Maybe hearing Grayden’s voice would help me calm down, help me sort through this mess of anger and worry churning in my gut.
But when I grabbed my phone, I was still so mad I wasn’t sure I could articulate the words to describe it. Everything would come out in a furious jumble.
I just needed to see him.
And that’s how I found myself driving toward the opposite side of town.
Every day it got harder to ignore the way my heart lifted when I saw him, harder to keep myself from reaching for him.
I should stay away. Give myself some distance. Figure out how to untangle these feelings before they got any scarier. But I couldn’t seem to do it.
I turned onto his street.
And immediately saw a Silver Ridge PD SUV parked in front of Grayden’s place, along with two uniformed officers heading up the walk toward the house.
TWENTY-TWO
Grayden
Milo steppedtoward the cardboard box, like he was going to pick up that plastic-wrapped brick of powder and get rid of it.
“Don’t,” I said.
He stopped, glancing back at me with his eyebrows rising. “Thought it wasn’t yours.”
“It’s not. But I know my rights. I doubt the police have a warrant to come in here.” I kept my voice level. “If they don’t, I’m not letting them inside. If they do, then I’ll deal with it. But I’m not going to go scrambling around acting guilty or ashamed.”
That was exactly what the Danny Carmichaels of the world wanted. For me to never be able to stop hiding from my past, to always be looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next accusation. Exactly what I’d done in Seattle when trouble got too close.
But now that I was finally home in Silver Ridge, I was finished running.
Was I being stupid? Probably. Hardly the first time.
I used my foot to kick the flaps on the cardboard box closed, then shoved it into the corner behind my table where it was out of sight.
The knock came a moment later at the front door. Three sharp raps.
“You’re welcome to leave through the back if you want,” I told the others.
Zach and Earl exchanged a glance, but Milo shrugged. “I’m good. I can serve as a witness to whatever goes down.”
“Same,” Zach grunted. “Neither of us touched that package. If we need to, we can explain how we found it.”
I felt a rush of gratitude as I went to the door. But the nerves quickly followed.
I did not have a good track record with the authorities, and these local cops had to know it.
If they’d looked up the exact details of my incarceration at the US Disciplinary Barracks? And the reason I’d served my full sentence instead of getting early release? That certainly wouldn’t help.
So I kept my expression neutral and non-confrontational as I opened the door.
“Afternoon,” I said.
Two officers stood on my porch. The first was a woman in her fifties, gray hair pulled back, her expression professional. The second was younger, maybe mid-twenties, and he kept his hand near his gun holster, his eyes trained on me like I might attack at any second.
Not the best start. Sweat beaded at the small of my back despite the winter air.
“Grayden O’Neal?” the woman asked.
