Keep Her Safe(125)

I settle a hand on the back of Gracie’s neck. It’s taut with tension, just like mine.

“You can’t think like that.”

“That’s all I’ve been able to think,” she admits.

I believe it. Her thoughts have been fourteen years away these past two days. I’ve woken up to catch her curled up in a ball with her phone in her hand, playing and replaying those few brief moments over and over again, of Abe strolling up to the door of Room 116 and pounding on it.

She took the video in Isaac’s room, when we were replaying the original with Klein. That clip was all she was able to get before Klein caught her and demanded she stop. But he didn’t make her erase it. He knew why she wanted those few seconds. Why she needed it.

Both of us have been struggling with our private worries and, while Gracie has much to be relieved about, nothing is for certain.

“So?” I try to rub those worries away with my fingers. “What do you want to do today? The pool’s finally clean. We could—”

“—track down my dad’s old partner. That Dunn guy.”

I wasn’t expecting that, but I see thoughts forming in Gracie’s gaze.

“If my dad saw Betsy, I’m thinking it was while he was on shift. I mean, she was a prostitute. How else would he run into her?”

“You’re probably right.” And finding Betsy might shed light on why my mom and Abe were fighting before he died.

She pauses and then, with a slight smirk, says, “Of course I’m right.”

I grin. There’s the girl I know. “But what about the reporters outside?”

“Run them over.”

I roll my eyes.

“Come on . . .” She leans forward to slide her hand along my thigh. “It’ll be fun. Didn’t you say you had to go to the police station anyway?”

“Yeah. For my mom’s things. I wouldn’t call that fun.”

“No . . . but coming back here after will be.” Her fingers crawl along the edge of my belt.

I haven’t seen this playful, flirty side of Gracie in two days. Blood flows straight to my groin. “You’re trying to manipulate me.”

“Is it working?”

“Grab your purse. And your sunglasses.” I take in that wild mane of hair. “And something to tame that.”

She fires off an obscene gesture, but it’s coupled with a grin.





CHAPTER 55


Grace

“That’s your mother’s secretary?” I murmur as we approach the desk and the raven-haired beauty behind it.

“Her name’s Ashley Sheridan. And fair warning, she likes to flirt with me, but she’s harmless.”

“Everyone seems to like flirting with you, don’t they?”

He flashes his boyish grin, awareness in those blue eyes. Like he knows that watching other women fawn over him slides under my skin in a teeth-gritting way. “Be nice,” he scolds teasingly before we’re within earshot.

“Give me a sec, darlin’,” Ashley Sheridan croons in a heavy Mississippi lilt, lifting a finger to signal for us to wait while she finishes up a phone call.

“Sure thing, ma’am.” He shows her that thousand-watt smile, and I have to turn away to hide my eye roll.

The moment she hangs up the phone, Miss Ashley Sheridan is on her feet, stretching her arms—toned from hours of lifting weights—around his neck. “Noah! So glad to see you!” she exclaims, the corners of her eyes crinkling with her smile. Though, behind that exterior fa?ade, I see the same sympathy for him that I’ve seen in every familiar face Noah passed on the way here. “I was just fixin’ to grab a bite down the street.” Her purse dangles from her shoulder, emphasizing the fact that she was literally about to leave.

“I’m sorry for taking so long, ma’am—”

“Now what did I tell you about callin’ me ‘ma’am’! I know it’s the Southern way, but gosh, I never did like it. Makes me feel so old.” She slides her hands up and down Noah’s arms in what some might call innocent affection. But the way they slow over his muscular biceps, her clawed fingertips clinging just a touch, harmless isn’t a word I’d use to describe this woman.

I bite my tongue before I remind her that she’s old enough to be Noah’s mother.

“No, ma’am. I mean, Miss Sheridan. I’m sorry; we’ve been busy.”

“Yes, we’ve all heard.” She tsks. “This business with Dwayne Mantis! Can you believe it? It’s been a mad house here with reporters and the like.”

Noah gestures to me. “This is Gracie Richards, by the way.”

“Wilkes.” I hold my hand out.

She takes it, her hazel eyes flashing with a fresh wave of sympathy. “Well now, you poor thing. My condolences. I hope you and your mama can finally find some peace.”

“So do I.” Not only does everyone know about my father’s case; thanks to the media, they also know about the aftereffects. I called Desert Oaks and warned them that reporters might come fishing for information. So far, though, the super-sleuths haven’t tracked her down there.

Ashley turns back to Noah. “I’ve got Jackie’s things ready to go, right here.” She hauls out a document box from beneath her desk with a huff, her arms straining under the weight as she drops it onto the desk. “It’s mainly the contents of her drawers, along with a few things she kept in her office safe that we deemed personal.”