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“It is hard to put into words the type of terror a parent feels when their son is missing. My wife and I are in an indescribable amount of pain, and the only wish we have is to have our son back. Please, if you have any information, anything to help us find Connor, I ask that you call the police. Do the right thing and help me bring my son home.”
The pack of reporters launched questions at him. He did his best to ignore them, but their voices were like nails on a chalkboard. Anastasia had told him not to turn around no matter what he heard, but that was much easier said than done.
“Senator Grayson, you said you’re cooperating with the police. Does that mean you’re a suspect?”
“Do you think your son ran away due to your strained relationship with him?”
“Why isn’t your wife with you?”
“Do you think this is tied to your war on drugs campaign?”
“Do you think this will affect your presidential run?”
Grayson clenched his fists and allowed Murphy to guide him back to his office. Even after the reporters’ voices faded, Grayson heard their incessant questions buzzing in his head. He hoped his anger hadn’t been caught on video. Anastasia would not approve.
His publicist was waiting for him when he returned to his office. He ignored her disapproving stare and loosened his tie, then poured himself a drink and gulped it down in one shot. He poured another and stood in front of his floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the crowd below. But not too close, in case the cameras were aimed in his direction.
“Go on, I know you want to.”
“We had agreed you wouldn’t say fully cooperating.” When he turned around, she was pouring herself a drink from his bottle of whiskey. “It makes you sound like you’re a suspect.”
“You know what also makes me sound like a suspect? Not saying I’m fully cooperating with the investigation.”
She waved away the comment. ?
??They’re going to suspect you either way. Otherwise, good job.”
“Did you hear some of the questions they were asking me? Ridiculous.”
“It’s their job. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”
“It’s my life. It’s my son. I don’t want them thinking those things about me. About us.”
“They’re going to think them whether you want them to or not.” Today, Anastasia’s fingernails were painted jet black. They clinked against the glass whenever she picked it up or put it down. “You can’t control people’s thoughts.”
“You and Apex seem to be doing a pretty good job of it.”
She shrugged, but there was a smile playing around her lips. “We do what we can. The press conference will help build sympathy for you and your family. We’ll talk about how we can play this into your campaign down the road, but we’ll save that for a day when you’re less emotional.”
Grayson clenched his jaw. He was emotional, but could she blame him? His son was missing, his wife was heartbroken, and his political career—once so promising—was now a matter of public speculation. Connor’s tendencies to grace the headlines of various newspapers, both local and national, had caused a few blips in the radar, but nothing to this extent.
If Connor came sauntering back, Grayson wasn’t sure what he’d do. On one hand, his wife would be beside herself with relief. On the other, the senator would have to fight the urge to kick him out of the house—permanently. If this was one of his son’s stupid stunts, Grayson wasn’t sure how he would react. He wasn’t responsible for what the Politician might do.
“You should’ve been down there with me.” He wanted to blame anyone but himself. “You could’ve taken questions afterward. Set the record straight.”
“It wouldn’t have looked good.” Her tone was a reminder that they had talked about this before, too. “Me standing by your side with your wife nowhere to be found? It would’ve raised even more uncomfortable questions.”
Grayson knew she was right, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of saying it out loud. Instead, he took another sip of whiskey and let the amber liquid burn his throat and warm his chest.
“If we do this again, your wife needs to be by your side.”
“The only thing she hates more than you is a press conference.” Grayson knew the dig wouldn’t bother Anastasia, but it still made him angry when it washed right over her. “Especially a press conference you’re forcing her to go to.”
“With any luck, we won’t need to have another one, and your son will return home in one piece. Then we can talk about cleaning up the mess he left behind.”
Grayson ground his teeth together. He knew Anastasia didn’t give a shit about his personal life, but he wished she’d at least pretend to feel sorry for him. It wouldn’t bring him much comfort, but at the moment he’d take anything he could get.
But when he turned around, he didn’t see sympathy in her eyes. Only indifference.
