’s shavin’ his beard. He’ll drive my car back to the house with one of Connor’s former FBI buddies passin’ as you.”
Grace frowns, but only gets two letters down before the pencil slips from her grasp. Parker’s right there to pick it back up again.
Eventually, she scratches out, “Too dangerous.”
I soften my tone, my hand resting on her forearm. I need to keep touching her. To reassure her she’s not alone. Or maybe…to reassure myself. “Hardison will be here with us. And I called the chief. He’s sending a couple of other Rangers in street clothes to the hospital. The full moon is the day after tomorrow. They’ve got to be gettin’ desperate.”
Grace’s throat works, her lips purse and press together before a strangled sound escapes. Eventually, she steadies the sketchbook and writes, “Belle?”
“She’s at Emi’s,” I reassure her. “You know she spoils that dog rotten.” I brush my thumb over Grace’s wrist, feeling the rapid beat of her heart. “She’s safe, darlin’. Just like you.”
Grace stares at the page, then at me. God, I’d give anything to ease the glassy, shell-shocked look in her eyes. But despite the exhaustion, despite her brain betraying her, despite the hole in her goddamn skull, she’s still fighting.
I squeeze her hand again. “We don’t move forward unless you agree. Emi can go on in half an hour, or she can pull the segment and we keep all hands on deck here.”
Her pencil scratches one last time. “You. Parker. Don’t leave.”
I dip my head, pressing her hand to my lips. “I promise. We’re staying right here.”
