The Grayce Walters Romantic Suspense Series

by Jacki Delecki

  “People break promises. I speak from experience.”

  “I wouldn’t make a promise I couldn’t keep.”

  “I know you’re not like that, but you’ll be meeting men, and I’ll be gone. Hell, when I was in your office, you were about to meet another man.” He started to run his fingers through his hair and then stopped.

  “Davis, we’re going to have to trust each other.”

  “I want to be fair to you, Grayce, and think of what’s best for you, but I can only think about what’s best for me.” He stopped himself. “And it’s you and the chance to work on the national level.”

  “I could never stop you from this opportunity. You’re ready for the next challenge.”

  He ran his hand through his hair, making black spikes stand up. “I’m going to hate being separated from you.”

  “We need to support each other to do the things we really want to do. We can get through this. I’ve wanted to visit Louise Marley. I’ll go to LA when you’re gone.”

  “And meet some handsome Hollywood actor.”

  “Now you’re starting to talk about James’ dream. Not mine.”

  “Tell me your dreams… What you want.”

  “I have to be lying down on a bed to think about my dreams.” She stood and swayed her hips the seductive way that made Davis go insane, or at least that’s how he described his feelings. There was only so much talking one could do about trust and commitment. Davis was a very physical man. He’d understand how she felt if she showed him. She pulled off her t-shirt when she got to the door.

  Chapter Nine

  The little hairs on Grayce’s neck and arms tingled in heightened awareness as she climbed the rickety stairs to the second floor of the shabby apartment. The 1-5 freeway roared below the 1950’s building perched on the edge of Beacon Hill.

  Grayce peered over the unsteady railing, expecting to find a pursuer lurking underneath the stairwell. There was nothing threatening below except overgrown blackberry bushes and empty beer cans. Aunt Aideen’s predictions and Davis’ warnings were making her paranoid.

  Grayce knocked on the peeling brown door.

  Mrs. Hines answered immediately. “Dr. Walters, we’re glad you could come.” She gripped Grayce’s hands tightly.

  The older woman’s gray pallor and the slight tick in her left eyelid made it evident that there had been no word of her missing daughter.

  Mrs. Hines’ lower lip trembled. “Nothing…”

  The woman’s hopeless exhaustion seeped into Grayce. She squeezed Mrs. Hines’ cold hands. “I’m sorry. The waiting must be terrible.”

  The woman barely nodded her bowed head. “Come in, please.”

  Angie’s apartment was sterile with sparse furnishings, bereft of joy and smelled of cleaning products. The aseptic chlorine smell burned Grayce’s nostrils.

  Hunter Hines stood strategically at the western window, the unobserved observer. Sunlight surrounded him, obscuring his face and making him larger and broader, like a medieval knight.

  She walked toward him with her hand outstretched. “Good morning, Mr. Hines.”

  He stiffened in surprise and took her hand. “Dr. Walters.”

  His handshake was strong and controlled. She didn’t get any intuitive insight from the brisk contact.

  She bent to greet Ossie, but the cat was wrapping her way around Hunter’s leg. Ossie rubbed herself against Hunter’s perfectly creased black pants and his perfectly shined black shoes. A trail of gray hair followed Ossie’s path.

  Grayce hadn’t observed in her office that Hunter’s clothing was military issue. Unless he was some sort of secret intelligence agent, Hollie would be able to research his background.

  Mrs. Hines hovered near Grayce. “What can I get you to drink? Coffee, tea, water?”

  “Water would be great, thank you.”

  Relieved to be given a task, Mrs. Hines went into the kitchen.

  The snowy peaks of the Olympic Mountains were visible behind Hunter. The small apartment had a spectacular view of the mountains, Puget Sound, and the industrial area of Seattle’s south end. It wouldn’t be long before developers tore down the dilapidated apartment building and built expensive condos, displacing the low-income residents.

  “What a great view,” Grayce said.

  Hunter Hines didn’t turn to look at the view. “Yes.”

  With Hunter’s obvious unwillingness to exchange pleasantries, Grayce walked into the tiny, outdated kitchen. The refrigerator was scattered with pictures. “This looks exactly like my refrigerator,” she said.

  Mrs. Hines turned from the cupboard and took a picture from the refrigerator and handed it to Grayce. “This picture is right before Angie left for Afghanistan the first time.”

  Grayce stared at the young woman on the brink of womanhood in her blue Marine Corp jacket and white sash, smiling back at the camera. Angie resembled her brother with dark hair and eyes, but her youthful enthusiasm was nothing like the detached man in the living room.

  Mrs. Hines chose another picture from the refrigerator and handed it to Grayce. Angie stood arm in arm with two other women. All were dressed in full camouflage uniforms with rifles on their shoulders. Their faces were browned with Afghan heat and sand. Angie’s youthful vibrancy had disappeared. She stared back at the camera, a vacant look filled with war-weariness.

  “That’s Angie’s commander, Lieutenant Ronda Brown.” Mrs. Hines pointed to an older woman who stood in the middle. “She was head of the women’s engagement team.”

  “What is an engagement team?” Grayce asked.

  “A small group of female Marines were sent to Afghanistan to communicate with the women and children in the villages since the culture prohibits males from speaking to the women.”

  “Angie was chosen because of her ability to speak those Afghanistan languages—I can never remember their names.” She raised her voice. “What are those again, Hunter?”

  Hunter Hines answered from the living room, his voice sounding flat—bored or cautious. “Pashto and Dari.”

  “Angie was the group’s translator?”

  “There were native translators, but they wanted Marines talking to the women. Angie didn’t tell me a lot, but I got the feeling that the engagement group was supposed to get information about the insurgents, kind of like those spy movies.” Mrs. Hines whispered in a conspiratorial tone.

  An icy chill shot through Grayce’s body. She rubbed her hands along her arms, trying to warm herself in the airless condo.

  “Angie was thrilled to be part of the select group of Marines and under the leadership of Lieutenant Brown. She had never had a woman as a commander before that.”

  The bond between Angie and the older women was evident in the way they stood arm in arm in the picture.

  “Angie was only a few feet away when the IED killed Rhonda.”

  “The Lieutenant was killed?”

  Mrs. Hines struggled to speak, tears welled in her eyes. “She had two children.”

  Grayce touched the woman on the shoulder. “We don’t need to talk about this.”

  “Talking actually helps. Angie never talked about what happened. But after the explosion, Angie couldn’t sleep and had terrible nightmares.”

  “I can’t imagine how difficult it was for her.” Grayce understood the shock of suddenly, unexpectedly losing someone. But this was, not getting to say goodbye because of an accident or a sudden illness, but because of a calculated act of war. Deliberate killing. War was something Grayce couldn’t understand, would never understand, and didn’t want to understand. Except perhaps, for its effect on Angie.

  “Angie blamed herself for her commander’s death.”

  Grayce understood about blame, too. When catastrophe strikes, you look for a reason in the chaos, something you could’ve done differently.

  “Angie changed so much after Rhonda died. She withdrew into herself, spending her days with Ossie.”

  “I can’t imagine what it’s like to be in
constant danger.”

  Mrs. Hines pulled on the sleeve of her pressed denim shirt. “Angie was a gentle child. But the Marines are in her blood. Angie and Hunter’s dad was a Marine. Just like…”

  Mrs. Hines suddenly stopped talking when Hunter Hines appeared in the doorway.

  “Are you ready to start, Dr. Walters?” Hunter’s voice was clipped.

  “I’m just talking with Dr. Walters, Hunter.”

  “Once you two are done chatting…” By the penetrating look he gave his mother, it was clear he didn’t want his mother talking to Grayce.

  “I can start the treatment whenever you like,” Grayce said.

  “I’ll wait in the living room for you to finish your conversation.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset Hunter.” Grayce was puzzled by the man’ antagonism toward his mother. What did it matter if his mother told her about Angie’s experience in Afghanistan?

  “Don’t you worry about Hunter, it’s just his way. You sure you don’t want anything but water? You need more ice?” Mrs. Hines opened the freezer door.

  “That would be great.”

  A picture fell to the floor when Mrs. Hines closed the freezer door. Grayce bent and retrieved a picture of a group of laughing women.

  “Those are Angie’s friends from her PTSD group at the VA—all of them have been to Afghanistan and all of them have PTSD. Angie said the group had saved her.”

  Grayce stared at the picture of the three women—Angie was in the middle, towering over the two. A heavy, black woman in uniform and a petite blonde stood on either side of Angie. All three were laughing. Nothing in the picture hinted at what each of the women had suffered—was suffering.

  “The blond girl is in both pictures,” Grayce said.

  “That’s Maddy. She was part of the engagement team in Afghanistan.”

  “And she’s from the Northwest?”

  “She moved around a lot, but I think she grew up here. I always thought she moved back because of her friendship with Angie.”

  “What does Maddy think about Angie’s disappearance?’

  “Maddy is the one Angie went to find.”

  “Angie went to look for her friend and disappeared? How long has Maddy been missing?” Grayce examined Maddy’s picture more closely. Maddy was smiling, but there was a brittle fragility in her eyes.

  “I don’t know exactly. But the VA doctor told me that Angie announced to the group that she was going to look for Maddy. That was the last anyone heard from Angie.” Mrs. Hines’ hand trembled when she took the ice cube container to the sink.

  Grayce’s intuition flared. What were the chances of two Marines who served in the same unit in Afghanistan going missing?

  “No one was surprised by Maddy not showing up for group. She didn’t attend regularly like she was supposed to.”

  Grayce looked at the picture of the women, hoping for some vision or clue to what had prevented the women from coming home.

  “Angie had taken on the role of group leader and seemed to be bouncing back from her own problems. Doctor Dagger said that she was making great strides with her PTSD symptoms, but any trauma could make her symptoms flare up to confuse and overwhelm her.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m so afraid that something really bad happened.”

  Grayce put her arm around the diminutive woman. “It’s all going to work out. I know Angie’s okay.” Had she spoken her thoughts aloud?

  The woman wiped the tears with the back of her sleeve. “You’re not really just saying that to make me feel better?”

  “I have a strong feeling that Angie’s lost.” Grayce didn’t question her intuition: she sensed Angie wasn’t dead.

  Mrs. Hines took her hand. “Thank you. A mother would know if… I prayed to the Lord to give me strength. He sent you to me.”

  Heat moved into Grayce’s embarrassed face. She wasn’t sure that God had sent her to help Mrs. Hines, but she knew something beyond herself compelled her to help the grieving mother.

  The older woman released her hand. “I’m sure Hunter is getting impatient with Ossie badgering him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hunter doesn’t like cats. And of course, Ossie knows it.”

  Grayce laughed. She appreciated the contrary inclinations of cats.

  Hunter sat on the small, worn love seat close to the kitchen. Why did Grayce get the feeling that Hunter had listened to everything his mother said? Ossie was nowhere in sight.

  “Where’s Ossie?” Grayce asked.

  Hunter stood impatiently and waved toward the hallway. “She went into Angie’s bedroom.”

  Hunter’s erect bearing, his clothing, were definitely military. How had she missed it? When she got back to her office, she would have Hollie do a bit of online research on Hunter Hines.

  “I’ll go fetch him.” Grayce wanted the chance to see Angie’s bedroom. The bedroom was as barren as the rest of the apartment—either a reflection of Angie’s military discipline or her mother’s need to stay busy. The only warmth in the dark room was from Ossie’s loud purring, curled up on a wicker chair.

  No pictures hung on the wall. A large TV sat precariously on storage boxes. A worn, woebegone stuffed dog, some remnant from childhood Grayce supposed, sat on the tightly tucked bed. Angie’s intense isolation resonated in the bleak room.

  Neither Mrs. Hines nor Hunter followed Grayce into the bedroom. She could hear Hunter’s sharp tone as he said something about Maddy and the engagement team. Mrs. Hines murmured softly in response.

  Grayce knelt before the wicker chair to be on the same level as Ossie. “How are you, my beauty?”

  She ran her hand along Ossie’s back, not touching but assessing the heat from the cat’s body. Grayce detected no hot spots or stagnant chi. She spoke in a low lyrical voice. “I know you’re missing Angie. We’re going to find her for you.”

  Ossie stood and pawed at a white t-shirt. Cats often found consolation in their owner’s belongings. Ossie laid down and then flipped on the t-shirt in one fluid motion.

  “Is this Angie’s t-shirt?” Grayce asked.

  Ossie kept repeating the stand and flip. Had she misdiagnosed Ossie? Repetitive, obsessive behaviors were a sign of anxiety. Was Ossie more traumatized than she thought?

  Grayce’s close presence seemed to agitate the cat. “What is it, Ossie? What’s gotten you so upset?”

  Ossie stood and looked Grayce straight in the eye, green to green. She meowed in a painful cry, then kneaded the t-shirt, digging her claws into the shirt.

  “It’s okay, Ossie.” Ossie continued to scratch at the t-shirt.

  “Do you need me to move the t-shirt?”

  Ossie gave a mournful cry.

  Grayce gently put her hand under Ossie’s body and lifted both cat and shirt together. Ossie gave a loud yowl and released her claws. The shirt fell to the floor. Ossie jumped out of Grayce’s arms.

  Grayce picked up the shirt. It appeared new, not worn-soft as Grayce had suspected. She stared at the familiar logo—Youth Ministry Teen Feed. Grayce didn’t know what the connection was between Angie and the t-shirt, but her intuition was humming. This connection was the first hopeful sign.

  Ossie bumped Grayce’s leg with her striped head, purring loudly.

  “Dr. Walters, what are you doing?”

  Grayce startled at the sound of Hunter’s harsh voice.

  “Just greeting Ossie. She’s very attached to Angie’s t-shirt. Did Angie volunteer at Teen Feed?”

  Hunter crossed the room and grabbed the t-shirt from Grayce’s hand. “Where did you find this?”

  “Ossie was sleeping on it. Is it important?”

  Hunter stared at the shirt. “I don’t know.”

  Grayce watched Hunter turn the t-shirt over, carefully inspecting both sides of the shirt. Hunter Hines was as methodical as an investigator.

  “What do you know about Teen Feed, Dr. Walters?”

  “It’s a program that supports street kids. It’s connected wi
th several churches in the community. My parents’ church is one of the sponsors. I’ve volunteered there.”

  “How convenient.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well isn’t this a cozy coincidence? Who are you? What’s your game?”

  Grayce stiffened her spine. What was she being accused of? “I’m trying to help your mom.”

  Hunter continued to examine her face with his piercing black eyes. She was getting pretty tired of him treating her like a criminal.

  Mrs. Hines stood at the bedroom door. “What’s the matter, Hunter?”

  “Have you seen this t-shirt?” He walked toward his mom with the t-shirt in his hand.

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t know it was important. Ossie liked to sleep on it. I thought it had Angie’s scent.” Mrs. Hines stared at her son. “Is it a clue?”

  “Was Angie involved with this program? Feeding street kids?” he asked.

  Mrs. Hines touched the t-shirt tentatively.

  Hunter took an impatient, deep breath.

  “Did Angie volunteer there?” he asked again.

  “Not that I know of. She never told me about what she did when she wasn’t at the VA. I know she did a lot of jogging to keep in shape.”

  Hunter turned toward Grayce. “Where’s this program’s office?”

  “In the University District, but I don’t know if they have an office. When I volunteered, we went at night and cooked in the basement of the church.”

  Hunter turned toward his mother. “I’m going to see what I can find out. I’ll call you later.”

  He looked over his shoulder from the doorway. “I guess you’re finished here, Dr. Walters.”

  If Hunter Hines believed he could dismiss her that easily, he was going to be disappointed. Angie was in danger, and Grayce was compelled to find her. It was part of her gift. “I can’t get used to him rushing in and out like that. He’s been so wound up.” Mrs. Hines shook her head.

  Maybe James was right. Hunter’s tightly held control reflected his frustration at the endless waiting.

  “I understand, Mrs. Hines. The waiting has been hard for both of you.” Grayce took the woman’s hands into her own.