Symphony of Bones by L.T. Ryan (little bear else holmelund minarik .txt) 📕

“What was that about?” Judy asked.

“He apologized for his son coming over and bugging me. I told him it wasn’t a problem.”

“Did you get his number?” Judy’s eyes sparkled. This was the mother she remembered before the attack. “He was cute.”

“No, Mother.” Cassie pushed her mom toward the exit. “It’s time to go home now.”

Judy laughed and let Cassie steer her out of the hospital. But before they walked through the automatic doors and back out into the fresh air, Cassie looked over her shoulder. The father looked on as his son played with his train, presumably by himself. But as Cassie cast a final glance at Devin, she saw another figure pushing his own toy train around on the floor.

Even in death, he had found a new friend.

Once again, the horror of Sebastian’s untimely death struck Cassie. Even Connor, who had lived long enough to reach adulthood, had been taken from his family far too soon. And it would be even worse to find out that his family had something to do with it.

15

When Grayson heard the doorbell ring, he could hardly contain his relief. He’d been sitting in his living room for the last hour as Anastasia lectured him on how to handle his son’s disappearance. The senator had only been half listening, and she didn’t appreciate his lack of focus.

But when the doorbell rang, he was on his feet in seconds, buttoning his silver suit jacket and smoothing out the wrinkles. He didn’t know who it was, but they must’ve had a good excuse to get past the security guard at the gate.

Murphy was at the door, pulling it open. Grayson stopped dead.

He recognized the first man right away. Detective Calvin Davenport was leading the investigation into Connor’s disappearance. He was in his fifties and held himself like a man who believed he deserved more than he’d ever gotten. Grayson got the distinct impression he went home every night and drank himself to sleep. That probably accounted for the way his stomach bulged against the waist of his pants.

The other two men were vaguely familiar to him, but he knew they were FBI. The older one was close to Davenport’s age, but it was clear he took much better care of his body. He was clean-shaven, with a buzz cut that told Grayson the agent never stopped being a military man. His hair was graying on the sides but dark on top. It came to a sharp widow’s peak that accentuated his down-turned eyebrows. He carried a perpetual look of contemplation, and Grayson remembered him being quiet and professional.

The younger one had the bright eyes of someone who had found his calling and was happy to do his job, no matter the price. Grayson knew the system would break him eventually, but it was refreshing to see someone who still had hope. His hair was short and bronze, and his well-kempt beard made him look his age. Grayson couldn’t imagine anyone would take the man seriously without it.

“Senator Grayson, do you mind if we come in?”

It took a moment for Grayson to realize he was being addressed. He nodded, and suddenly, his foyer was full of people. Anastasia had followed him to the front entrance with a scowl on her face. She typed something out on her tablet while looking at each of the newcomers in turn. Was she taking notes? Was she messaging someone at Apex?

“Thank you, Murphy,” Grayson said by way of dismissal. “Gentleman, I can’t say I’m excited to see you. Should we sit?”

“That would be best.” Davenport’s voice was somber. “Thank you.”

Grayson led them to the living room. The detective and two agents took the couch, which was barely big enough for the three of them. Anastasia returned to the overstuffed chair she had been sitting in earlier.

“Drinks?” Grayson asked.

All three declined, which was for the best. He’d have to send Anastasia to get them, and he didn’t want to see the look on her face when he asked her to do some menial task like offer their guests refreshments. Besides, his heart was pounding in his chest, and it was nice to have a familiar—if not welcoming—face close by.

“Is your wife home?” Davenport asked after Grayson sat in a chair opposite his assistant.

“She’s upstairs. Sleeping.” Grayson hadn’t been able to console her, and so he’d left her to cry herself to sleep. “I’d rather not wake her.”

Davenport nodded, then gestured to the men on his right. “You remember my colleagues?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid I don’t recall your names.”

“Agent Robert Mannis,” the older one said. He gestured to his colleague. “And my partner, Agent Christopher Viotto.”

“Thank you.” Grayson meant it. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m afraid we have some bad news.”

Grayson’s pounding heart sent the blood rushing to his ears. He felt his vision swim and gripped the arms of his chair to keep him grounded. “Is it about my son?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You found him?”

“Yes, we did.”

Grayson swallowed. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so, Senator.”

Even Anastasia had the sensitivity to put down her tablet. Grayson couldn’t decide where to look. He hated the pity in his publicist’s eyes. The apology in the eyes of the two agents. The mild interest on the face of the detective.

“How?” The word was rough in Grayson’s mouth. “Why?”

“We’re still working through all of that.”

“What can you tell me, then?” He needed a moment to absorb the information. “I want to know.”

Davenport nodded to Mannis, who leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him. He still looked apologetic, but experience must’ve taught him that voicing his sympathy wasn’t the right course of action. “We found your son a few blocks away from his abandoned vehicle. He was at the back of an alley.” Mannis paused to alert Grayson that some hard news was coming. “He was shot in the head. There were a few bruises on his arms and legs.”

“He was shot?” Grayson’s mind raced.