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Cassie’s throat was dry, but she forced herself to speak. “He might just have a big imagination.”
“I think it’s more than that.” The man smiled and shifted his weight back and forth a few times. “You’d think I’m crazy, but the things he’s talked about—the things he says he’s seen—would shock you.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy.” If he was, then she was, too. “And I think your son is very special.”
“Thank you.”
Cassie hesitated, but the pressure inside her built until she couldn’t hold it back any longer. “I think your son and I might share some interesting qualities.” The man raised his eyebrows, and Cassie scrambled for her words. “We’re different. It’s not always a bad thing.”
“I just don’t know if I should be worried about him.” He laughed. “You know, more than I already am.”
“Worrying doesn’t make things better, though, does it?” She found it ironic that she, someone laden with anxiety on a daily basis, was imparting this particular wisdom to a stranger. But he didn’t have to know any of that. “What he could really use is your support. And your love. No matter how weird things get, he’s still your son. It’ll be okay, as long as you two stick together.”
The door to the patient area opened, and a nurse led Cassie’s mom back into the waiting room. Cassie stood, not wanting to be rude, but not wanting her mom to ask what she and the stranger had been talking about.
“It was nice to meet both of you. I have to run.” She turned to leave but hesitated. “If I had one more piece of advice, it would be to trust him. Kids are more perceptive of the world around us than we give them credit for.”
“I’ll do that.”
Cassie waved goodbye to Devin and met her mother in the center of the room.
“What was that about?” Judy asked.
“He apologized for his son coming over and bugging me. I told him it wasn’t a problem.”
“Did you get his number?” Judy’s eyes sparkled. This was the mother she remembered before the attack. “He was cute.”
“No, Mother.” Cassie pushed her mom toward the exit. “It’s time to go home now.”
Judy laughed and let Cassie steer her out of the hospital. But before they walked through the automatic doors and back out into the fresh air, Cassie looked over her shoulder. The father looked on as his son played with his train, presumably by himself. But as Cassie cast a final glance at Devin, she saw another figure pushing his own toy train around on the floor.
Even in death, he had found a new friend.
Once again, the horror of Sebastian’s untimely death struck Cassie. Even Connor, who had lived long enough to reach adulthood, had been taken from his family far too soon. And it would be even worse to find out that his family had something to do with it.
15
When Grayson heard the doorbell ring, he could hardly contain his relief. He’d been sitting in his living room for the last hour as Anastasia lectured him on how to handle his son’s disappearance. The senator had only been half listening, and she didn’t appreciate his lack of focus.
But when the doorbell rang, he was on his feet in seconds, buttoning his silver suit jacket and smoothing out the wrinkles. He didn’t know who it was, but they must’ve had a good excuse to get past the security guard at the gate.
Murphy was at the door, pulling it open. Grayson stopped dead.
He recognized the first man right away. Detective Calvin Davenport was leading the investigation into Connor’s disappearance. He was in his fifties and held himself like a man who believed he deserved more than he’d ever gotten. Grayson got the distinct impression he went home every night and drank himself to sleep. That probably accounted for the way his stomach bulged against the waist of his pants.
The other two men were vaguely familiar to him, but he knew they were FBI. The older one was close to Davenport’s age, but it was clear he took much better care of his body. He was clean-shaven, with a buzz cut that told Grayson the agent never stopped being a military man. His hair was graying on the sides but dark on top. It came to a sharp widow’s peak that accentuated his down-turned eyebrows. He carried a perpetual look of contemplation, and Grayson remembered him being quiet and professional.
The younger one had the bright eyes of someone who had found his calling and was happy to do his job, no matter the price. Grayson knew the system would break him eventually, but it was refreshing to see someone who still had hope. His hair was short and bronze, and his well-kempt beard made him look his age. Grayson couldn’t imagine anyone would take the man seriously without it.
“Senator Grayson, do you mind if we come in?”
It took a moment for Grayson to realize he was being addressed. He nodded, and suddenly, his foyer was full of people. Anastasia had followed him to the front entrance with a scowl on her face. She typed something out on her tablet while looking at each of the newcomers in turn. Was she taking notes? Was she messaging someone at Apex?
“Thank you, Murphy,” Grayson said by way of dismissal. “Gentleman, I can’t say I’m excited to see you. Should we sit?”
“That would be best.” Davenport’s voice was somber. “Thank you.”
Grayson led them to the living room. The detective and two agents took the couch, which was barely big enough for the three of them. Anastasia returned to the overstuffed chair she had been sitting in earlier.
