Page 38 of Grant’s Heat

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m. Fine.”

But I was the furthest thing from that. Grant, seeming to know that with the same certainty I did, rested his long arm on the back of my chair. He rubbed my upper back every few seconds, reminding me that he was still there with me.

I wasn’t alone.

“To start the debriefing, there are some legal disclaimers that need to be read and recorded,” the officer began. “All in attendance must respond accordingly, also on record. So, when I signal to you, as a group, you say ‘I do.’ All right?”

We all agreed and then moved forward. The investigator turned on a recording device in the overhead sound system and read from a laminated card. He signaled to us with a hand gesture, and we did our part like the law-abiders we were and agreed for the recording.

He sat down at the head of the table and looked at me first and frowned. “Mrs. Gibson, on behalf of the City of Los Angeles and the entire police department, please let me start by saying how deeply sorry we are for your loss. Especially from the men and women on the force who have had to walk in the shoes you are currently, our hearts are heavy as we wish you peace in your time of grief, and we sincerely hope this investigation can bring you some closure so you can begin to heal.”

“Thank you” was all I could manage in response. What other alternative was there, after his kind and seemingly heartfelt message?

“According to eyewitness accounts, security footage from the job site, and forensic evidence collected at the scene, we can piece together the following chain of events. Sean Gibson and the crew he oversaw reported on-site on the morning of February fifth. Routine safety checks had been conducted by the off-going team, and pass-downs were given to the foreman as per standard operating procedures that are set forth by the company policy of Shark Enterprises. Mr. Gibson signed into the operations log as the shift foreman, and the shift commenced. Regular work breaks were given from nine forty-five to ten o’clock that morning, and all personnel were accounted for.”

The second investigator stood up and took over with the report recitation. “Normal workday routine from there, really. Two men checked out at lunch and were gone for the rest of the day at doctor’s appointments, leaving Mr. Gibson slightly shorthanded. A delivery was made at”—he scanned the report, clearly more open to summarizing than the first officer—“three in the afternoon. Mr. Gibson assisted with the storage of the materials, and while he was directing an equipment operator from the ground via handheld radio, a load of steel beams broke free from the cable tie-downs on the forks of a large-capacity material handler. Footage shows Mr. Gibson was instantly crushed under the weight of one of the free-falling beams.”

At once, my whole body clenched as if I’d been punched in the gut. No. As if I’d been crushed under a steel construction beam. My vision swam. I dropped my head and wrapped my arms around my middle, keeping all the bile down only by supreme force of will.

Don’t throw up.

“Rio? You okay?”

I nodded. I think.

“You need a second?”

I shook my head with violent force. Why was I being such a frail wimp? This was what I’d come all the way here for, right? To hear all this at last? To know the total truth?

So what the hell had I expected, then?

I guess I hadn’t given it much thought. That I would have to sit here and listen to the gruesome details of the accident. Already, I wasn’t sure how much more I could bear. Regardless of how brave I was trying to be or which mental trick I employed to detach from the words being spoken, I couldn’t come out on top.

The city buildings usually kept the air conditioning running on full blast, but suddenly the room was way too warm. Beneath the table, I ran my sweaty palms along my denim-covered thighs a few times. Not helpful. Not at all. Even though I was way too hot, I was also freezing.

Goose bumps popped up along my exposed forearms. In my peripheral, I caught the sideways shift of Grant’s body and the way he narrowed his gaze at my skin. He was dressed in his usual suit and tie and looked quite comfortable, so apparently I was a one-person climate control problem. That knowledge didn’t make me feel better, but I tried to refocus on the investigator’s droning voice.

“The other workers attempted to free Mr. Gibson to no avail. Paramedics arrived on the scene shortly after. We want to note here the impressive response time of the city’s first responders…”

Almost as if I were separated from my own body, I felt myself stiffen at his words. The man literally flowed from one thought to the next with no transition. Hey, yeah! We know your husband, your reason for existing, is lying there squashed like a beetle—but hot damn, did you see how fast those firemen showed up to do nothing at all to help him?

“Round of applause for the fucking firemen, y’all!” My outburst was loud and obnoxiously bright. Everyone gaped in my direction as I clapped my hands. I smacked Grant’s arm, encouraging him to join me by exaggerating my example of how it was done.

Grant didn’t spare a second in speaking up now. “I think we need a minute, gentlemen. Why don’t we take a short break?” He sat forward and turned his tall frame toward me, effectively blocking my antics from everyone’s view. “Let’s get some air in the hall,” he offered, every word calm despite the tension defining his jaw. “Move around a little.”

“I’m fine,” I growled. I didn’t need his protection all the damn time. It was high-handed and out of line that he treated me like a child in front of all these men.

But the man wasn’t getting that, no matter how hard I glowered or fiercely I fumed. He leaned in closer, ensuring only I could hear him, and said from between clenched teeth, “Please don’t fight me on every fucking thing, Rio. I’m trying to help you right now.”

I rose to my feet, standing so abruptly my chair teetered on its back two legs before settling back to the floor. My brain bobbed inside my skull with matching energy, trying to find level ground in my mental muck. Just when I was sure I’d wobble all the way back over, Grant flattened a huge hand across my back, steadying me.

“We’re going to get some air.” He directed his repetition at everyone else in the room this time. “Just give us a few minutes.”

“Twombley.” Sebastian sighed. “Is this really necessary? I have a mee—”

Grant whirled on him. “I said give us a few minutes, you heartless, arrogant son of a bitch!”

His voice thundered so loudly through the small room, the fluorescent light fixtures in the ceiling shook. I dug my short nails into the material of his suit jacket sleeve and tugged a little.