Symphony of Bones by L.T. Ryan (most romantic novels .TXT) 📗

I don’t remember everything about Sarah. I hate that there’s a piece of me missing.”

“It was never our intention.” Even her father looked close to tears. “We just wanted to protect you.”

“I understand that. I’m not blaming you. But those delusions—” She faltered. Did she really want to have this conversation now? “They weren’t delusions.”

Her parents exchanged a look.

“Please don’t look at me like I’m crazy.” Cassie looked to her sister for help. “Tell them I’m not crazy.”

Before Laura could answer, Cassie’s phone rang. She’d forgotten she’d had the ringer on, and it made everyone jump. When she fished her phone out of her pocket, it took her a moment to realize who it could be.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Quinn?” A deep, honeyed voice filled the other line. “It’s Chris Viotto.”

“Agent Viotto, yes.” She cast a quick glance at her family before turning her back to them. She desperately wanted to have this conversation, but not while everyone was staring at her. “What can I do for you?”

“My partner and I were wondering if we’d be able to speak with you. Your file was…enlightening.”

She would’ve smiled if she hadn’t been close to tears a moment ago. “That’s good to hear. I’d be happy to help.”

“Would now be a good time for you?”

Now was the worst time, but she wasn’t about to waste this opportunity. “Now is perfect. Should I head to the station?”

“I’ll meet you out front.”

“Give me a half hour, and I’ll be there.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Cassie’s stomach flipped at his words, but she squashed the feeling. When she turned back to her family, they were still staring at her. “I need to go.”

“Where?” her father asked

Her mom jumped in, too. “Did you say ‘Agent’?”

Laura had half a grin on her face. “Was that him?”

“Was that who?” Judy asked. She looked between the sisters. “What’s going on?”

Cassie had planned to break the news to her mom much more gently, but now she didn’t have the time or the energy. “That was Agent Viotto from the FBI. I’m helping him with Connor Grayson’s case.”

Everyone’s jaw dropped except Laura’s, who avoided eye contact with their parents by stealing a sip of Cassie’s wine.

“Why is he calling you about that?” Judy asked.

“I help the FBI sometimes. And local cops. I’m good at it.” She hadn’t expected the amount of pride in her voice. She wanted her parents to know what she did, and she wanted them to know she had skills no one else did. “I’ve solved a lot of cases.”

“You work in a museum.” Her father was looking at Cassie now with such confusion it was almost comical. “Why would the FBI need your help?”

“It has nothing to do with me working in a museum. I’m good at figuring out clues no one else can.”

“You never told us this,” her mother said.

“I guess I forgot.” The words were out of Cassie’s mouth before she could stop them. Now it was Judy’s turn to look like her daughter had slapped her. “I’ll explain more when I get back.”

“You can’t go.” Judy looked around like she was trying to pull a reason out of thin air. “You’ve been drinking.”

“I had one sip. I’ll be fine.”

Judy looked to her husband. “Walter, do something.”

“It’s the FBI.” He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “What are we supposed to do?”

“I’ll be back later.”

Cassie knew she should explain more, relieve their anxiety, but her life was falling apart around her. If she couldn’t help herself, maybe she could help someone else. And if she solved Connor Grayson’s case, then maybe her mother would finally listen to her when it came time to tell her about her skills as an amateur detective. Not to mention her abilities as a psychic.

24

Senator Lawrence Grayson couldn’t remember how many bottles of whiskey he’d consumed since he found out his son had died. He couldn’t remember how many hours he spent staring into the void. Or how many hours he’d been conscious.

He couldn’t remember how many times Anastasia had tried to get him to focus on the big picture before she left to handle his business on her own.

He knew the consequences of being less than cooperative, but for all she preached about her humanity, she didn’t understand that sometimes you just had to drink away your sorrows and feel bad for yourself.

So, that’s what he was doing.

Grayson wouldn’t need to leave his office for some time if he didn’t want to. He had a fresh bottle of whiskey thanks to his security guard, and there was a fresh shirt tucked away somewhere if the occasion called for it. But no one was expecting to see his face for at least a few days. Maybe a week, if he was lucky.

How many bottles could he consume by then? Two a day? Three?

The only thought the alcohol hadn’t been able to numb was the image of his wife’s face when he’d told her what had happened to their son. The scream that had ripped its way out of her mouth was a primal sort of pain that reached deeper than he’d ever be able to feel. Only mothers could know the depths of that kind of agony.

She had howled and collapsed and cried and gone catatonic. He knew what she wanted—to have their son back—and he couldn’t give it to her. There was no next best thing.

After that, Grayson had retreated to his office. He’d had his meeting with Anastasia. There was a point at which he’d been coherent enough to offer his two cents on a plan of how to move forward. He’d lost his son, but he wouldn’t lose his career. He’d even convinced himself that he could use his career to honor his son’s life.

But that was just an excuse to bury himself in his work.

With a dull sort of panic, he thought about those FBI agents. Especially the young one. Viotto. He’d been asking a lot of questions. Had seemed suspicious. Anastasia told him not to worry about it. If he looked