Gracie’s deep bellow of laughter carries through the warm spring air, erasing my annoyance instantly. How long has it been since anyone’s laughed like that back here? At least fourteen years.
The beautiful sound dies slowly on her lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you laugh just like your dad did.”
Her jaw hardens slightly. “Sometimes it makes me angry, that you remember so much about him and I can’t even picture his face.”
I make my way toward the edge of the pool. “I’ll tell you everything I remember.”
After a moment, she nods. Her gaze drifts over my T-shirt and shorts. “Not swimming?”
“Nah, don’t feel like it.”
“The water’s warm,” she taunts.
“Liar. Your lips are blue.” We’ve been in a cold spell these past few days. I turned the pool heater up, but it’ll take hours to get to a comfortable temperature.
“Huh.”
Here we go. “?‘Huh’ . . . what?”
She shrugs. “Nothing. Just didn’t take you for a giant baby.” She casts off from the side using her legs. “I think I saw a blanket in the living room. You should go and swaddle yourself before—” She squeals as I charge toward her, diving into the cool water fully dressed, the shock of the temperature oddly refreshing on my muscles.
A curse slides from my lips as I surface, gooseflesh instantly covering my arms.
“Give it a minute,” she warns, adding on a quiet, “wuss.”
Coasting over to the shallow end, I quickly peel off my T-shirt and toss it off to the side before diving back under.
Gracie stretches out and floats on her back along the surface of the water, her gaze drifting somewhere unseen above us, into the sky.
It gives me ample opportunity to admire her flat stomach and the swell of her breasts and her hips while I quietly tread water, trying to warm up. The girl has curves like I’ve never seen, so full and solid, they’re almost cartoonish.
She clears her throat and I realize she’s caught me checking her out.
“Do you think if my dad hadn’t died and your mom hadn’t . . . you know . . . we would’ve been friends?”
“As opposed to what we are now?”
She sighs with exasperation. “You know what I mean.”
Do I? Exactly what are we now? “I’d probably be like an older brother to you,” I finally say.
Horror flashes across Gracie’s face and it makes me laugh. But it also makes my heart race.
I dive in to glide beneath her, my back pushing against hers, making her lose her balance and fold into the water.
When she surfaces, she’s sputtering water. “You’re definitely . . . annoying enough . . . to be my brother!” She splashes me in the face.
I slide my hand around her waist and guide her to the edge of the pool. “Sorry, I didn’t think you’d go right under.” I wait, studying her intoxicating face until she quiets down, reveling in the feel of her silky skin beneath my fingers. It sends my adrenaline pumping through my veins.
She turns her green gaze onto me, and I brace myself for a tongue-lashing. I’m caught off guard when she leans in and presses her lips against mine in a quick, firm kiss. “You know that I don’t blame you for any of this, right?”
Her words bring my mind swerving back to the thoughts I’m desperately trying to avoid.
What happened that night, with Abe and my mother squaring off in front of a hotel room that held Betsy and some white guy with red hair?
Tension courses through my body. “Every time I think about it . . .” We told Silas and Klein what Dunn revealed. Klein was indifferent to it. His focus is all on Abraham’s murder, not delivering a bittersweet family reunion. Meanwhile, Silas’s face paled two shades, and he cursed under his breath three times before rifling through the liquor cabinet to pour himself a bourbon from a bottle my mom kept just for him.
He’s been taking a lot of heat over Abe’s case, being the ADA during that time. I can only imagine what it’ll be like if what my mom did—knowingly leaving a fifteen-year-old trafficking victim in a hotel room with a john—gets out to the media.
Who was my mom protecting? Who did she throw her friendship with Abe away for?
I’ve spent two days going through every photo album of my mother’s, looking for every red-haired white guy. I even called up Ashley Sheridan and made her list every red-haired guy on the force that my mom might have known. The list is short, and not promising.
I’ve come to the conclusion that Dunn is either mistaken . . . or he’s lying.
And if that’s the case, why?
Gracie squirms within my grasp, turning around to face me. She wraps her legs around my hips and her arms around my neck and whispers, “Don’t think about it. At least for now. Think about me instead. About this . . .” She leans in, covering my mouth with hers in a slow, teasing kiss.
My hands instinctively slide down to grip her hips, my fingers playfully tugging on the strings of her bikini bottoms. The backyard is private enough. Besides, I heard the neighbor’s car pull away not long ago. We don’t even have to go inside—
Cyclops goes tearing past us, his barks wild as he charges for the gate to the front yard.
Klein’s face appears. He frowns at the dog from the safety of the other side. “You want to call Cujo off?”
“Not really,” I growl, adjusting myself as Gracie pulls away. She climbs out using the pool steps and heads for the towel draped over a chair, giving both me and Kristian ample time to check out her body.
And that asshole isn’t even bothering to hide the fact that he’s getting a good look.
Gracie whistles and Cyclops trots over immediately, keeping his wary eye on our guest as Klein lets himself through the gate. He looks more official today, in a button-down shirt and black chinos.
“You couldn’t call?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Klein smirks. He knows exactly what was about to happen. But the amusement slides off his face abruptly. “You two need to get dressed and come with me. We’ll take my car.”
Unease sets in. “Why?”
“Because we’ve found Betsy.”
CHAPTER 57
Grace
“Hold on a sec,” Noah says, staying Kristian and Agent Tareen’s hands on their door handles. We sit quietly in the backseat of the dark FBI sedan and watch the woman in the front garden, inspecting a flowering bush. Her wide-brimmed hat hides her face, but the fitted shorts and T-shirt show off a young, fit body. “Is she the gardener? Or nanny?”
Klein smirks. “No, she lives here with her husband.”
“And you are one hundred percent positive this is her?”
“More like ninety-five. But we can close that gap quickly by going up there and asking her.”
Noah shakes his head, unconvinced. He’s had that same skeptical look since we turned into this neighborhood of sprawling houses and huge properties and manicured lawns, one of the wealthiest in Austin according to him. “Gracie? What do you think?”
I think that my mom’s necklace is going to cut into the palm of my hand if I don’t stop squeezing it so tight. “There’s only one way to be sure.” Wouldn’t it be something—a sexually abused girl from a trailer park who was picked up by a human trafficking ring, now living in this mansion where she quietly plucks weeds? Seemingly at peace.
Noah sighs. “If you guys are wrong, this is going to be a really fucking awkward conversation, isn’t it?”
“Maybe we don’t lead with ‘were you a prostitute’?”
My heart is racing as I step out of the car to follow the two FBI agents up the interlocked path, Noah at my side.
“Mrs. Mandy Wheeler?” Kristian calls out.
Mandy Wheeler?
The woman turns, her platinum-blonde bob peeking out from beneath the rim of her hat. “We don’t accept door-to-door solicitation,” she responds in a crisp tone. Cool green eyes drift over us, stalling on me for a moment. They’re even lighter than mine.
And they definitely look familiar.
“We’re not here to sell anything, ma’am.” Kristian pulls out his FBI badge.
Wariness creeps into her features. She glances around to the neighbors on both sides. “What is this in regards to, then?”
“Are you Elizabeth Richards, originally from Tucson, Arizona?”
“No.” Her face pales a few shades.