Grayson awoke abruptly and rolled out of bed at dinnertime that night after only a few hours’ sleep, his heart pounding and his body covered with sweat. The insomnia had worsened since he’d been back from Scranton. Between his worry over his mother and the stress of protecting someone who bucked him at every turn, he was at the end of his rope.

Surprised by the fervor of Claire’s demands that morning, he’d driven to Georgetown and dropped off her note at the law school before his nap. Based on the background information they’d received on her, Grayson was under the impression she was going to law school on a lark, not taking it very seriously. Her attendance record was spotty, although her grades were decent. She lived alone in a ritzy condo, obviously purchased by her parents, and drove a brand-new BMW. Her father was a senator, although since he came from old money, he probably spent his way to victory. She had a rich boyfriend who was a con artist, and she’d just come from Florida, where she’d been helping him “entertain” clients.

In Grayson’s mind, all of it added up to a spoiled rich girl with no ambition, values, or convictions, and that simply pissed him the hell off. He’d worked too hard for what he’d accomplished and had no patience for self-serving, entitled trust-fund babies.

He rested his palms on the bathroom counter as he studied his face in the mirror, grimacing at the dark circles under his eyes. If he weren’t on protective detail, he’d consider taking a sleeping pill, willing to endure the awful headaches the pills gave him in exchange for some rest. But being on the job meant he’d have to suffer through; there was no way he’d risk being groggy from medication with someone’s life in his hands.

Even a trust-fund baby.

He shook his head at the thought and threw on a T-shirt and a pair of sweats, laced on his running shoes, and slipped downstairs and out the front door with only a quick wave to Jeremy. A good five miles before his shift would clear his head and get his adrenaline pumping, which would go a long way toward easing the turmoil inside him.

Remembering Claire asking him earlier in the day if she could go on a run, he felt a quick twinge of guilt. If she weren’t a protectee—and a major pain in the ass—he’d ask her to go with him. But he’d been serious when he told her it wasn’t safe. The last thing he needed was to parade his protectee around the neighborhood, making them a target.

The neighborhood was quiet as he ran, cars in the driveways and lights starting to come on here and there as the sun went down. Brightly lit windows revealed families sitting at dinner, and a loneliness he didn’t expect sent a sharp pang slashing through him. Grayson took a deep breath and ran faster, focusing his attention straight ahead, ignoring the tableaus he passed.

The temperature dropped as darkness fell, cooling the sweat on his body. His shoes slapped on the pavement, the soothing rhythm emptying his mind and eventually loosening the tension that locked up his muscles every time he thought of family, of his mother.

Frustrated, he turned his thoughts to work. Eli had called earlier to report the team had finally identified which retailer had sold the burner phone Gibson had been texting. They’d requested the store’s surveillance footage, hoping to get an image of the buyer good enough to run through facial recognition.

Hopefully, they’d ID someone who tied into Claire’s life, which would make it easier to find a motive for kidnapping her. As of now, their prime suspect was still the boyfriend. He certainly had motive—a big ransom would go a long way toward settling down his investors. If whoever bought the burner phone could be linked to Gabe Rogers, Grayson would be that much closer to solving this case and getting this annoying woman out of his life.

* * *

Marginally better by the time he got back, Grayson took the stairs two at a time. Locked in his room, he stripped off his damp clothes and took a long shower, but resisted the idea of going downstairs once he’d dressed. Wanting to stall a little longer before possibly having to face Claire, he decided to call his aunt for an update on his mom.

“Eleanor’s doing better,” his aunt Mary said. “No more fever, thank God, and her spirits are good.”

“Did she have the blood transfusion today?”

“She did, but . . .” Mary’s voice trailed off, her worry practically radiating over the phone line. “Honestly, Gray, it didn’t really help. She’s still as pale and weak as she was before.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” He clenched his fist, wanting nothing more than to pound something. “Is there anything else that can be done?”

Mary let out a long breath. “No. She either gets better or she doesn’t, and she doesn’t appear to be on the road to remission. I wish—”

“Please, Aunt Mary, don’t,” he said. “I’ll try to come back later this week, if I can. Just give her a kiss for me, please? And tell her I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“Fine.” His aunt’s voice was curt as she said, “I’ll tell her you called,” and then the line went dead.

So much for relieving the stress.

Just as Grayson was about to leave his room, his phone rang.

“We’ve got some new information,” Eli said without even saying hello. “You’re not going to believe it.”

“You’ve gotten the video surveillance?”

“No, but it’s coming. It was something the techs found in Rex Gibson’s phone records, going back a few days before we got the wiretap in place. A call was made from Fishkill Correctional Facility to Gibson’s phone.”

A chill ran down Grayson’s spine. As part of his former partner’s last assignment with the task force, Camden had infiltrated the Wicked Disciples motorcycle club. During a raid by the task force, Grayson had shot and killed Butch Cobb, president of the club’s Newburgh chapter. The remaining club members had been incarcerated in New York.

“Butch Cobb’s crew,” he said. “They’re at Fishkill. That’s where you’re going with this, isn’t it?”

“Afraid so. We had their cells tossed, and the guards found a phone in Deck Wallace’s.”

“Cobb’s number two, right? Something tells me he wasn’t contacting Rex Gibson for drugs.”

“Guards have reported that Wallace has been making noise about getting back at Camden, so it’s possible he was looking into a hit. And since Camden and Autumn are now living not too far from DC . . .”

“Damn it.” Grayson paced the small room, the phone pressed to his ear. “Camden was hoping they’d be able to stay under the radar in Virginia. But if Wallace was able to track them down there all the way from New York, it makes sense he’d reach out to someone in DC for the hit.”

“Right. The first call to Gibson was made from the pay phones prisoners are allowed to use. We checked the recording of the conversation, but it was cryptic. The other calls were made from Wallace’s cell phone.”

“So he made initial contact on the prison’s phone but was smart enough not to incriminate himself until he got a burner smuggled in?”

“That’s what we think,” Eli said. “And it’s not just Wallace making the calls. A woman we’ve ID’d as his girlfriend has been contacting Gibson too. Maybe if we lean on your guy Darryl, he’ll tell us something.”

“Unlikely,” Grayson said. “Gibson’s group is tight-lipped. He has them on a short leash, and they know better than to cross him.”

“Even if they don’t tell us anything, we’ve got this. We’re arranging a sting on Deck Wallace and the girlfriend.”

“Have you warned Cam yet?”

“I was just about to call him.” Eli paused. “Unless you’d rather?”

“It might be best,” Grayson said. “News like this would be better coming from me.”

“Tell him I’ll follow up once I have more.”

“Will do.” Grayson hung up and immediately dialed his best friend.

“A revenge killing?” Camden asked after Grayson had updated him. “I guess if anyone would be up for it, it would be Deck Wallace. Autumn told me he was closer to Butch than any of the other club members.” Silent for a moment, he sounded tense when he asked, “Who’s working this?”

“Knowing Eli? The whole team.” In an effort to ease Camden’s worry as much as he could, he added, “Remember that case where Rob was posing as a hitman?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re going to do the same thing here, have Rob make contact with the girlfriend and pose as one of Gibson’s boys. We’ll get her on video ordering the hit, and then stage the hit with you and Autumn. There’ll be tons of evidence against Wallace once we show him the pictures and film his reaction. He’s bound to say something incriminating, and when he does, we’ll have him.”

When Camden didn’t respond for a minute, Grayson stopped his pacing. “Cam?”

“Still here. Just thinking.”

Grayson paused and gripped the back of his neck. Camden had to be freaked out, not to mention worried. Even though they weren’t positive yet a hit was in play, it was likely enough to cause concern. Remembering how protective he felt of Claire before he’d even met her, Grayson could only imagine how desperate Camden must be to protect his wife.

“They’ll be looking for you in Bonnersville, so why don’t you and Autumn go to DC?” he suggested. “You can stay at my place, in your old room. Hell, you still have the key. I’m stuck on this protective detail for now, so you’ll have the whole apartment to yourselves.”

Camden was silent for a minute. “Yeah, I think we will. ASAP. Thanks, Gray. I’ll talk to you soon.”