Page 37 of Grant’s Heat

“Then what is it like? I’d really like to understand.”

I looked at him for a few seconds, trying to gauge what was really going on here. Was this judgmental crap, or was he really trying to understand the things that went on in my mind? What was his angle?

Luckily, traffic inched forward and I could refocus my attention on the road instead of the uncomfortable elephant in the car with us.

“Don’t shut me out. Please,” Grant said in a weirdly quiet voice. With the same odd expectancy, he watched me navigate through the streets toward the police station. Once we’d gotten off the freeway, I was familiar enough with the area that I didn’t need the assistance from the navigation app.

“I don’t want to get into it, Grant—especially right now. This meeting is going to be hard enough.”

“Yeah. Okay.” He said it like a solemn promise. “I understand. Later.”

“Thanks.” I glanced over at him quickly, then back to the road so I wouldn’t rear-end the car in front of me. “Will Sebastian be here? Do you know?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t talked to him since the day we were at the house with your relatives. It would make sense if he were, though. This shit happened at his building, to his employee.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” I issued it without a shred of joy, grimacing while stretching my neck to see past the building beyond his side of the car. “I think there’s parking attached to the station, if I remember correctly.” I flipped on my turn signal and waited for a few cars to pass to turn into the garage.

Once we were parked, I held out my hand for my phone, but Grant just stared long and hard at my open palm. “What?” he finally asked.

“I need my phone, please. I need to check the email from the investigator to see where the meeting is. My brain is so foggy right now, I don’t remember the floor or room number. Not sure if it’s the lack of sleep or what the problem is. But that brings us back to my original comment about going home today. I can take you home when we’re done here, but I’m going to grab the stuff I have at your place and then head back to Seal Beach. I can’t run away from this shit forever.”

“Let’s just see how this goes, okay? No hasty decisions. I don’t want you to feel like you have to leave. If you’re not ready, you can stay with me as long as you’d like.” He grinned. “Plus, I’ve gotten used to your snoring. I think I’d miss it.” Wisely, he predicted and dodged my smack the moment the comment was made.

Once inside the station, we checked in with a deputy behind a large bank of windows. From there, we were directed to the room for the meeting. The investigators were already waiting for us, and Sebastian Shark strode in just a few minutes later.

“Gentlemen,” he said, shaking everyone’s hand as if he were the one who’d called the meeting—until he came to my place in line. After one look at the expression on my face, he stopped short.

“Rio. How are you doing?” The man studied my expression while asking, and at least five different replies flashed through my mind in rapid succession. Before I could organize my thoughts enough to vocalize one of them, he continued. “Abbigail wanted me to tell you that she would really like to see you. Also, to ask you to please come over and see her at the house. She says she misses you.”

“Yeah,” I rasped. “I miss her too.”

“Lastly, she would like to talk to you about helping you plan the service.”

The addendum had me narrowing my eyes. His cordial tone, as if he were suggesting Abbi and I plan a crafting night instead of how we’d bury the man to whom I’d promised “till death do us part” grated on my nerves.

This wasn’t a fucking social hour. We were here to talk about how and why my husband died. I had barely given anything else a moment’s thought, and now Sebastian Shark brought it up like an action item he had to cross off his list?

How dare he.

How dare they all, looking like this was just another day at their damn office!

My head was spinning with questions. With frustrations. With anger. So much anger.

Just as I pulled in a sharp lungful of air to launch into a tirade, telling Shark where he could stuff his invitations, a firm hand landed on my shoulder. I snapped my glower around as Grant squeezed in and tugged me back. Though I fought to look away, he made it impossible to ignore his presence, pressing his warm, huge body right behind me.

“Hey, Bas,” he said, stepping off to my right to give his best friend a brotherly hug-handshake combination.

“Twombley,” the bastard murmured back, adding a surreptitious dart of his watchful gaze between me and his best friend.

“Let’s sit down, shall we?”

At the officer’s suggestion, we all took seats around the long conference room table. The two investigators gravitated toward the end of the table, closest to the room’s built-in podium and whiteboard that hung across the front wall. Grant and I sat right in the center, and Sebastian positioned himself across the table from us.

I steeled my shoulders. Pulled in another lengthy breath. Neither action helped my racing pulse.

Is it hot in here? Why am I having such a hard time breathing all of a sudden?

Grant leaned over and whispered, “You okay? You’re very pale.”