But I haven’t found any suspected of kidnapping women off the street—or trails. No other body dumps in the middle of nowhere. No white dresses or braided ropes. And none with a fondness for oleander.
I’m more worked up than ever by the time I turn off the faucet. But I force a deep breath and pray Grace doesn’t notice.
“All ready for you, darlin’.”
She lets me help her off with her pajamas, then sinks into the steaming water with a sigh. “This is heaven. Thank you.” The look in her eyes cuts me in two. Trust. Gratitude. Love. All so much more than I deserve.
I step out before I drown in my own guilt. In the living room, I pick up the sketchbook. The lantern stares back at me with its clean lines and glowing wick.
“It was so bright it hurt. Or maybe…I hurt.”
I snap a quick picture, close the book so it can’t cause her any more pain, then retreat to my office.
My shirt is plastered to my skin, my hair damp and sticking up in all directions, but I don’t care.
Connor answers the video call almost immediately. “You look like five miles of bad road, man. What’s wrong?”
“Can you conference in Zephyr? Hell, maybe Pritchard too. I’ve got somethin’ potentially…traceable.”
“I’m out rakin’ leaves. Give me five minutes, and I’ll call you back.” The screen goes black before I can respond.
I’d call him an asshole, but this ain’t a conversation we should be havin’ in public. Sinking back in my chair, I hiss out a breath as my damp shirt chills my skin.
He’s better than his word, and less than ninety seconds later, my tablet screen lights up with an incoming call.
The video splits in two, Connor on the left, and a woman with teal hair, a silver barb through her eyebrow, and vivid green eyes on the right.
“AJ, this is Zephyr,” Connor says. “Pritchard’s in the middle of somethin’, but we’ll fill him in when we’re done. What do you have that’s so important you called me lookin’ like that?”
I hold up my phone. “Grace drew this. It’s a lantern. The other day, she sketched a whole-ass scene with half a dozen poles and lanterns hangin’ between them. But there wasn’t any detail to it. This one…”
Zephyr narrows her eyes and swipes a lock of teal hair behind her ear. “Send me that picture. I’ll run a reverse image search on the whole thing, but if that comes up empty, I’ll work the individual components. The glass, the base, the handle…”
“How long until you get somethin’? The news conference is tomorrow?—”
“It takes as long as it takes, AJ. Even if it’s pre-fab, I’ll still have to check regional suppliers and specialty importers. If it’s not, I’ll scrape the survivalist forums, look for design specs. I could have something in an hour, or it could take me two days.”
Fuck.
Zephyr’s voice softens. “I get it. Really, I do. And I’m damn good at my job. With as much detail as Grace put into that image, I’ll find something. And if it’s not enough to go on, I’ll call in reinforcements.”
“She means McCabe’s wife,” Connor says before I can ask. “The two of them together could topple governments.”
“You’re assuming we haven’t already.” Zephyr flashes a quick smile. “AJ, I’m sending you a link to a secure file share. Drop the photo in there. The one Grace drew the other day too. Vague doesn’t mean useless. I’ll be in touch as soon as I find anything.”
Her side of the call goes dark, but Connor studies me for a long moment. “There’s more goin’ on than just a new lead. What is it?”
“Not now. Grace…I don’t want to leave her alone for too long. I’ll see you tomorrow at the news conference.”
I end the call before I’m tempted to confess all my failures in harsh detail. Because if I did that, I might never find the strength to go back to my wife and beg her to forgive me.
Chapter Forty-One
AJ
Steam billows out ahead of me as I yank the bathroom door open, the towel knotted low on my hips. No amount of hot water could wash away the ache in my chest.
The room still smelled of lavender when Grace emerged ten minutes ago. I’d asked her if she needed help getting dressed, but she’d just looked me up and down, brows lifted.
