Grayson rapped his knuckles on the open door to Eli’s office. His boss was seated at his desk, the cuffs of his button-down shirt rolled up to reveal dark forearms.

Looking up from the report he was reading, Eli grinned and motioned him inside, setting aside the folder. “Come on in, Gray. How’s your mother doing?”

Grayson settled in the visitor’s chair in front of Eli’s desk and gave him an update on Eleanor’s condition, but stuck to the facts as if he were debriefing his boss on a case. How he felt about it all—the worry, the sadness, the guilt—that part he kept to himself as he forced his face to remain impassive.

Leaning back in his leather desk chair, Eli studied him for a moment, his dark brown eyes measuring. “I can arrange a leave for you.”

“That’s all right.”

Eli looked away for a moment as he slid a palm over his shaved head. It was a tell Grayson knew well; the boss wasn’t in agreement.

“What if something happens, Gray? Won’t you regret not being there?”

Grayson narrowed his eyes. “Did my aunt call you or something?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he muttered. Either the boss had missed the sarcasm or was choosing to ignore it. Probably the latter.

Eli’s message was coming across loud and clear. You’re in denial. It was the same thing his aunt thought, but both of them were wrong.

Grayson wasn’t in denial . . . he was well aware his mother was dying. He just couldn’t handle watching it. The fact that he was an adult made no difference; after losing his father already, the prospect of losing his mother hit him hard.

This was where he needed to be, here working the case. If he didn’t have something else to focus on, he just might lose his mind.

Locking eyes with his boss, Grayson said slowly, “I appreciate your concern. I really do.”

Eli still looked skeptical. For all his macho persona—the imposing physique, the shaved head, the dark eyes that could skewer a man—he was a softie inside and tended to mother his team. Well versed on the statistics relating to divorce and suicide in law enforcement, he regularly lectured Grayson and his teammates about mental health, and kept a close eye on each and every member of the task force. Clearly, he was evaluating Grayson’s mental state right now.

But Eli didn’t offer another argument. Instead, he let out a huff of resignation. “If you’re sure, Gray.”

“I’m positive.” Grayson took advantage of the rope Eli was giving him and switched gears, explaining his plans to meet with Darryl that night.

Eli gave him a nod. “All right. Keep me posted.”

* * *

When he received a text from Darryl that afternoon, Grayson could hardly believe his luck. Darryl had done exactly what Grayson had asked for . . . he’d set up a meeting with his supplier, Rex Gibson.

At seven p.m., Grayson strode into the Brew, a dive bar on the outskirts of DC. The dimly lit interior was packed with a rough-looking crowd of mostly male patrons, clustered in small groups in booths that lined the cinderblock walls.

Using the description Darryl had provided—a heavyset white guy with a shaved head and a diamond earring—Grayson spotted Rex Gibson and headed toward the corner booth he was seated in alone, having dinner and a beer.

The man looked up at Grayson and frowned. “You Greg?”

“Yeah.”

Gesturing with a nacho chip in his hand, Gibson said, “Have a seat.”

Grayson gingerly lowered himself onto the bench seat opposite the drug dealer. Although strips of silver duct tape were crisscrossed across the vinyl, the bench still had holes where stained foam was sticking out.

A half-eaten plate of nachos sat in front of Gibson. He crunched into a chip and studied Grayson while he chewed, then swallowed and took a swig of his beer. “Darryl says you’re new to town. Where you from?”

“California.”

“You’re far from home.”

“My kid lives here now with his mother. I moved to be near him.”

Gibson pulled a napkin from the dispenser on the table and wiped his hands. “So you served time?”

Grayson nodded. “Spent a year courtesy of the state of California. Possession with intent.”

“Not too long a sentence.”

Grayson tilted his head at the subtext. “Quantity was on the low end. I didn’t give anyone up, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Gibson’s gaze narrowed. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”

“There was a raid on my place. Someone gave me up. I’d never do that.”

Gibson sat back in his seat and studied Grayson.

What was it going to take to convince the man? It was time to push past Gibson’s reluctance and sell himself.

“Darryl told me you don’t have anyone to handle the upscale club scene. I can cater to the spoiled rich kids, help them spend their money,” Grayson added with a smirk.

“Can’t let you have the clubs.”

“What can you let me have?”

Gibson took another sip of his beer and plunked the bottle down. “I got a job you can handle, but it ain’t drug-related.”

“What is it?”

“Got a customer who needs someone kidnapped. Ever done anything like that?”

Surprised, Grayson tried to ignore the spike in his pulse rate and schooled his features. “No.”

“Interested?”

“I don’t get it. Did someone cross you?”

“It’s a separate operation I got.”

“Kidnapping people?”

Gibson scowled at him. “If it ain’t your thing, just say so.”

When the man moved to slide out of the booth, Grayson held up a hand. “Wait a second. I didn’t say I wasn’t interested.”

Gibson sank back onto the bench and raised an eyebrow.

“Who is it that you want kidnapped?”

“Someone’s daughter.”

“How old is she?”

“Don’t know exactly. Not a kid, though.”

“Is there a place to hold her?”

“Yeah, that’s all set up.”

“Where is it?”

“Not important.”

Grayson’s mind raced with questions. How many could he ask without looking suspicious? “When do you need this done?”

“The next few days.”

“Ransom?”

Gibson nodded. “But someone else is taking care of that part. You’ll just hold her for a couple days.”

“Then what? We kill her?”

That comment earned him a frown. “Not part of the plan. You want the job or not?”

“I need more information. Need to know who it is.”

“Can’t tell you that.”

“Is it someone high profile?”

Gibson’s mouth twisted, his patience clearly coming to an end.

“I need to know how much I’m risking by getting involved.”

“It’s some senator’s daughter. That’s all I know.”

Oh hell. Grayson sat back against the booth, willing himself to stay calm. The impending kidnapping of a politician’s daughter clearly trumped tracking down a drug dealer for the moment.

“They’ll pay well,” Gibson said.

“How much?”

“Ten thousand. I get half.”

Grayson snorted. “I do all the dirty work, but you get half?”

“You want the job or not?”

“Yeah, I want it.” I need her identity. He tamped down his frustration. “You got a picture?”

“Not yet but soon, maybe tomorrow. They want this done quick. I’ll be in touch once I do. Darryl gave me your number.”

Grayson pulled his phone from his pocket. “But I don’t have yours. I need to make arrangements for my kid, and if I have a problem, I’ll need to call you.”

Gibson snatched Grayson’s phone and added his number, then tossed it back across the table. “Be ready. I’ll be calling.” Then he stood and left the bar.

Grayson waited several minutes before doing the same. On his way home, he called Eli and explained what had just happened.

“Jesus,” Eli said. “When’s the next meeting?”

“Maybe tomorrow. Gibson said they want it done fast.”

“Right. We’ll get you wired up for whenever it takes place. In the meantime, I’ll get a warrant for a wiretap on Gibson’s phone. With a kidnap plot in the works, we shouldn’t have a problem getting it.”