Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

GREY

"He's dead."

My brain short-circuits and I shake my head. "What?"

"I got the call right when you left to visit the police station."

"You're saying Harris killed himself and then Slavno died right after…"

"Yes."

"Of what?"

"Heart attack."

" I smell a conspiracy. " Sloane paces in front of the hotel bed, her arms locked behind her back and her Redwood Prep skirt swishing.

"What about the evidence he promised?" I ask, trying hard to keep it together and not hyperventilate. "We saved his grandmother. He said he'd give us the evidence then. Now we're back to square one?"

"Not quite."

I look up hopefully.

Zane dangles a key from his finger.

I snap it up and inspect it from back to front. "What is this?"

"The cleaning lady at the prison said Slavno left it for us. The logo is from a storage company. Finn and I thought the evidence would be locked in the storage container, but we checked and the key doesn't belong to any of the lockers there."

"So we search outside of the city , " Sloane says.

"So we search outside of the city," I blurt. "We search the entire country if we have to."

"I thought the same."

"Great, then let's?—"

Zane shakes his head. "But seeing you now, I realize why we can't do that."

"Zane."

"Searching everywhere is what you've been doing, and it's not an effective use of our time. Besides it might be useless. I have no idea who that cleaning lady was or if she really heard from Slavno. It could be The Grateful Project leaders trying to put us off the scent. It's possible this key has nothing to do with Slavno at all."

"We're missing something. That bastard wasn't stupid. He would have kept evidence just in case they got rid of him." Sloane paces in the other direction.

"Slavno would have kept evidence," I say.

"We don't know that he did. The only thing we know is that you're in danger and the deeper we dig into this, the more dangerous it gets."

His voice is a dangerously low timbre, caught somewhere between Jarod Cross's husk and Dutch's grit. It's a little terrifying.

A few minutes ago, this frightening enigma was about to confess that he loves me. But love is a word with many different meanings and it takes many different forms.

Romeo and Juliet dying in each other's arms.

Othello driven to madness by jealousy.

Orpheus descending into the underworld for his wife Eurydice.

Like them, Zane's love feels like obsession.

Like death.

Dark. Insatiable. Inevitable.

Sloane implores me with her big blue eyes. "We're so close. I can feel it."

"We came too far to stop now," I murmur.

"Don't think of it as stopping. Consider it a ‘pause'."

"Pause?" I frown. "That's another word for stop."

"More like taking a step back." Zane has his hands out like he's approaching a rabid dog. "You've been running non-stop, beating your head against this case for years . Maybe you're too close to this. Maybe you need a break to come at it from a different angle."

"And if I don't stop? If I keep going? What are you going to do?" I tip my chin up in challenge.

He looks down with a scowl. "You want to fight, wife? "

My adrenaline is pumping and it feels like my heart is about to burst. The thought that I came this far, married Zane, kidnapped an old woman, did all these crazy things for a pipe dream is enough to send chills down my spine.

"Don't listen to him, Grey."

"I don't care what you do or say," I mutter aloud, inspecting the key again. "There has to be a reason he left this for us to find and I'll never give up until I know why."

Zane sighs heavily as if I'm the one who has issues, but at least he stops talking about ‘pauses' and ‘breaks'.

Sloane peers over my shoulder.

"Any ideas?" I ask her.

"Maybe it's a key to a storage locker outside of the main branch? They have those storage container rentals at train stations, right? Like a vending machine but for storage? "

"I think you're on to something," I mutter.

"Of course. It's me. " Sloane grins, her eyes glinting.

"But that doesn't narrow it down? Where would the storage container be? And would it still be occupied after all these years?"

"I bet it's somewhere close to his home."

"No, not his home. Too obvious."

"The gym?"

"No."

"Okay, missy. Don't just shoot down everything I say. I don't see you coming up with any ideas."

"Grey?" A voice calls from what feels like a faraway place.

"Maybe his favorite bar? Somewhere he went a lot?"

I rub my temple. "Somewhere he went a lot, but it can't be that obvious."

"Grey?" A hand touches my shoulder.

I brush Zane off, annoyed at the interruption. "Just give us a minute. We're thinking!"

"We?" Zane says.

I freeze and stammer out. "I mean ‘I'. I'm thinking."

But it's too late.

Brows lifting in concern, Zane lets out another heavy sigh. "Who's in the room with us right now, sweetheart?"

"Did he just call you sweetheart? Aw!"

My eyes dart to the side where Sloane is looking back at me with a besotted face.

"Is it over here?" Zane walks toward my best friend.

" I'm not an it," Sloane huffs . "Tell him I'm not an it, Grey."

I sit down at the table and place a hand to my forehead. "I think I have a headache. Can you check if the front desk has anything for a fever?"

"Don't quit your day job. Acting is not your calling ," Sloane says sarcastically.

"Who is it, Grey?" His gaze meets Sloane's head-on. "It better not be a guy. Don't think I'm above being jealous of a ghost."

I swallow hard, all the light amusement seeping out of me when Zane spins around and stares at me with those prying blue eyes.

"Why won't you tell him about me?"

I get up.

Zane's eyes follow me as I pace back and forth. The gravity in his expression tells me he's not going to let this pass.

"You're being ridiculous." I try to keep my tone light. "I'm just talking to myself. Everyone does that."

"I know you're seeing something. And I know it's been with you for a while," Zane says before folding his arms over his chest.

I startle. "When did you start noticing?"

"Since the night at the nursing home."

That was a while ago.

"And you didn't bring it up until now?"

"I wasn't sure until now, babe."

I give a terse shake of my head. "So you think I'm crazy?"

"I think you're seeing someone in the room right now and you still haven't told me who."

"Well?" my best friend urges.

Zane walks right up to me and looks down from his unfairly imposing height. "There is nothing you could tell me, nothing you could ever do that would make me love you less."

A jagged inhale saws through my lips and cuts down my throat. He's saying all the right things but I know he won't look at me the same. Not after this.

I'm Grace Jamieson. Born of a single mother, born of struggle. I lived in a terrible neighborhood all my life. Wore hand-me-downs and thrift store clothes by necessity rather than by choice.

I came from nothing, and yet I'm a woman who overcame the odds to get a scholarship to Redwood Prep. Ultimately, I became a teacher at the elite academy where I use to mop the floors and take out the trash.

Accomplished.

Driven.

Strong.

Grace Jamieson is not the woman who sees visions of her dead best friend. She's not the one who has, what most in the medical community would call, a mental breakdown.

This entire time I've been seeing Sloane, I've accepted it with a dry indifference. Mostly because, if I pried too deeply into it, I'd unearth something like trauma.

And women who look like me…

If we fall down the rabbit hole of trauma, there's no climbing out. So it's better to just bury it. To carry on. To be strong.

Strong.

I've always been strong.

Zane cups my jaw, letting his thumb drag across my cheek. "Look at me."

I jerk my head back.

He holds firm and tilts my chin until I'm staring into his determined face. "You're safe."

My pulse hammers against my veins.

He brushes down my jaw line. "You're safe with me."

His grip on my jaw tightens just enough, causing me to hitch my breath. I let out a small warble, a sound that's definitely not strong.

"Do you believe that?" Zane demands, his voice smoky and low.

"I… do."

He smiles, a dangerous, powerful kind of smile. Reminding me that he's the brother who has women eating out of his hands for a reason.

His gaze darts to my lips, a quick, obvious desire.

I feel it too.

Fingers digging into his massive, naked biceps, I rise on my tiptoes, carried away by a tide that I can't even begin to describe or run away from.

But my eyes slide away at the last minute and I see Sloane.

Abruptly, I freeze.

Slowly, gently, fingertips grazing over my lips, Zane waits.

"I can't kiss you right now."

"Why? Because it's watching?" he whispers.

"Because," I turn stiff, "she disappears when we touch."

Sloane flits around me. "Finally. I thought I was about to blip away again."

"She?" Zane tilts his head.

"It's Sloane," I admit.

Surprise, confusion and then a quiet understanding shake out on his beautifully hewn face. He nods to himself as if that makes perfect sense and then he asks, "Where is she right now?"

I wince and then point.

Sloane is next to me, watching Zane shyly.

"I don't know why I suddenly feel so awkward," she shares. "He's so hot, Grey. His face is literally unworldly. It's making me nervous."

"Hi," Zane says to Sloane.

" Hi."

"I'm Zane Cross, Grey's husband. I've always wanted to meet you."

"Have you?" I mumble.

"Is she asking?" He clarifies.

I shrug, embarrassed to admit that it's me.

But Zane takes it in stride. He turns back to Sloane. "I have. I wanted to thank you… for being Grey's friend." A mischievous smirk follows the statement. "Getting her to come out of her shell must have been tough." He leans in. "We both know she's allergic to fun."

My lips twitch.

Sloane laughs loudly.

"That's a front though, right? She's not only a lot of fun, she's the most generous and loyal person you'll ever meet. The kind you'd want on your side. She missed you a lot though. It hurts to think how alone she must have felt when you were gone."

My heart is suddenly paper-thin and this conversation is tearing it into tiny little shreds. I feel tears cropping up in my eyes.

Sloane looks equally weepy. "Okay. I take it back. The hottest thing about him isn't his face or his muscles. " Her eyes sink into mine. "It's his love for you."

Zane twists around so he can ask me, "What did she say?"

"She's impressed."

"By my abs?" He looks like he's genuinely asking that question.

I smirk. "No."

"That's it!"

Sloane's sudden outburst makes me jump.

"What's it?" I ask her.

"What's it?" Zane glances between me and Sloane, not at all awkward about what I'm sure is the empty space that he sees instead of a person.

Sloane bounces on the tips of her toes. "Love. Family. Mothers. Slavno's mother died twenty years ago. He lit candles for her every year. Every. Year."

I stop. My breathing goes quick and hollow. Looking around wildly, I rush over to my cell phone.

"Okay, babe. Talk to me," Zane says, concerned.

"Love."

He looks shocked. "You love me?"

"No, no. Sloane said something about love."

"Tell Sloane, I'm a married man."

"No, it's about Slavno."

"You love Slavno?"

I'm going to smack him.

"Zane, Slavno wanted to save his grandmother. He's despicable, but even the worst human beings have love for their family. Where is it? Where is it?"

"What are you looking fo?" Zane asks.

I open the secure folder on my phone and scroll until I find the photos of all the police interviews and newspaper clippings from my investigation. I catalogued them in my phone in case I ever lost the physical files.

"Here!" I zoom in triumphantly.

"A church?"

I walk up to Zane, my eyes bright. "Slavno's mother attended this church. He lit a candle for her every year after her passing. When he went to jail, his grandmother took over for him. Even in the nursing home, she never forgot. She was mumbling about it when we sent her to her family."

The confusion lasts only for a second before he stampedes over to his bag and pulls out his cell phone. "I'll ask Finn to check if there are any storage lockers around that location."

"Tell him it could be in a nearby subway station or convenience store."

"Sloane says it could be in a subway station or store."

"Got it," Zane says, stepping aside to make the call.

I watch him put the cell phone to his ear and speak firmly to Finn.

"You're drooling," Sloane points out.

"You're drooling," I grumble self-consciously.

"Can you please, please stop shoving me away when you two get naked? I really want to watch."

"First of all, we're not sleeping together any time soon. Second, ew, you perv. Third, I don't know what makes you disappear. It's not like I do it on purpose."

"Don't lie. You want to jump him so bad right now."

"And how are you so sure about that?" I answer cockily, but inside, there's a ring of truth to her observation.

Can anyone blame me?

Zane Cross has a silver tongue.

A silver tongue that can do all kinds of things outside of talking…

"Grey, if I had a body, I would be ALL over that." Sloane licks her lips as she makes moon eyes at Zane's back muscles. "I mean, come on. Don't you just want to smack his butt?"

"Stop objectifying my husband," I say. Although I do sneak a peek at Zane's butt that is, admittedly, nicely toned beneath his sweatpants.

"You just called him your husband," Sloane sing-songs.

"Did I?"

" You did."

"I have no recollection of that."

Zane lumbers back into my vicinity and I quickly turn away from Sloane. "What did Finn say?"

He doesn't answer immediately and steps closer instead. My body sways toward him on instinct. Partly because I'm eager to hear what Finn found, but partly because he has—has always had—such a magnetic force around him. His nearness is a drug all its own and I can admit that I'm starting to succumb a little to the pull.

"Finn found storage lockers at a train station near the church."

Excitement zings down my spine.

Sloane and I share a triumphant grin.

"Alright. Let's go." I march toward the door.

Before I can get far, Zane winds his good arm around my waist and drags me against him. The shadows cast from his body overlap with mine.

"Zane?" I look up. "What are you doing?"

The heat of his body singes my skin as he remains frozen in front of me. His blue eyes are shrouded in something heavy and determined.

"I'm sorry, Grey. You're not leaving this hotel room tonight."