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I huff a laugh but it’s all I can manage as the cop turns to reveal Ronald Higgle lying flat on his back in the middle of the dining room floor. Other than the blood pooling around his body, the place is as immaculate as I remember. The table is set for breakfast, a tall stack of pancakes and sausages in the middle.
What was he doing to Alyssa while Karen was making all of that food?
“Five to the midsection,” one of the cops says. “She saved the last one for herself.”
The video feed continues through the house, scanning the room. Karen’s body is also on the floor in what looks like a bedroom, a revolver in her right hand.
“Seen enough?” Trenton asks.
“Yes. Can you take me to the hospital?”
He nods, holding me to him until I can manage to pull myself away on my own.
Chapter 17
Grinch
I usually hate waiting.
There are a lot of people—frustrated, helpless, hopeless—waiting for a call to tell them that a loved one is found or gone around the world. Waiting postpones healing. It freezes time in the awful limbo of not knowing how to proceed or react.
Waiting right now for Grace fills me with nothing but relief.
She walked into Alyssa Dansby’s room ten minutes ago, and when the door opened less than a minute later, I thought she’d been asked to leave, but the woman’s friends and parents exited the room, leaving Grace alone with Alyssa inside.
The friends and family keep their distance, and it’s weird to be so close to a victim’s family.
Cerberus wasn’t directly involved in finding her, but we usually don’t mingle with the families after someone is found. We have agencies that handle such things, and trained liaisons with more skills than we have to answer questions.
“This is the best possible outcome,” Rivet says, turning her phone around so I can see the screen because I left mine in the SUV.
Max: Early records indicate that Alyssa Dansby was not sexually assaulted or beaten.
“I wonder if they locked her in that cage right after getting her home or if Karen Bishop put her there after she killed Ronald?” Legend mutters. “There will be trauma if she witnessed another person die. That shit’s not normal for a civilian even if he abducted her and planned to do horrible things.”
Our voices are low, but I look up to make sure the friends and family can’t hear our discussion.
“I’m just glad the body-cam footage didn’t get to the cage before Grace was ready to leave,” I explain. “She didn’t mention a cage.”
I squeeze my hands so tight in anger, the knuckles crack.
“And you feel like something was stolen from you,” Boomer says, somehow understanding exactly where my head went.
I nod in his direction. “I’m glad the fucker’s dead, but I’d pay a lot of money to bring him back from the dead just so I can do it myself.”
“We all would,” Rivet agrees. “I’m glad she killed him before he could hurt her.”
I stand the second Alyssa’s hospital room door opens, ready to go to Grace, but the woman’s mother stops her.
Grace has a blank look on her face as the woman speaks, and I can tell she’s starting to shut down. Her body has done what she’s asked of it, but now it can’t handle anymore.
I cross the room to her, stepping to the side to make sure the woman knows I’m approaching.
“You ready to go?”
Grace nods in my direction.
“I’m forever grateful,” the woman says. “I can’t imagine what would’ve happened to her if you—”
“She needs to rest,” I tell the woman before directing Grace toward the exit.
Grace doesn’t mention the woman on the way to the SUV or the entire ride back to the hotel.
Despite sitting and looking at mug books for hours and all the events after, she seems to be moving easier as we climb off the elevator.
“I’ll be in room number three-twenty-five—”
“Please don’t go,” she says, catching my hand before I can walk away. “I just can’t be alone right now.”
I look down at her, and I can tell by the desperate look in her eyes where things will lead if I step into that room with her.
“Grace—”
“Please, T?”
“You’re sure?”
“More than I’ve ever been sure of anything else,” she says, confirming my suspicions.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whisper as she opens the door and I follow her inside.
God, a better man would risk hurting her feelings with rejection than doing what I’m about to do.
“You can’t hurt me any more than I already am.”
“Grace—”
“Shh.” She presses her finger to my lips, holding it there for a long moment before pulling it away and replacing it with her mouth.
I groan at the softness of her lips on mine. They’re still flavored with the tears she cried earlier, and I commit to licking the taste away, wishing I could prevent every future tear from even seeing the light of day.
