33. Maggie

Maggie

A fter Grayson agreed to move in, we plunged into planning mode. It was almost midnight by the time we had everything listed out. I was busy on the phone, coordinating with my boss, arranging support, and requesting a few days of vacation.

Once all that was settled, we finally crawled into bed, holding each other like soldiers preparing for a battle—though really, the only war we're fighting now is making sure we never have to sleep apart again. We already managed to pack his car and mine with the essentials from his place earlier this morning. Since my home is already furnished, he didn't need much. We even braved rush-hour traffic to drop everything off before our flight.

It leaves in a few hours, if Gray can ever decide on what to bring. I threw in a few pairs of jeans and some blouses—easy. But Gray has been agonizing over every detail, obsessing over what to pack. I can see the nervousness in his eyes, the way his hands fidget with each item. It's not really about the packing; it's about everything else—the move, the risks, the future.

I try to be patient, giving him the space he needs. He probably needs to channel his anxiety into something, anything, to feel a semblance of control.

I can almost smell the forest air already, picturing the lush green trees and the fresh, earthy scent that always lingers there. I glance over at Grayson, who's meticulously packing yet another pair of socks into his already overstuffed bag. His brows are furrowed in concentration, the most endearing look on his face. "Gray, that's the fifth pair of socks. Are we planning on getting stranded in the woods for a week?" I tease, hoping to lighten the mood.

He grumbles, shoving the socks into the bag. "Damn it all. They won't fit. Are you sure we don't need a second suitcase?"

"Gray, you've asked me a dozen times already," I say gently, reaching out to grab his hand. "It's going to be okay. We've got everything under control."

He looks up, his blue eyes filled with worry. "Am I doing the right thing by bringing him back? What if—"

"Hey," I interrupt softly, squeezing his hand. "You're doing the right thing. George deserves to be with his dad, and you deserve to be with your son. We'll be safe. I've got my guns locked up in the safe, and the station will have patrols driving by regularly. We're covered."

His small smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, but he nods, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

As we're about to leave my house, bags in tow, my phone rings, cutting through the silence. The name on the screen makes my heart sink—Harry.

"It's Harry," I say, turning away from Grayson as I answer. A knot of guilt tightens in my stomach, but ignoring the call isn't an option.

"Hey," I greet, trying to keep my tone light.

"Hello, sweetheart. Got a minute?" Harry's voice is steady, but I can sense the urgency beneath it.

"For you? Not even a little." I attempt to joke, but the tension in my chest only grows. "You've been flirting with my boyfriend's pseudo-mom. You're on a time out," I add, hoping to buy myself a few seconds to brace for whatever's coming next.

He laughs, but it's short-lived. "She's a babe, and besides, don't I deserve a little—"

"Oh my God, stop. What do you want, Harry? I don't want to keep you from whatever nastiness you're up to."

The tone shifts, and he sighs. "I know you're about to head out, but we've got a sighting on our perp. Same place Suze has been laying low."

My heart skips a beat. We've been tracking Don for weeks, and this is the first real lead. "What's the plan?"

"Go in, check things out. Maybe have another little chat with Mrs. Cardenas." His voice hardens, and I know he hates calling her that as much as I do.

"Do you need me on this?" I ask, my voice steady despite the adrenaline starting to pump through my veins.

"Yeah, I do," he admits reluctantly. "She opened up to you last time. I couldn't get two words out of her after you left."

I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the decision before me. I tell Harry I'll call him back, giving myself a moment to figure out how to break this to Gray.

When I turn back to Grayson, he's already looking at me, concern etched across his features. I quickly explain the situation, watching as his expression shifts from frustration to something deeper—something that mirrors the anxiety I'm feeling.

"Damn it," he mutters, more to himself than to me.

I reach out, taking his hand in mine. "I can skip the trip, Gray. I'll follow up with Harry. You go to Oregon and bring Georgie home. He needs his dad."

"Maggie," he says, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of fear. "I don't want you dealing with this alone."

"I need to do this, Gray. Even if it's a dead end, I have to follow up. This case comes first right now—for you, for George, for all of us."

He exhales heavily, his grip tightening on my hand before he nods. "Fine. I'll drop you off at the station on the way to the airport."

Twenty minutes later, we're outside the station. I lean in through the car window, giving Grayson a deep, lingering kiss, trying to convey all the words I can't seem to say out loud.

"I'll see you in two days. Call me when you land," I murmur, my hand still resting on his.

"I'll miss you," he says, his voice soft but filled with emotion. He presses his lips to the back of my hand, lingering for just a moment longer.

"Me too," I reply, the words feeling insufficient for the depth of what I'm feeling. Our little vacation, our chance to meet his in-laws, the hike to that waterfall—all gone. Seeing George again is postponed, and the thought stings more than I want to admit.

"Be good," he warns, trying to keep things light. "Eat, sleep, clean."

I chuckle, pecking his cheek. "You know I've been taking care of myself for a while, right?"

"Could have fooled me. I still haven't seen inside that mystery room," he teases, but I can see the tension in his eyes hasn't fully eased.

My cheeks flush at the mention of the locked room, the one part of my life I haven't fully opened up to him about. "And you won't until I'm ready."

"I'll make sure to have my flamethrower on standby," he jokes, and I can't help but giggle at that. But as he rolls up the window, the smile fades from his face. Neither of us is happy about this situation, but we're doing what we have to do.

As he drives away, a wave of longing washes over me. I love him so much, and I just missed my chance to tell him. For two entire days, I'll have to carry that unsaid truth with me. Shaking off the feeling, I turn and stride into the station, trying to refocus.

Harry is waiting at my desk, sitting on it with that familiar smug expression. "Got an address and an eyewitness that says Suze and Don have been there. But we gotta go now, no uniformed backup."

"Lemme pull it up first," I say, needing to confirm it's safe enough to proceed. Harry sighs but knows better than to argue. He gives me the address, and I type it into the police system.

My heart sinks as I read the notes—a known crack house. Suze can't be doing well if she's there. The temptation must be unbearable for her.

"Everything good?" Harry asks, sensing my hesitation.

"Yeah, I guess. No violent incidents within the last four months. We can head out alone, I suppose." He pumps a fist in the air like a little kid being allowed to have candy for breakfast. I chuckle at his goofy expression, momentarily distracted from the tension.

As I grab my gear, including a bulletproof vest and a walkie-talkie, my mind is already racing through possible scenarios. Suze might be staying with Don at the house, trying to lie low, or he might be holding her there. I hope it's the former, though I dread the thought of Suze being tied up in Don's mess again.

Within a few minutes, we're in one of the undercover cars, weaving through traffic. My leg bounces up and down, and I gnaw on my cheek as anticipation builds.

Fifteen minutes later, we pull up to the address. The house is as rundown as I feared, its walls stained and windows grimy. I knock on the front door, my senses on high alert, while Harry moves around to the back.

After the second knock, the door creaks open, revealing Suze. She looks better than I expected—less gaunt, with a bit more color in her cheeks. But the giant purple bruise marring her face tells another story.

"Is Don here?" I ask directly, my breath quickening with anxiety.

Suze shakes her head quickly, her eyes darting nervously. I raise a brow. "You sure, Suze? If we find him here, you know we'll have to charge you for harboring a felon."

Both hands shoot up, and Suze shakes her head again. "I swear, he left an hour ago."

Harry bursts in from the back, nodding to confirm it's clear.

"Stay out here. Don't move." My voice is firm, and thankfully, Suze doesn't argue. Harry and I move through the house, our steps echoing in the empty, filthy rooms. A few minutes later, I return to the porch. Don isn't here.

I curse under my breath, holstering my pistol. Part of me had hoped we'd catch Don before Grayson and George returned. But that hope was a long shot. I turn to Suze, trying to soften my expression.

"This is hardly a place for recovery, Suze."

Suze's gaze hardens, her jaw setting stubbornly. "I'm still sober. Doing fine, no thanks to you. This could be considered harassment, you know."

"It's not. We have to find Don. You realize a threat to Gray is a threat to George, your son, right?"

At the mention of George, Suze's face flushes with guilt before she quickly masks it with a stoic expression. "No one will hurt George, and I already told you, I didn't want this for Grayson either. Despite everything, I… I do want him happy."

"Do you know where Don went?"

She shakes her head, frustration flashing in her eyes. "He doesn't trust me anymore. Probably because the police are sniffing all around me."

"Is that where this came from?" I ask, pointing to the swollen bruise on her cheek.

"Not your business, is it?" she snaps back, her tone defensive.

Though I'm tempted to push her further, I bite my tongue. Pushing someone who's struggling is a bad idea. Instead, I reach into my pocket and fish out a business card. With the pen clipped to my blouse, I jot down my address and personal number on the back. "You let me know if you need anything, Suze."

She scoffs, but I grab her hand, placing the small paper in it. "I'm serious, Suze, even if it's just toilet paper."

Her lips twitch into a brief, almost reluctant smile, and I feel a small victory in that fleeting moment of connection. If I really want a life with Grayson, Suze is a part of that. I can't let her disappear without trying to help.

As Harry and I leave the house, my thoughts drift back to Grayson and George. I've made promises—to keep them safe, to protect this family we're building—and I intend to keep those promises at all costs. Suze might be a part of that future, even if she's made questionable decisions in the past. I'm not giving up on her. If I could forgive my dad for everything he put our family through, I can find it in myself to forgive her too. Even if she's stubborn, even if she hates me for it.

As the door closes behind us, I mumble a goodbye, but Suze's already retreating inside. Fine. She can be angry. She can push me away. But it won't stop me from trying. I'm nothing if not an incredibly stubborn woman, especially when it comes to the people I love.