The Grayce Walters Romantic Suspense Series

by Jacki Delecki

  “I’m just tired. There has been a lot going on. With the newspaper article and meeting your family, I haven’t had a chance yet to tell you about who came to my office.”

  “Who?” Davis asked.

  “Angie Hines.”

  “The missing woman? She came to see you? Why?”

  “To thank me for supporting her mom while she was missing. She brought me flowers.” Grayce omitted that Angie remained upset and agitated. If Davis perceived that Angie wasn’t fully recovered, his bonfire temper would ignite.

  Grayce pulled her car into a parking spot in front of Davis’ condo and turned toward Davis. “Angie’s a very strong woman. She reminds me of Toni from the fire department’s holiday party.”

  “Really?” Davis’ voice sounded strained. He never discussed his past with Toni, and Grayce never asked.

  “Not the seductive part that you liked.” She ran her finger along his hand that rested on her thigh.

  “You know I never…was with Toni?”

  “It doesn’t matter, and I was teasing.”

  He leaned forward and rubbed his lips against hers. “I like teasing.” His wolfish eyes gleamed in the streetlights.

  “Angie has the same warrior attitude as Toni, as if she’d be willing take anyone on and take them down.”

  “Where has Angie been all this time?”

  “She doesn’t remember. She had a head injury that triggered amnesia. That’s her psychiatrist’s theory. He told her it’s not uncommon for people with PTSD to disassociate from any memories around a new trauma.”

  “At first, she didn’t recognize her mother. Angie gradually recovered her memory by returning to her apartment and to Ossie. I’ve read some articles about amnesia. There are surprising triggers for what can bring back a person’s memory—a familiar setting or a familiar song. Of course, I believe being with Ossie helped her.”

  “I’m sure you comforted her.” He reached over and pulled her close to him and whispered, “Honey, why are we still sitting in the car?”

  “You’re not going to like the decision I’ve made. We both may need time alone to calm down.”

  “You mean I’m going to get mad, and you won’t want to stay overnight with me?”

  Grayce nodded. “You could surprise me and not get mad.”

  Davis released her. “You better tell me.”

  “Angie asked for my help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “She asked me to help her find her friend, Maddy.”

  “Go on.” His voice was level and even. Never a good sign when Davis was trying to appear in control.

  “She asked if Mitzi and I could go to the green belt on Beacon Hill to search for Maddy.”

  The passing car lights kept flashing on Davis’ extraordinary, angular face. The suffused light made his profile harsh and formidable.

  “What the f…” He hardly ever used the “f” word.

  “An experienced Marine wants your help in finding a drug addict?”

  “Maddy is her friend, a fellow Marine.”

  “You’re a goddamn acupuncturist, not a detective.” He let out an exasperated breath. “When does it stop, Grayce? People asking for your help. I got that you wanted to help the mother. But now you’re helping a Marine with PTSD?”

  “I like helping people.”

  “By going to one of the roughest parts of town?” He angled his body, looming over her. “Dead bodies show up over there. And how is this related to your work with animals?”

  His sarcasm tainted the space between them.

  “We have a police department to help Angie find her friend,” he added.

  “Angie is trying to protect Maddy from the police. If Maddy is back doing drugs, it will ruin her military career.”

  “But why ask you? Doesn’t she have Marine friends who could help?”

  “Emily Chow told her that Mitzi and I had helped in your case. Angie’s mother has complete faith that I could help.”

  “I’d like to kill that woman.”

  “Mrs. Hines?”

  “Emily Chow. All for a story to advance her own career, she’s got you involved in a mess.”

  “I don’t think helping a desperate woman is a mess. Angie said Maddy was like her kid sister.” She was losing her patience with Davis. “I didn’t find Angie, but the police knew where to look because of my visit to Teen Feed.”

  Davis linked his fingers between hers. “I’m sorry. Of course you helped.”

  “I don’t see any harm if Angie, Mitzi, and I walk through the area during the day.” Grayce chose not to disclose that she had been dreaming about the jungle and knew from her dreams that she was supposed to go.

  Davis squeezed her hand. “What if Angie has a PTSD flashback and thinks you’re the Taliban?”

  Angie would never harm her. How could she explain to Davis her understanding of people?

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. Yes. Hell, I don’t know. You’re driving me crazy, Grayce. It’s hard enough to leave you, but to think about you putting yourself in danger.”

  “Davis, remember our discussion about your need to do dangerous work? This is no different. I hate the idea of you taking risks.”

  “I’m trained for danger, you’re not.”

  “But I am—”

  “No, you’re not.”

  She’d hoped to avoid this discussion with him. She couldn’t explain how she knew when she was in synchrony with her dreams and had to follow the path of deep knowing.

  “I know I’m not trained the way you are, but I’ve got other unseen abilities. I can help people, and I can’t withhold my assistance from those in need. I understand your need to protect me. I do, but you’ve got to have faith that I have good judgment.”

  “I’m not saying you don’t have good judgment. I have a different perspective on the evil out there.”

  Grayce leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m so proud of us. We’re actually having a discussion.”

  “I have an ulterior motive. Can we go inside to further discuss our dangerous work?”

  “Really? You’re not going to go all Attila the Hun about me being a weak female.”

  “I promise not to go Attila until we’re in the bed.”

  Grayce laughed. How could she not love this man?

  * * *

  Davis held Grayce in his arms. She slept deeply. He couldn’t sleep. Grayce Walters was harmful to his health. He had become an obsessed man. It was absurd. He wanted to shelter her, never let her be in danger.

  For years, he had made jokes about his friends when they fell in love, but if his friends could see him now, how they would enjoy his torment.

  Grayce sighed and buried her face on his chest. She was so soft and tiny, her bones like bird wings. Although small, Grayce was no pushover. When she wasn’t pleased, she got the same look as his Aunt Aideen. Her green eyes turned a deeper shade, a turbulent green. She was like his aunt—not in size or demeanor, but in her emotional strength.

  He had to avoid playing the macho man role. Grayce had been impressed with his rational behavior. His only request was that she take James with her to Beacon Hill. She had been offended by the idea of her needing a man to protect her, but she didn’t understand male instincts. James knew how to handle himself in a fight. It was a testosterone thing.

  “What am I going to do with you, my little warrior?” he whispered. “I’m drowning over here, Grayce. Help me.” She hadn’t heard a word he said. She might not like him acting all primitive in her life, but she definitely liked him as Attila in bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Brandon sat away from the cameras in the public library. There were no unmonitored spaces anymore. He was vigilant in avoiding the cameras—always turned away from their prying lens. They’d be looking for him soon, reviewing surveillance tapes. There were much weirder homeless dudes who deserved the camera time. He’d let them draw Big Brother’s attention.

 
Protected by his hoody pulled over his hair, sunglasses, and beard, he settled into a soft chair and opened The Seattle Times. Nothing of importance. More boring shit about Boeing. He reached for the local news section. Boeing would be old news in less than five days’ time, and his face would be plastered on the front page.

  It was too bad that he’d miss the spectacle of his father Frank’s face contorted with the familiar purple eggplant rage and his mother Meryl’s facelift sag in disappointment. His stomach lurched as he flashed on the memory of his mother’s red fingernails, sparkling with her giant diamonds, squeezing his arm, cajoling him to prove to his father that he could excel. His parents would both get their wish—their loser son would make them famous.

  They wouldn’t be able to escape the notoriety. The experts would analyze how they, the perfect couple, had fucked up. They’d try to hide at their place on San Juan Island, but everyone would know.

  From his little cabin on the remote west side of Kapas Island, he’d enjoy reading the theories of his downward spiral despite his affluent background and doting parents. He’d never see them again since he’d be heading to Jakarta. Courtesy of Boeing. On Malaysian Airlines. He hoped the airlines had its shit together by then. He doubted Frank and Meryl would miss him.

  He gasped as he stared at the newspaper. He recognized the woman’s picture under the heading. “Animal Acupuncturist Works with Cat to Find Missing Woman Veteran.”

  The meddling blond bitch from the house on 65th. Her picture was featured on the local news section. She smiled at the camera, accepting an award from Cornell. Of course the bitch went to an Ivy League school and won awards. Rage boiled up into his gullet. And she had found Maddy’s friend. He wouldn’t let her interfere in his carefully constructed plans. She was too close. She wouldn’t get any closer.

  His hands shook. He’d make sure of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Grayce, James and Mitzi waited for Angie by the dirt track that led down to the west side of Beacon Hill. They met at sunrise since Hollie had told them they had to arrive either in the early morning or late at night to find people at their spots. Grayce had chosen sunrise since Hollie had warned them that the safety risks significantly escalated at nighttime.

  “You got me up before sunrise and didn’t have an espresso or a pain au chocolat waiting for me in the car,” James whined in an affected singsong. “And now you tell me I can’t talk about fashion or sex. What will I talk about?”

  “Angie’s been through hell and is worried about her friend.”

  “And from her picture, Angie would benefit from my fashion advice. She’d look a lot better without all the hair.”

  “You’re here at my invitation, so no fashion or risqué comments to Angie.”

  “You mean at Davis’ coercion. Did Davis know that you planned to muzzle me?”

  “No, but I’m sure he’d agree.”

  “I love that the hulk admires my fighting powers. Who said the moon isn’t made of brie?”

  “He said that you’d be good in a fight.”

  “James’ voice lowered an octave into that range that meant serious. “I only use my martial arts for self-defense; but, I’ve done a lot of that. They’re sharp.” James wasn’t talking only about the high school bullies, but about his father.

  “There’s Angie,” Grayce said.

  Mitzi stood when she saw Angie marching toward them with a backpack and a soldier’s stiff bearing. She was dressed in old military clothes—fatigue pants, boots and a white t-shirt. Her thick, black hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

  “OMG, I’m in a GI Joe movie. How far are we walking? I’m not staying overnight, no matter what Davis said.”

  “My God, James. Calm down. We’re not going far.”

  “I wish I’d thought to wear my fatigue jeans. She looks so apropos.”

  “And I’m sure Angie dressed to make a fashion statement while searching for her friend in homeless camps.”

  “Dr. Walters, thank you for coming.” Angie stood at attention.

  “Angie, please call me Grayce.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And this is James, and this is Mitzi.”

  James extended his hand. “The pleasure is all mine, Angie.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Grayce was never going to admit that James’ presence was a compromise with her over-protective boyfriend.

  “Hi, Mitzi.” Angie squatted on her knees to pet the poodle. “We didn’t have any poodles working in Afghanistan.”

  “Their haircuts are hard to maintain in the sand,” James said in his usual sardonic tone.

  Grayce elbowed him square in the ribs.

  Angie looked up at James in his tight, black jeans, black polo shirt, and expensive Montblanc watch. “You might be right, sir.” Her face remained inscrutable.

  Angie rubbed the soft fur on Mitzi’s head. “You ready to work, girl?”

  Grayce didn’t want to disappoint Angie by telling her that Mitzi wasn’t a working dog.

  “I walked through the north side of the hill yesterday and didn’t find anything. I thought we’d walk toward the south. I’m hoping Mitzi can lead us.”

  “You do realize that Mitzi isn’t trained for this sort of thing,” Grayce said.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m aware that a poodle isn’t a search and rescue dog, but I’m hoping Mitzi’s instincts will take over.”

  “Let’s give her a try. Mitzi is a remarkable dog. I’ll let her off her leash.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Angie, it’s going to be a long day if you keep ma’aming me. Please call me Grayce.”

  “Yes, ma…I mean Grayce.”

  With her lead off, Mitzi bounded down the hill, following the dirt path. Grayce felt trepidation as they started their descent. She hadn’t had any nightmares in anticipation of today, but she was wary of what the suffering of the homeless might arouse.

  “I’ll walk point. Sir, can you take the rear?”

  James snickered and said under his breath, “If you only knew, honey.”

  “Sir?”

  “Nothing, Angie. Just muttering to myself.”

  Grayce was impressed that James didn’t make any further suggestive comments.

  They followed the trail as it twisted along the trees. The roar of 1-5 droned below the hill. They walked in silence as Mitzi ran ahead with her nose to the ground. Frequently the poodle would check back to make sure they were following. Grayce felt like she was doing a military reconnaissance.

  Grayce and Mitzi had worked together on the wharf investigations, then she became the nurturing office dog. Now the poodle had been transformed into a working police dog. Was there anything Mitzi couldn’t do?

  Mitzi led them to the first encampment. It was deserted. An empty refrigerator box with Frigidaire printed on the outside provided shelter. The box had one plastic bag filled with what looked like old clothing. Nothing of any value could be left since it would have been stolen.

  “Frigidaire. A dependable choice. I might use them on my next project.” James stood to one side of the box, pretending to analyze it as Mitzi sniffed the area around the box. “Cardboard wouldn’t be the material I’d choose. Not exactly weather resistant.”

  “No, sir. I don’t believe it is. But it will give a person temporary shelter.”

  James dealt with uncomfortable emotions with cynical humor, but Grayce wasn’t sure if Angie was getting James’ humor or that she felt she had to humor him.

  Mitzi yelped at them and hurried down the path.

  “Guess that means we should follow,” Angie said.

  The sun hadn’t come over Beacon Hill yet, so they walked in the shadows and cold air. Grayce didn’t want to think about what it would be like hiding in the trees, trying to stay warm and safe every night.

  They walked for at least ten minutes.

  “Are we in Tacoma yet?” James asked.

  “No, sir. I believe this green belt ends around Michigan Avenue.”
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br />   Grayce would’ve liked to tell James to stop baiting Angie but knew from experience that would only increase James’ performance.

  “Grayce didn’t bring me an espresso, even though she knows how crabby I get if I don’t have my morning fix.”

  “I brought some rations, sir. If you’d like chocolate, I’ve got a candy bar.”

  “I only eat Theo’s or Dilettante chocolate.”

  “Sorry, sir. It’s a Snickers.”

  “What else you carrying in your pack? By the way, I like how it matches your pants. Very chic-chic.”

  “James…” Grayce started and then stopped. Angie had survived Afghanistan, she could survive James.

  “They’re military issue, sir.”

  Or maybe not.

  “Angie, honey. You have to stop calling me ‘sir’ unless you call me Sir James.” James flicked his hand in the air. “Sir James sounds like a rapper. Never mind. Just call me James.”

  “Yes, sir. I can call you James. Are you from around here?”

  “I’m a native Seattleite.”

  James moved closer to Grayce and whispered in her ear, “She might have gone to Afghanistan, but it’s obvious she hasn’t spent a lot of time on Capitol Hill.”

  “I’m born and raised in Seattle, Angie. How about you?”

  “I’m like you, sir. I grew up in the Rainier Valley.”

  Mitzi started to yelp and sprinted ahead of them.

  “She might have found something.” Angie broke into a fast run, her backpack swaying.

  “You didn’t say anything about running. Since you’ve been on this homeless kick, I’ve ruined my pair of Lanvins. And I refuse to run in my Gucci running shoes.”

  “First of all there is no need to run. But why wouldn’t you run in your running shoes?”

  “They’re Gucci running shoes. Gucci. G-U-C-C-I.”

  “I know how to spell Gucci.”

  “They’re a fashion statement, not an actual athletic shoe.”

  Grayce had always told James that he rivaled Kenneth Branagh on his delivery of a dramatic monologue. Of course, Kenneth Branagh was a trained Shakespearean actor versus James who relied on natural talent. And Kenneth Branagh got paid for it. A lot.