Give Me Grace(145)

“I’m not going to ask how you know that because I’m starting to get a fair idea already. Now…” he nodded at the door “…send them back in.”

I kept my face impassive as they filed back in and with short, sharp sentences, filled them in quickly on Casey’s background, right up to yesterday’s run in with Morgan, both Burns and Gabriella firing questions at me during the recount.

My boss was rubbing his temples by the time I finished. He growled out a curse after allowing the information to sink in. “Okay,” he said eventually, sitting back in his seat. He looked to Gabriella first. “Valdez, I need you to get hold of Internal Affairs. Morgan needs to be investigated. I don’t want anyone else on this but you and your immediate team. Furthermore, the information relating to Morgan and the Sentinels does not leave the team, got me?” He eyed each of us in turn, getting our agreement. “Not until I work out where the fuck we go from here.”

“Valentine and Miller. Go pick up Daniels. Send a forensics team to follow behind you so they can sweep his loft. Valdez,” he said, standing up from his desk as he shoved all the papers from his desk back in the folder and handed it to her. “Come with me. I’ll introduce you to your team and we can find out where they’re at with the search for Grace.”

Leaving the office, Gabriella and Burns peeled right and Tate and I went left.

“Gabriella,” I called out.

She paused, waiting as I walked back. I handed her my card with my contact information. “The minute you hear about Grace, could you let me know?”

She glared.

“Please?”

Her answer was to simply snatch the card from my fingers, jam it in her jeans pocket, and walk away.





We hit the downstairs carpark and I tossed Tate the keys to one of the squad cars. “You drive.”

I slid in the passenger seat, clicked on the seat belt, and was dialling Travis’s number before Tate even started the car.

“Yeah?” he answered, his voice croaky and feeble.

“Rufus! Peter!” I heard Quinn screech in the background at the dogs. “Outside! Now!”

“Fuck,” my brother muttered. “This place is a fucking zoo. Jared and Evie crashed here last night, and then Mum, who was watching Sam this morning, brought him home an hour ago, along with Peter, because apparently it’s not a family gathering without all the dogs,” he added sarcastically, “and she’s still here.”

“Travis,” I said quickly before he kept going. “We’ve got a problem. A big clusterfuck on top of a steaming pile of shit kind of problem.”

“What?”

“Tate and I are on way to pick up Casey.”

“And take him where?”

“Into custody.”

There was a pause and then, “Fuck. What happened?” I could tell by his tone that he was already on the move.

I explained it all as quickly as possible, leaving out the part about Gabriella and the fact that I’d shared the information relating to Morgan and the Sentinels. I’d worry about that later.

“Meet me at the loft, okay? Casey’s going to lose it. He’s going to need you.”

The throaty growl of his Subaru barrelled down the line. “Already on my way. See you there.”





Travis pressed the intercom at the entrance to Casey’s building after we arrived. There was no answer so Travis used his key. We all had keys to each other’s place in the event of an emergency. This definitely qualified as one.

After unlocking the front door, Mitsy barrelled us up by the entryway, his shrill bark splitting my head clean in two. The three of us took a step back. Mitsy took a step forward.

“You take the dog,” Travis told me as he began inching sideways into the room.

Grabbing Travis by the bicep, I shoved him in front of Mitsy. “You take the fucking dog.”

Tate pulled his gun. “If neither of you take the damn dog, I will.”

“Christ, I’ll take—”

“Wait,” Travis muttered, pausing to scan the loft. Furniture was overturned, a broken lamp sat in the corner and Casey was on his stomach on the couch, passed out and completely oblivious.

He began to stir when Mitsy kept up his aggravating tirade. Rolling over, he sat up with a wince, rubbing his face. I ran a critical eye over his clothing. He was sans jacket, but still wearing his shirt and pants from last night.

There was no blood spatter on his shirt, I noted with relief. If he shot Grace, there would be spatter. That was one tick in his favour.

“What are you three doing in here?” He paused and I could see his mind ticking over for a brief moment before his eyes flared with panic. “Grace,” he muttered. Then he stood up and stumbled.