by Mia Kay
Gray didn’t resist as Jeff pulled him into the nearest empty room and pushed him toward the bathroom, speaking in the tone men reserved for their mothers and small children. “Wash up and change jackets.”
Gray blinked. Maggie was bleeding. Nothing else mattered.
“You’re covered in blood. They can’t see you like that.”
He took one look in the mirror and heaved into the sink. After he’d rinsed his mouth and scrubbed his skin and hands, he snapped Jeff’s clean raid jacket over his ruined clothes.
As Gray entered the waiting room, Nate launched from his chair with an incoherent roar.
Faith stepped between them and wrapped her arms around her husband, fighting him until he dissolved against her. Gray wished she’d let Nate hit him. Tiffany was in tears cuddled next to Michael. Charlene and Kevin were supporting each other. Abby, pale and red-eyed, was curled around her dog.
He wished they’d all hit him.
“S-she’s in surgery.” His knees wobbled. “She was shot.” His vision blurred as he looked at Nate. “I’m so sorry.” His voice broke on the last word as he drowned from the inside.
Jeff pushed him into a chair and stuck a paper cup full of coffee in his hand.
Gray choked down a mouthful as everyone’s gazes flitted between them. Jeff looked every inch an agent despite his hair. His badge was visible while Gray’s was hidden under the jacket so no one could see her blood in the grooves.
For once, Nate wasn’t oblivious to his surroundings. “I asked him—”
“Let me do it,” Gray croaked.
His tale began with a halting description of how and why he was here. Then it grew solemn when he confessed to lying to her, lying to them and considering them all suspects. It gained speed and strength as he told them about the trust and chasing Maggie to Vegas. He told them about Shelby, about Carl, about everything he could remember. He didn’t tell them about finding Maggie.
Silent, he stared at a spot in the carpet while he ran his thumb across his wedding ring. The women came across the room and surrounded him, each offering him comfort.
He forsook the kindness and stood as the guys approached. They ought to get the chance to knock him flat. Instead, they each wrapped him in a hug that wasn’t the least bit manly. Nate took the chair next to him, and they sat shoulder to shoulder, looking up at every footstep and every shadow. Gray strained to hear the nurses’ whispered conversations.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Nate said.
Gray shook his head. It was. He’d missed everything important, he’d left her alone, he’d—
“Don’t be stubborn,” Nate insisted. “You don’t belong in Chicago. You belong with us. I’ve known it since college, but you were so damn determined.” He took a deep breath. “Then you got shot, and I saw the perfect excuse to get you out here. I didn’t think we’d be related, but it doesn’t suck.” He rolled his eyes. “Well, this sucks, but this is your home. Stay.”
Gray stared at him. “My ex-girlfriend shot your sister.”
Nate’s smile wobbled at the edges. “She’ll get over it. You’re my brother-in-law. I’ve got your back.”
Reverend Ferguson arrived, intent on sitting with them. Instead, Gray sent him to see Faye and hoped he could head off the gossip. Maggie would never forgive him if something happened to Faye.
It was another hour before a hollow-eyed Rex Simon came into the waiting room. The crowd fell silent as Gray stood on shaking legs. Nate stood with him and put a hand on his shoulder. Jeff stood on his other side.
“She came through it, but she’s lost a lot of blood and there’s some internal damage. I could waste my time discussing repairs, but no one ever hears anything after the first part.” His smile was limited to a brief twitch of his lips. “It’ll be touchy for a bit, but she should recover fully.”
While everyone celebrated, Gray pulled the surgeon aside to discuss the specifics of Maggie’s injuries and the repairs. Once he was satisfied, he voiced the thought he’d had every five minutes since he’d left her this morning.
“I want to see her.” He looked at the tense faces in the room. “We do.”
“I thought you would,” Rex said. “Follow me.”
Stepping into the hall, Gray heard only his footsteps and realized he was alone. The three men who’d protected Maggie her whole life waited behind him in the doorway.
Nate nodded and smiled. “We’ll wait. Go on.”
Gray trotted to catch up with Rex, and then clenched his fists as they once again moved too slowly. It took forever to reach the recovery ward.
At the end of the room, a nurse looked up with an encouraging smile before she went back to reading a chart. Maggie was her sole patient—an island of white sheets and fluorescent light in the darkened, cavernous space.
Her hair was dark gold against the pillow, and she was so pale it was difficult to tell where the bandages ended and she began. Her scratches and bruises stood out in sharp relief. Gray sat and took her hand in his, careful not to loosen any cords or tubes. Monitors tracked her heartbeat and mechanical breaths echoed.
“Now who sounds like Vader, honey?”
He dragged his fingertips through her hair and waited for her laughter. It didn’t come. He kissed her forehead, and pulled his iPod from his pocket. “I still have nightmares about all the beeping and buzzing. I don’t want you to have those, but you have to listen to my music.” He put the earbuds in her ears and hit shuffle. Then he sat on the edge of her bed and watched her breathe.
The door swished open, and Jeff strode to his side. He dropped a duffel bag to the floor. “Shower, dude. You smell. I’ll watch her.”
In the tiny bathroom across the hall, Gray stripped from his ruined clothes and stood in the narrow shower. Tilting his face into the spray, he tried to dissolve the memories. He failed. Giving in, he leaned his elbows against the fiberglass and let the water rush down his back until the steam turned to fog and the liquid to ice.
Clean and shivering in jeans and flannel, Gray returned to the room, keeping his attention on Maggie as he dropped back into the vacant chair.
Jeff squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll get coffee. Want a sandwich?”
Gray shook his head.
“Bringing you one anyway. She’ll kill me if you starve.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Maggie stood in the hallway, waist deep in flowers with her shoes squishing in the liquid underneath. As she neared the great room, the blooms subsided and her breaths came easier now that she was free of the perfume. But the blood was to her ankles, and she had to grab the wall to keep from falling.
The tide rose to her knees, and she trudged through it to the bar, holding its edge and surveying the room. The furniture was floating on red waves, bobbing around the body in the center of the room. As it pitched and rolled, Carl’s sightless eyes stared back at her.
She struggled toward him, grabbing his head and trying to stem the flow. He needed to quit bleeding or they’d both drown. But the blood wasn’t coming from him. Rivers of it poured from her palms, saturating her clothes and coating her hair, dripping in her ears. It was to her shoulders. She was killing them.
“Maggie?”
Graham. She shook her head, afraid to open her mouth. He couldn’t come in here. She had to save him. She turned toward the door, but now hands were rising from the floor, grabbing her and clinging, pulling her down. She wrestled them, panic giving her strength.
“Wake up, Badger.”
The glare seared her eyes, torturing her. She slammed her eyelids closed. She hurt. When she tried to curl around the achiest parts, her arms moved by centimeters and her legs wouldn’t move no matter how hard she twisted. In frustration she jerked her body. Pain slashed through her, robbing her of air and stealing her senses.
A warm, strong han
d clasped hers, and the light went out. She knew that hand. Sucking in a deep breath, fighting her parched throat, she groaned as even that hurt. She focused on her warm fingers and waited for the comfort to spread to the rest of her body.
But Carl’s face filled the darkness—dancing at the auction, working in the bar, dragging flats of flowers from his truck, earnest in his confession and then sightless from the floor. The roar in her ears made her dizzy, and her whimpers grew to sobs.
“Open your eyes,” Graham murmured.
She blinked and the visions vanished. She might never close her eyes again.
Instead she focused on Graham. The thick stubble made him paler and his eyes a brighter blue in their shadowed sockets. His hair was wild, as if he’d run his hands through it or slept in the chair. His smile shook as his warm hand cradled her face. Her tears began again, choking her voice.
He rested his forehead against hers. “I know.”
The door opened and a haggard Rex Simon stalked in, leading a gaggle of medical personnel. Graham leaned back, and she clutched his hand.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her, tightening his grip.
People poked, prodded and asked her questions, exhausting her with the effort to follow the simplest commands. Finally, Rex smiled his approval and left the room.
“Thank God,” Graham whispered as he pressed a soft kiss to her temple.
“How long have I been asleep?” Her voice was unrecognizable, warbling like a garbled recording yet scratching her throat like she’d swallowed sandpaper.
“Three days.”
Carl. They needed to know. She needed to tell them. “He didn’t—”
“I know.”
“It was her, wasn’t it?” she croaked. “What’s her name?”
“Shelby Harris,” he said. “And yes, it was her.”
“You caught her?”
“Max did.”
Her lashes drooped under their own weight. “He’s okay?”
“He’s got a nasty gash on his head, and he’s beating himself up pretty good, but yeah.” He squeezed her fingers. “Rest, honey.”
Sagging against the pillow, she closed her eyes. When Carl was waiting on her, she dragged them open again, shaking her head as tears pooled in her ears.
Graham clasped her hand and leaned close, running his free hand over her hair again and again, petting her like she did Felix, easing her pain and making her warm.
“I know, Badger,” he murmured, and his voice wrapped around her like a blanket. “I’ll be right here. Sleep.”
The next time she woke, her room was dark. Graham was reclined in the bedside chair, still holding her hand.
“It’s the same day,” he said as he sat up and turned on a bedside lamp. “I remember waking and wondering how much time I’d lost. Are you in pain?”
He held a straw to her lips, and she sucked down a small gulp before sinking deeper into the pillow, relieved for the water but frustrated something so simple would exhaust her. She shook her head.
“Right.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll let you slide for a few minutes.” His smile faded as his gaze swept her face and then continued down her body. “When I think of her that close to you—that I let her get that close,” he muttered in a thick voice. “I am the world’s worst bodyguard.”
Maggie put her hand over his, stealing the warmth and strength she craved. “But you’re a pretty great husband. You have lousy taste in girlfriends, though.”
He lifted his gaze to hers, and his lips twitched. “I pick great wives.”
Happiness and hope bubbled in her chest, and then crushed her. She didn’t deserve it. Carl was dead because she—
“Don’t,” Graham whispered, as he pulled free and came close enough she could feel his breath on her cheeks. “This was not your fault. She made the decision, and he acted.” He wiped her tears away as fast as they came. “Because he loved you.”
“But I’d told him I loved you. He shouldn’t have—”
His thumbs stilled on her cheeks. “You what?”
Her words echoed back to her as she stared into his wide eyes. Wishing she was clean and well, she sniffed a loud, watery sniffle. “I love you, Graham.”
He looked at her like she was the answer to his personal fairy tale. “I love you, honey.”
His kiss was sweet, soft and full of promise, and his steady heart thudded under her hand. He was smiling when he lifted his head. “You should rest. You have a lot of people waiting to see you.” He looked up from under his brows. “My parents are here.”
She groaned. “This isn’t how I dreamt of meeting my in-laws. Wait, they know, right?”
“They do,” Graham said. “Mom has given me six kinds of hell for hiding you until now. So has Amanda. She and Bob will be here tomorrow.”
“Bob? Your boss?” His life was following him here, eager to reclaim him.
“Ex-boss.”
He’d quit? He couldn’t. “Graham, you don’t have to—”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Badger.” He traced her features until he was playing with her hair. “Nate promised me that once he was married, and you were safe, I could have some fun. That’s what I intend to do. Here. With you. For the rest of my life.”
Lifting a heavy hand, she stroked his jaw. His beard was long enough not to prick her fingers, but short enough not to be soft. Her tears flowed again—happy ones this time.
“It may be boring,” she warned. He was used to chasing the bad guy and now he’d exhausted Fiddler’s supply.
“I hope so, but I doubt it,” he said as he slipped her ring on her finger. “I’ve seen your Google calendar.” He pulled a table to the bed. The game board was unfolded on it, trays on opposite sides, and the velvet bag of tiles in the middle. “But if it gets too quiet, we can play Scrabble.”
* * * * *
To purchase and read more books by Mia Kay, please visit Mia’s website here or at http://authormiakay.com/my-books/
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Never date a profiler when you have skeletons in your closet...
Read on for a sneak preview of HARD SILENCE, the next book in Mia Kay’s AGENTS UNDERCOVER series
Hard Silence
by Mia Kay
Chapter One
Body Found in Well
The Lewisville Clarion headline was brief, and the story wasn’t much longer. Beau Archer’s remains had been found in an old well on his property in West Virginia. The man had gone missing twenty-eight years ago and, without family to keep it open, the investigation had gone cold.
Abby read the story three times, scrolling through the online version of the small-town paper in the hopes of finding more information. When she didn’t, she wavered between relief and regret.
Beau Archer had stumbled into her life when he’d married her mother in Atlantic City. He’d taught Abby to ride a bike. She could still hear his boots pounding on the hard-packed dirt of the country road in front of his house, his heavy breath in her ear. He’d whooped with laughter when she’d turned at the end of the lane and made her wobbly way back to him. Then he’d taken her for ice cream.
And, a month later, his loving wife had shoved his lifeless body down a well.
He deserved more than one paragraph in the newspaper, but at least now he’d get a headstone.
Toby—her third Toby in almost twenty years—whined through the screen door, reminding her of the time. She deleted the alert email, cleaned out her trash folder and cleared her browser history. It was time to get to work.
Walking out onto her front porch, Abby let the screen door slap closed behind her as she s
tood and enjoyed the brisk Idaho spring morning. Past the security light illuminating the yard, the still-early lavender met the dark hills on the horizon.
Stretching her muscles, she winced as pain lanced from her neck down her left side. Most days she could ignore it, but she’d pushed too hard yesterday. She’d felt the muscles cramp as she’d fixed fences and then stayed at the computer, perched in her chair squinting at code until late in the evening.
And the nightmares, and the news about Beau.
Already halfway to the stables, Toby looked over his shoulder to see if she was following. Abby swore the border collie was smiling. She could always count on her dog.
“Work. Yeah, I know,” she grumbled good-naturedly as she tramped down the steps and toward the paddock. At the outer edge of the light, she faced the darkness beyond and hesitated.
Seventeen years, sixty-two hundred mornings, and she still gritted her teeth and held her breath when she stepped into the shadows. But she did it.
She did it again when she swung the stable doors open. Reaching around the wall, she turned on the lights before she stepped inside.
On either side of the aisle, her horses poked their heads over the stall doors, blinking under the bright lights, chuffing and huffing hellos.
“Good morning, George,” Abby whispered as she put a calming hand on the palomino’s velvety nose. “I told you I’d be back this morning.” After a year of working to earn the animal’s trust, it was rewarding look into eyes no longer hazy with disappointment. Still, the minute the gate opened, George trotted into the misty dawn, as if afraid someone would slam the door and trap her inside.
The other horse remained quiet in his stall. “Good morning, Hemingway,” Abby whispered as she stroked the giant black gelding’s nose and danced her fingers through his forelock. He was becoming such an elegant animal. “How are you, handsome? Ready to work this morning?” He dropped his forehead to her waiting hand. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
She forced her left arm up, ignoring the persistent pain, and slipped the halter over his head and scratched his ears until he quieted. “No saddle today, I promise. Let’s get used to this first.” She opened the door but let the lead rope dangle as she walked away and let him follow. He needed to know she wouldn’t tug and pull. His clopping tread reminded her of Beau and her wobbly bike ride.