“Do you take any protection with you? Pepper spray or something?” he asked, wanting to be able to stop worrying about her. But even if she said yes, he had the feeling it wouldn’t help. Gray waited. And waited. “I’m going to take your silence as a no. Where are you right now, exactly?”
“I’m alongside Blackham, heading to Bourgeois Park,” she said. “I can see a soccer game up ahead at the intramural field.”
Two rows of outbuildings sat behind the coliseum. Used for livestock shows, they were more like barns made of corrugated tin and cement, some with outdoor paddocks and stables. Those buildings, dark and unsecured, stood between her and the practice field. Poorly lit and tagged with graffiti, the buildings welcomed trouble. Anyone could hide out there and wait for just the right moment…
“But I bet they can’t see you,” he muttered, thinking how much the outbuildings looked like the warehouse in his Alex Booth novel.
“I’ve only done this about a hundred times, boss.”
“Boss?” Gray made a choking sound. “That’s worse than sir.”
This time, her laughter was immediate, untethered. In spite of himself, Gray smiled at the buoyant sound.
“Well, Gray,” she said, stressing his name. “I’ll pick up some pepper spray the next time I’m at Academy. Do you need anything before tomorrow?”
His head cocked back. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Wh— No,” she sputtered. “Of course not.”
“Good. Because you’re going to keep talking to me until I know you’re safely back home.”
SHE DIDN’T PUT up a fight, and as she walked into Bourgeois Park and past the practice field, she asked him about his books, and Alex Booth, and why he liked writing crime. And when she reached Coliseum Road, the long stretch of emptiness that wreaked havoc with the dark part of his imagination, Gray found himself asking about her family.
“So… why doesn’t someone at home walk with you?” The question and all its intrusion was out before he could call it back.
To his surprise, she laughed, but the sound held a sour edge.
“I’d rather not walk with anyone at home.”
“You don’t get along with your family.” Again, it wasn’t a question, and he felt he’d crossed some invisible line he couldn’t help crossing.
She sighed, and the silence that followed was almost long enough to make him apologize for his impertinence. But then she surprised him a second time.
“I get along with my sister, Becca.” The truth and sadness in her words hit him square in the chest, and an image of Cecilia flashed through his mind.
“Is she younger or older?” But somehow, he sensed by the rawness in her tone that her sister was younger.
“She’s fourteen. Becca’s a freshman at LCA.”
With a bittersweet sting in his chest, Gray smiled, thinking of Cecilia at fourteen, years before her demons got the upper hand. She’d always loved her older brothers, but at fourteen, she still worshipped them. Cecilia would have given up her allowance to go for a walk with him or Baxter after dinner — up Philip Street to St. Charles or down to Magazine.
“Why can’t Becca walk with you?” With his head thick with memories, his voice had softened, and it took a moment to hear the silence again. Wherever that invisible line was, he’d far overstepped it now.
“Forgive me. You have a story,” he said, coming to his senses. “And it’s none of my business.”
Her sigh of relief was clear enough to make his curiosity double, but he kept his mouth shut.
“I have a story,” she confirmed, her heavy tone speaking volumes.
He wasn’t going to pry, but he wanted to leave the door open. Meredith Ryan was thoughtful and bright and interesting, but she carried a burden even he could see, and if she ever wanted to share it, he’d be happy to listen.
“Well, maybe one day you’ll tell me your story.”
“Maybe one day you’ll tell me yours.” The smile in her voice had returned.
Touché. “Oh,” he muttered doubtfully. “Mine’s not a very good story. My books are better.”
She laughed for him again, and Gray found he liked the sound. A lot.
“Look, it’s been so nice of you to keep me company on my walk, but I can see the house from here, and I’ve taken up too much of your time tonight.”
She wasn’t home yet, and he knew he wouldn’t be at ease until she was, but Gray didn’t lie to himself. He also wasn’t ready to say goodnight.
“Are you on St. Landry yet?”
“Almost,” she said, sounding timid again.
Gray shook his head. “You’re not past those outbuildings.”
“What?” she asked, clearly confused.
“Those outbuildings behind the coliseum. They’re wide open. No security. And you’re walking alone down a dark road. I don’t like it.”
He heard her breath hitch. Had he just freaked her out?
“I didn’t mean to scare you, Meredith.”
“You didn’t… scare me.” Her voice came out different, somewhere between meek and distressed.
Had he offended her? “Then—”
“Nobody…” she began, sounding only a little surer of herself. “I mean, it just took me by surprise.”
He was about to ask what she meant when she plowed on.
“Let’s talk about tomorrow. What do you need me to do tomorrow?”
Gray drew a blank. He could think of nothing he needed, but, after she’d come to his house again and they’d spent the last twenty minutes on the phone, he’d lost some of the panic of meeting her face to face. In fact, now, the thought of not seeing her the following day felt like a weight around his neck.
Or it reminded him of the weight already around his neck.
But what reason could he give her to come? The answer rose like a spring.
“Tomorrow, I need you to go to Academy.”
“Okay. What do you need at Academy?” she asked, all eagerness.
“Well, I need you to get some pepper spray for yourself… and…”
“And?” Seconds ticked by.
“… and…” he trailed off.
“Do you really need anything from Academy? Or do you just want me to get some pepper spray? Because if it’s the latter, I can’t go to Academy on your time.”
“Maybe I just can’t remember what I need,” he ventured, smiling at his own evasion.
“Oh, really?”
His smile grew at the way her words dripped with irony. They also gave him an idea. “In fact, I think you should come pick me up tomorrow and drive me to Academy. I’m sure I’ll remember then what I need.”
“Gray, that’s—”
“That’s what I need to do tomorrow,” he said, trampling over her objection. “You’re my personal assistant, right? You can drive me around where I need to go, right?”
“Well, I guess—”
“Good. Have you passed the outbuildings yet?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m just turning onto St. Landry.”
“Excellent. Tomorrow is Saturday. Can you pick me up at ten?”
He was sure he heard the smile in her voice again. “Yes, that should work.”
Silence.
“Well… I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Are you home yet?” he asked.
“Not yet. Still on St. Landry.”
“Okay. Don’t hang up.”
“Okay.”
Silence.
“This is kind of weird,” she said, the self-consciousness he was beginning to recognize coming through.
He laughed. “Just go with it.”
“Okay.”
Silence.
“Meredith?”
“Yeah?”
“You make a damn good cookie.”
She laughed again. “Thank you. I’m now certain you’re totally deserving.”
“That’s very reassuring,” he said, a sudden rush of pleasure filling his head.
Another moment pas
sed.
“Okay, I’m home.”
“Good.” His relief surprised him.
“Thanks for keeping me company.”
“Any time.”
Silence.
“Meredith?”
“Yeah?”
“See you tomorrow.”
Gray set down his phone and wrote until midnight.
And he awoke at seven with a headache.
Headache was really a euphemism. He awoke with a brain tumor. One that crowded his skull and turned rays of morning light into switchblades.
He reached past the bottle of Oxycodone on his bedside table, taking two Aleve instead, and pulling a pillow over his head. The pain would lose intensity in an hour, he knew, enough for him to be able to face the day.
A day with Meredith.
Even in his fog of pain, he remembered she was coming in a few hours. He’d probably be nervous if his head wasn’t killing him. He drifted off to sleep wondering which was better: agony or anxiety.
CHAPTER NINE
MEREDITH UNLOCKED THE front door with one hand and balanced a searing Pyrex dish in the other. Juno and Vulcan greeted her, prancing and whimpering, and followed at her heels as she headed to the kitchen with the breakfast casserole.
“Gray? I’m here,” she called, opening the oven door and sliding the dish home. It smelled divine, and even though she’d eaten a bowl of cereal with Oscar after their walk, her stomach growled now.
The dogs sniffed her empty hands, and then both in turn bounced on their hind legs with excitement. Vulcan took off toward the pantry, and Juno executed a twirl, throwing her head over her shoulder as if to say, “Come on! This way!”
Vulcan reached the cabinet in the pantry Meredith knew held their food, and he swiped it with a paw.
“Are you hungry?”
At her question, their tails whipped back and forth in a frenzy, the black tips on each making a mad blur.
“Gray? Is it okay if I feed the dogs?”
The door to his bathroom stood wide open, and although the space lay in shadow, Meredith could see through to the other door that led to his room. It was closed, and no sound issued from behind it.
Was he still sleeping? Meredith looked back toward the kitchen for signs of life. The sink was free of dishes, and the coffee pot looked dry. Vulcan gave a low moan and scratched at the cabinet again. Clearly, Gray had not fed them.
“Okay, guys,” she said, speaking softly now. “Let’s have breakfast.”
Meredith fed the dogs, set the oven on warm, and looked for something to do. Flipping on the utility room light revealed a hamper full of towels. Meredith started a load of laundry in the hopes that the sound of the washing machine would eventually wake her boss.
Once that job was underway, she walked through the house and came to the conclusion that Gray Blakewood was incredibly tidy for a single guy. He certainly was a much better housekeeper than Jamie.
Who’ll be home in two weeks…
She shuddered at the thought. Meredith would have to make sure Gray gave her something to do to get her out of the house every day when he came back.
Although Gray’s home was clean and in order, Meredith could see little wisps of dog hair where sunlight touched the wood floors. Looking at the dogs’ full coats, she suspected that Gray had to sweep several times a week just to keep up. Meredith found a broom and dustpan in the utility room and started in on the job.
Half an hour later, she’d covered the foyer, kitchen, hall, and living room, and when she reached the French doors that led to the back yard, Juno and Vulcan sped toward them, bouncing and prancing. She let the dogs out, but instead of joining them right away, Meredith returned to the utility room. Next to their food bin, she’d noticed a pin bristle pet brush and a matt comb just like Zabby’s, and she grabbed both before heading outside.
As she stepped off the porch, Vulcan ran toward her with the tennis ball.
“In a minute. Let me brush you first.” He eyed the comb and brush and bounded away, but Juno put her head down in seeming defeat and moved toward Meredith. The dogs’ antics made her laugh. “Oh, I see how it is.”
She sat on the patio bench and patted her knee. Still looking sad, Juno edged closer, and Meredith gently applied the brush to her beautiful coat. “What a good girl you are, Juno,” she crooned. “And so much braver than Vulcan.”
At the sound of his name, Vulcan’s ears perked as he stood near the fence. Meredith worked in smooth, long strokes, moving through Juno’s coat and freeing clouds of dog hair. She praised the animal the whole time. At her words, Juno lifted her chin with what looked to Meredith like pride. The creamy scruff around her neck seemed to swallow the brush’s bristles, but as she worked, Juno’s coat smoothed out and shone in the sun.
“My goodness, Juno. This is a lot of fur,” she said as she brushed. Juno sat on her haunches and let go a sigh. “You can’t pretend this doesn’t feel good.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Meredith watched Vulcan. He never took his gaze from them, but it was clear he heard every word of praise Meredith heaped on his sister. As though he couldn’t stand it any longer, Vulcan trotted up to them and wedged himself between Meredith and Juno.
Again, she laughed. “Your turn, Vulcan. You’re a good boy.”
Once she finished with the dogs, cleaned herself up, and went back inside, Meredith saw it was after eleven o’clock. She’d been there more than an hour.
And there was still no sign of Gray.
She’d called his name. She’d done a load of laundry. She’d gone in and out of the utility room, which was just outside his master suite, half a dozen times. And full sun seemed to stream through all the windows of the house. How was he still asleep?
A feeling of dread grabbed her by the stomach. What if he wasn’t asleep?
In the next instant, she was outside his door, knocking hard.
“Gray?” Panic flared in her voice. Hearing it, the dogs flanked her on either side
“Gray?” she called again, a little louder this time.
If he doesn’t answer in three seconds, I’m opening this door.
Vulcan let out a short whine.
One…
Juno echoed her brother.
Two…
Vulcan lifted a paw and scraped it softly against the door.
Three.
Nothing.
Meredith didn’t move. How upset would Gray be if she entered his bedroom only to discover he was fine? This was the third time she’d been to the house, and he’d always been behind the closed door. She’d begun to wonder if they’d ever meet face to face.
But this was different. Yesterday, they’d texted and talked, so she knew he was okay.
What if he had another seizure, hit his head, and is lying unconscious in a pool of blood?
With that thought, Meredith turned the knob and pushed into his bedroom, the dogs slipping in ahead her.
“Oh God.” He lay face down in the middle of the bed, the sheets bunched at his waist and his bare back and shoulders exposed. His head was hidden under a pile of pillows.
What if he’d seized and suffocated?
“Oh God,” she gasped again, crossing the room. “Gray?”
He didn’t move. When her thighs met the edge of the mattress, she froze. Vulcan and Juno stood at the foot of the bed, each wagging expectantly.
“What the hell do I do?” she hissed to the dogs.
They just stared at her, panting softly, their mouths hanging half open as though they were about to speak.
“G-gray.” This time she said his name with more force, though her voice shook with fear.
He didn’t move. He was dead. He had to be dead. And it was her fault. She’d waited too late to check on him.
“Shit.” She reached forward, laid a hand on his back, and shoved him roughly. And two things occurred to her at once: One, his skin was still warm. And two, for a dead man, he had excellent muscle tone.
A sound like a
crashing wave made Meredith jump back with a squeak. A long tear of breath — as though his lungs hadn’t been filled in days — filled the room. The pile of pillows erupted as Gray pushed himself up.
“What the fuck…”
“Oh, thank God.” Her knees turned to rubber, and she might have swayed.
At her voice, Gray flipped over, his eyes wide with shock. “What are you doing in here?”
“I…”
Tangled in the bed sheets, shirtless, he looked nothing like his picture. The photos she’d seen online the day before showed someone handsome but refined… serious… stone-faced. Staring into the camera in a tailored suit, author Gray Blakewood had looked composed and controlled. The man who lay before her now was masculine beauty unbound.
A mess of dark hair, corded muscles in his neck and shoulders, and stunning blue eyes made her forget why she was there.
Until she noticed he was frowning at her.
“I…” she tried again, but he narrowed his eyes further, looking pissed, and Meredith felt her blood ice over.
“Oh God,” he muttered, pressing the heels of his hands against his forehead and closing his eyes. “What time is it?”
She took a breath to speak. She’d come in for a reason. A good reason. What was it?
“It’s after eleven… I was worried about you,” she blurted. He didn’t move or respond, his eyes still shut. Meredith forced herself to breathe evenly. She’d had every reason to be concerned. This was her job after all.
In the silence of the room, her eyes drifted down for an instant before she made them snap back up to his face.
Do not look at his chest. Do not look at his chest.
Meredith looked at his chest.
Unlike Jamie, who had a carpet of coarse, light brown fur that covered him from pecs to pelvis, Gray’s chest and abs were completely smooth. And noticeably defined. His skin was a light olive, shades darker than her own milk-white complexion, and the color reminded her of polished willow.
Standing in her boss’s bedroom comparing his naked chest to hardwoods wasn’t a wise choice, and Meredith knew this as soon as she glanced up to find him watching her. He hadn’t moved. He still clutched his forehead in both hands, but his eyes were open now, and their corners lifted with undisguised humor.
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