Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“You can have the bed.” I force my reply through a tight, firm jaw.
“Then where will you sleep?”
I drag my hand across the couch, doubling the pang of guilt beaming from her impressive eyes. Macy’s eyes show she bears more than she burdens and that she’s as exhausted from living life in the fast lane as I am.
They also show that she is a beautiful woman unaware of her appeal.
I stop looking at a fellow agent in a way I have no right to when Macy immediately rejects my offer. “I can’t take the bed, Grayson. Not after you’ve allowed me to continue leading this case.” She slips off the stool and pads into the living room to collect papers off the couch I’m hogging and return them to the bulletin boards. “I’m fine with the couch. I am used to it.”
I stand up, my head shaking. “It’s not fine. You’re pregnant. You need rest. Take the damn bed.” I glare at her, halting her protest. “I insist.”
She finally gives in, either too exhausted to argue or aware I am a stubborn fuck who doesn’t go anywhere without his gun and his handcuffs.
I have strategies to get her to accept my offer without my gun leaving my hip, and foolishly, my cock twitches at the reminder instead of shrinking.
After pinning heat sensory images of a property thirty clicks beyond the Mexican border back to their rightful spots on the bulletin board, I place my hand on the small of Macy’s back and guide her to the only closed door.
The bedroom is situated across from the bathroom and a compact laundry room. It is modest, barely big enough for a bed and a dresser.
When I flick on the light switch, Macy slowly enters the room, her exhaustion evident.
“Get some sleep.” Aware of what she needs to hear to ensure that’s a possibility, I add, “I’ll keep working on the case. You can take over from me when you wake.”
Her sigh brings back the tomato-and-cheese scent of the pizza we shared. “Okay. Thank you, Grayson.”
My heart races from her unexpected praise. After smiling reassuringly, I switch off the light, close the door behind me, and then return to the living room.
I spend the next two hours resecuring Macy’s evidence to the bulletin boards. Then I retrieve a file from my bag so I can dedicate a couple of hours to Cameron’s investigation, confident it will ease some of the guilt weighing heavily on my chest.
Working from a couch isn’t ideal, though I’ve experienced worse.
Nothing deadens your ass faster than a rock-hard hospital waiting room chair.
The reminder of the time I sat on one for hours on end prompts me to take my phone out of my pocket and dial a recently called number. It’s late for me, but it’s a somewhat decent time on the other side of the country.
Brandon James, a once fellow agent and my somewhat best friend, answers my FaceTime request in two rings. He signals to me that he’ll be with me in a minute before his focus shifts to someone in his recently restored farmhouse on the outskirts of New York.
“I’ll be out to feed Socks with you in a minute.” As he speaks to someone in front of him, his smile widens, turning blinding, before he completes his reply in sign language.
His wife, Melody, was born deaf, and although she had cochlear implant surgery a few years ago, they keep their filthy words out of their hearing children’s ears by using sign language.
I won’t tell you what Brandon signs, or you might end up as exhausted as I feel when I shift your dreams to nightmares.
“Still burning the midnight oil, I see,” Brandon murmurs once his focus shifts back to me.
“It’s almost dawn, punk. And I’m chasing something far more succulent than a worm.”
He laughs before reminding me that his exit from the bureau didn’t lessen his nosy-nancying. “It’s dawn here. It is three a.m. where you are.”
“Keeping tabs on me, pipsqueak?”
“Always,” he answers without shame. He has the right. He bared his soul to me years ago, and I thanked him by doing the same. He is the only person outside of my family who knows about Cameron and the investigation I’m conducting outside of bureau hours. “Do you think this could be the entity that took Cameron?”
I shrug, honestly unsure. “Macy has a ton of info—”
“Macy? As in Special Agent Macy Machini?”
His ear-piercing tone arches my brow. I’ve not heard him use that pitch for anyone but his wife, and it balls my hands as quickly as it clenches my jaw.
“Yes, Macy, as in Special Agent Macy Machini.” The jealousy in my tone can’t be missed, so I won’t mention my expression. “Do you have something you need to tell me, punk?”
“No.” He cocks a brow and twists his lips. “Do you?”