Parker shakes her head. “You realize you’re being the world’s most cliche man, right? Look.”
My brother and I lean down to focus on the stitches. “Holy shit,” I mutter. “They’re uneven.”
“There’s no tag because this wasn’t bought from a store.” She turns to Reyes. “I know you were focused on saving her life, but did you happen to notice how well this fit her? Was it baggy? Tight? What about the length?”
The doctor purses his lips. His eyes close for a long moment. “I had to cut it off of her. When we got her onto the table, the dress came almost to her ankles. I cannot be certain, but I believe it could have been made for her.”
“You think Grace was taken for—what?—to be some lunatic’s wife?” Nausea claws its way up my throat, and I swallow against the sour taste of bile.
“It’s only a theory,” Parker says. “But…it would explain all of this.” She plucks a flower petal from the tray and drops it into one of the plastic bags. “Dr. Reyes?—?”
“Alejandro, please.”
Parker nods. “Okay, Alejandro. Did you collect any evidence from Grace’s body? Fingernail scrapings? What about her hair? Has she showered since she woke up?”
For a split second, my entire world turns red. I whirl on Parker, anger turning to fury tinged by fear. “My wife is not evidence!”
“Yes. She is,” Parker snaps back. “She has to be. There hasn’t been a single lead in almost three years. This is a gold mine. But if we go home without asking the right questions, we could miss something that keeps Grace safe.”
Jasper clasps my shoulder. “She ain’t wrong, AJ.”
His tone—gentle, but with an edge as sharp as steel—grounds me enough to blow out a long, slow breath.
“I know. I fucking trained her. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Turning to the doctor, I cross my arms over my chest. “Well…Alejandro?”
He gestures to the second tray. “There is an envelope under the burlap sack with fingernail scrapings. I did not check her hair. Lourdes and Marta bathed her while she was unconscious, but I did not ask them to look for…evidence.”
“Connor, bag that envelope,” Parker says. “We only have another twenty minutes before dinner. Once we get back to Austin, we could lose access to all of this. Jasper, photos and video of everything.”
“Parker, if you think you’re cutting me out of this investigation…”
She huffs. “Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—you’d kick my ass before you’d let me. But this is your wife we’re talking about. Do you really think you can be objective? About anything here?”
Again, she’s right. So I stand back, hands shoved in the pockets of my jeans, watching.
Connor runs his gloved hands over the burlap sack, examining every inch of the fucking thing like it holds the answers to life, the universe, and everything. “AJ, take a look at this.”
The piece of bluish plastic in his palm ain’t more than an inch long and half as wide. “What the fuck is it?”
“Hell if I know. It was caught in the burlap. Get me one of those bags.”
Once it’s sealed, I hold it up to the light. “Looks like it broke off somethin’ bigger. Tell me we ain’t gonna rely on APD to analyze all this shit.”
With a grim smile, Connor folds the burlap so it can be bagged as well. “Nope. I know a guy.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Grace
The heater shudders to life in the corner of the room. Soon, the dark shadows will come back, but for now, the last rays of sunlight filter through the window.
Marta prattled on about my handsome husband and brother-in-law as she removed the bulky, white bandage from around my head and replaced it with a single layer of stretchy gauze. If it weren’t for the thin hospital gown and bathrobe, I’d feel almost…normal.
I wish AJ had stayed. I don’t want to be alone. I think…I miss him. Can you miss someone you don’t remember?
The panic attack grabs me so fast and hard, I can’t breathe. This bed suddenly feels like a prison with its sterile sheets and cold, metal rails. I wrestle one of them down, then lurch for the recliner.
But the floor pitches. I don’t know which way is up. I can barely see, and it’s only when I feel the leather under my hands that I know I’m not going to hit the ground.
