Edge of Midnight (25 page)

Returning to the living room, Mia picked up their wineglasses. She took them into the kitchen and washed the crystal stems by hand. As she dried the second one, however, she felt an inexplicable tingle at her nape. Someone walking over her grave, as the old saying went. She turned. Her breath left her lungs, the wineglass shattering on the tile at her feet.

The Collector held a knife gripped in his fist. Mia let out a choked cry. She tried to scramble away, but her fear-clumsy legs crumpled beneath her.

And then he was gone.

It took several moments to realize it had only been a vision. Another
memory flash
like outside the foster care home that day. Still, she couldn’t stop the frantic thudding of her heart. Her shin was bleeding—she’d cut herself on the broken glass.

Picking herself up from the floor, tears of frustration welled in her eyes. But she wouldn’t call Eric. Her pride and independence wouldn’t allow her to.

She had to handle this alone.

25

P
ulling to a stop under the columned portico, Mia got out of the Volvo and handed the valet her keys. She had dressed for the five-star resort on Ponte Vedra Beach in an ice-blue silk sheath dress and heeled silver sandals. It was Saturday and she’d received an email from Grayson that morning, instructing her to meet him at the hotel’s main restaurant at 8:00 p.m.

Eric, however, had been maintaining his distance. He’d called once to check on her but had kept their conversation brief and impersonal. Mia hadn’t pushed.

Entering the upscale lobby with its marble floors and tiered chandeliers, she tried not to dwell on it. She yearned to see him, but she had learned a long time ago one couldn’t force something to happen simply by obsessing over it hard enough.
He’s busy with the investigation,
she reminded herself.

Still, with each passing day her heart had grown a little heavier.

At the restaurant, she gave Grayson’s name and the hostess escorted her inside. Like the resort, the dining room was posh, with starched linen tablecloths and glowing centerpiece candles. The tinkling sound of a piano came from the adjoining bar.

Mia wasn’t certain what to expect—she’d had meals with Grayson before. But the majority of those were eaten with chopsticks from take-out cartons, or accompanied by draft beer in a paneled barroom overlooking the EverBank Field stadium where the Jacksonville Jaguars played. Those times had been comfortable, enjoyable. The atmosphere here seemed off for what he had classified as a
business
dinner.

He sat at a table beside a long window that provided a dramatic view of the darkened ocean, and he stood as Mia and the hostess approached. Pulling out a chair for her, she noticed he wobbled a bit before reclaiming his own seat. He indicated the empty crystal tumbler in front of him.

“Have the waiter bring another vodka tonic.”

“And you, ma’am?” the hostess asked.

“Pinot grigio.”

He waited until they were alone. “You look great, kiddo.”

She toyed with the small clutch purse in her lap before placing it on an empty chair at the table. “I didn’t have much choice. This is hardly a blue jeans, shrimp-in-the-shell kind of place.”

“I’ve been traveling all week for the damn newspaper,” he grumbled. “Let them pick up the tab.”

Mia was aware of the faint slur to his words. She wondered how many drinks he’d had before she arrived. Grayson appeared tired and tense, the lines deeper on his face than she remembered.

“Are you all right?” she asked quietly.

Before he could answer, they were interrupted by the arrival of the waiter, who had their drink order and gave a rundown on the evening’s specialties. Once he was gone, Grayson asked, “Now where did we leave off on Tuesday? Right…you were reaming me out for that piece on Macfarlane.”

“I’m sorry for that,” she admitted. She didn’t want to argue again, especially not here. Besides, she’d thought about it and realized he was right. “I was surprised by the profile, that’s all. Sometimes I forget you’re my boss, Grayson. I was out of line to question you and I should’ve left my personal feelings out of it.”

“Everything in the article
was
accurate,” he pointed out.

“With the exception of my being a contributor.”

“Like I said, mistakes happen. Damn copy editors.” His blasé comment suggested again it hadn’t been an error. She studied him as he took another sip from his drink.

“So what’s this about? You said you wanted to talk to me away from the office.”

“Can’t we just enjoy ourselves for a little while?”

Mia held his gaze until he spoke.

“The
Courier
’s having issues,” he said finally. “Our circulation’s declining and we’re losing subscribers.”

None of this was new information in the digital age. Most newspapers and magazines were experiencing similar difficulties as readers moved to other sources—television and the internet especially—to get their news. Still, Mia had thought a recent paring down of staff, combined with an increased emphasis on ad revenue from the paper’s online edition and social networking initiatives, had evened things out.

“How bad is it?”

“We may have another round of layoffs.”

She felt butterflies in her stomach, wondering if that was why he’d brought her here. “Does that include me?”

“I hope not,” he said carefully. “But that’s up to you.”

The waiter returned to their table. Neither of them had glanced at the menu yet.

“Could we have a little more time?” she asked.

With a small bow, the man retreated. Mia returned her attention to Grayson. “I don’t understand.”

He took another long sip from his drink, ice cubes clinking against the crystal. “You’re a good reporter but you’re still young and learning, Mia. You have the potential to be great—I’ve always believed that. I want to continue investing in you.”

“But something’s changed?”

“
You’ve
changed.” He raised his shoulders in a shrug. “Maybe it’s the abduction. I can’t imagine what it must be like to deal with something like that—the lost hours, realizing how close you came to… Sometimes I have a hard time dealing with it myself. I care about you, Mia.”

He reached across the table and took her hand.

“I care about you, too, Grayson,” she said, feeling a little uncomfortable. After a moment, she gently slid her fingers from his. “You
know
that. But I still don’t see what you’re driving at.”

He frowned as he looked into her eyes. “I thought you had the fire in your gut. That you
wanted
to be a journalist.”

“And I don’t now?”

“Goddamned if I know,” he muttered. “Lately you’ve been distracted, missing time from work, running around like some smitten kitten after Macfarlane. It’s not who you are.”

Mia felt her face grow hot.

“That’s not fair,” she argued. “You’re the one who told me to take a few days off, remember? And I’ve been asking for my previous assignment back. You keep refusing me, telling me I’m not ready for it—”

“Then
prove
to me you are. Prove it and I’ll take Walt off the whole thing. You just said yourself you haven’t been objective.” Turning, he caught the passing maître d’ and asked for another drink.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve been drinking since you were in diapers, Mia. Don’t monitor my alcohol intake,” he snapped. The reprimand stung. “I want to do a piece on the memory-retrieval therapy you’ve been undergoing at the Naval Air Station. You’ve got information, details, no other media outlet has access to. Not to mention the whole sci-fi aspect—”

“I can’t—”

“You can. I’ve got one of my reporters smack-dab in the middle of the year’s biggest story and you’re as tight-lipped as a priest. I want details on what’s been going on—”

“We’ve discussed this.” She strove to keep her voice calm. “I agreed to confidentiality. That’s off-limits.”

“Like Eric Macfarlane? The paper’s not supposed to cover
him,
either.” His eyes narrowed inquisitively. “What is it, Mia? Hero worship? You’re frightened and vulnerable and he has a badge and a gun? That gets you off?”

She’d been twisting the linen napkin in her lap, but she stood and dropped it on the seat. Her insides knotted with irritation, she picked up her purse. “If I’m being laid off, I’ll get by. Good night, Grayson.”

“Mia, sit down. Mia!”

She heard him calling her name, but she kept walking as quickly as she could in the suddenly ridiculous evening sandals. Anger and humiliation tightened her lungs. Was he
threatening
her? Telling her she had to divulge confidential details about the therapy in order to keep her job? Maybe he just wanted her to prove that her allegiance to him outweighed whatever she’d had with Eric. A bellhop held the door for her in the hotel lobby. She went outside, noticing there were several people waiting in line for the valet service to retrieve their cars.

She needed time to collect herself. Mia bypassed the line and headed toward the beach. Stopping at the boardwalk, she bent to undo the straps of her shoes. Leaving them on a concrete ledge, she walked barefoot down the short flight of stairs and onto the resort’s pristine white sand. Moving to the shoreline, she closed her eyes against the warm, briny breeze and reminded herself to breathe.

She’d never known Grayson to behave like this.

“Mia.” A minute later, she turned at the sound of her name. He was walking toward her, his dress shoes sinking into the sand.

“Christ,” he said when he reached her, shaking his head. “That wasn’t me in there.”

“I don’t know what to say. If you’re that unhappy with my work…”

“No.” Grayson clasped her upper arms. His face appeared pale in the moonlight. “You’ve been through hell and I’ve been acting like a total shit tonight. Taking my problems out on you. I’m sorry.”

He let go of her and briefly laced his fingers behind his neck, cursing under his breath. “I’ve been in the newspaper business for twenty-six years. It’s my life. It’s all I’ve got and things are getting harder every day. It’s making me insane…”

He paused, swallowing hard as he looked at her. “I’m also in love with you.”

Her lips parted slightly, her throat going dry.

“I’ve
been
in love with you for a long time,” he said hoarsely. “I just never had the guts to tell you. And then I almost lost you.”

Mia stared at him, her heart beating hard. Grayson was eighteen years her senior, but she had never thought of him as old. He had always been just
Grayson
to her. He was her friend, her mentor, even a father figure. She’d known he was fond of her. But Will had been right; she should’ve taken his feelings for her more seriously.

“After the abduction, I realized I had to do something. I had to put my stake in the ground. And then this FBI agent arrives…” Inebriated, sliding his hands into his pockets, he stumbled a little in the sand as he looked out at the crashing waves. “I see the way you look at Macfarlane. The way you talk about him and defend him.
I know you,
Mia. You’ve never acted like that about any man, as far as I can recall.”

He shrugged weakly. “The green-eyed monster rears his head.
He
was the one talking to you in there.”

“Grayson…” She shook her head as she struggled with what to say. “You know I would never want to hurt you…”

He laughed, his eyes sad. “To quote Bob Marley, ‘Everybody’s going to hurt you. You’ve just got to find the ones worth suffering for.’ I already know you don’t feel the same way about me.”