Her eyes were far too discerning. It felt as though she had crawled underneath his skin and now had a prime view of everything he’d hidden from the world. And it wasn’t a very pleasant feeling.
He nodded, his jaw tight to the point of discomfort. “I wanted to find her. I looked fucking everywhere—have looked for her for twelve years. And then today, that closemouthed fucker at the gallery. Swear to God, Lizzie. I wanted to take him apart on the spot.”
“Yeah. I noticed.”
“I knew he knew something even before Gracie showed up. It was too coincidental. The painting was of a place only Gracie and I had knowledge of. Not that other people hadn’t ever seen it. But she and I never came across anyone in the years we met there. She loved to draw and paint. It was her dream. Now suddenly a painting of that same place shows up in a gallery and it’s signed ‘A.G.’? And the name of the painting is Lost Dreams? And then the bullshit about the artist not mattering security-wise, that the artist preferred anonymity. I guess the reason why is now apparent. She’s hiding. From me. But who else? And what the fuck is her connection to Sterling? Because that was not the reaction of a gallery owner to just another artist he plans to make money off of.”
“So Anna-Grace is her real name, but you call her Gracie.”
Zack nodded. “Only I called her Gracie. It was my pet name for her.”
Eliza typed as he spoke, presumably taking notes. When she finished pecking, she glanced back up, her gaze meeting Zack’s.
“I need you to grab a notebook and pen off the coffee table and write down every single thing you can think of that might help me locate her. Full name. Any known relatives even if they’re deceased. This could take a while, so how about you order takeout while I run some searches. It could be a long night.”
Hope eased a little of the burning sensation in his chest. His pulse sped up and he swallowed several times to keep the knot from forming in his throat.
“Thanks, Lizzie,” Zack said in a low, utterly sincere voice. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
Eliza shrugged and for a moment Zack could swear he saw a flash of pain in her pretty eyes. “We all have shit we deal with. We all deal with it our own way. I don’t want to build up false hope, Zack. I may not be able to turn up anything, but I’m going to try my damnedest.”
“Sterling has all the information I need,” Zack bit out. “He’s going to talk. I don’t give a fuck how he does it. But he will. I’ll fucking destroy him otherwise.”
“Be careful,” she warned. “He’s involved in a hell of a lot more than just art galleries. The galleries are mostly a front for his other ‘activities.’ ”
Zack lifted an eyebrow. “What does that mean exactly?”
“The preliminary background check that Quinn performs on all prospective clients turned up a few discrepancies.”
His gaze sharpened. “You think he’s dirty?”
“Can’t tell you that for a fact.”
“What’s your opinion then?”
“He’s dirty.”
“So why were we even meeting with him?” Zack asked. “Beau doesn’t operate like that. He’d die before ever doing anything reminiscent of his father.”
DSS didn’t take on any client who could potentially drag the company through the mud. They didn’t have to. They could pick and choose at their leisure. They certainly weren’t hurting for clients.
“Maybe Caleb made the decision. Beau may not have even seen the report yet,” Eliza said. “And as I said. I can’t tell you that he’s dirty for a fact. It’s merely and only my opinion. One that Dane doesn’t share—at least for the moment. I’m judgmental, what can I say? Dane is more tolerant.” She said the last with a shrug.
“Your instincts are good, Lizzie. I’ve never known you to be wrong about someone. So if you think he’s dirty, I’m certainly willing to believe the same. And if he is dirty then what the hell is his connection to Gracie? Because you didn’t see his eyes when I said her name. She’s not just a faceless artist he gives gallery space to in order to display her work. And he clammed up quick when I started asking questions about her.”
Pink dusted her cheeks and warmth reflected in her gaze at his assessment—confidence—in her skills. Lizzie, like Beau and everyone at DSS, were just good people. They’d certainly come along at a critical point in his life.
Instead of plunging recklessly into a risky career in law enforcement, one that came with a high possibility of burnout, he’d joined an elite agency. His job challenged him, made him focus on something other than the last twelve fucking years of his life. Made him feel as though he had a purpose instead of just going through the motions.
How ironic that just a couple of days earlier he had thought to himself, after a particularly bad night of tossing and turning, that perhaps it was time to let go—truly let go—and move on. Live his life and do something with it.
He didn’t have that luxury now. Because now he knew she was out there. Close. Close enough that he could have run into her at the grocery store, or gas station. God, how long had she been in such proximity to him?
“We’ll find her, Zack,” Eliza vowed. “But you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that she could run. The showing could and will likely be canceled. She obviously feels threatened by you. And, well, you need to prepare yourself for the fact that she . . . left you. Willingly. Because from my position, that’s what it’s starting to look like.”
Her words slid insidiously beneath his skin, cutting sharply to the very heart of him. Where Gracie lived, always a part of him, never leaving even if that’s exactly what she’d intended.
Grief, a very different kind of grief, welled up in his soul, suffocating, like a swollen storm cloud heralding the rain.
Never once had he even given thought to the possibility that she’d left him for the simple reason that she no longer loved him. He’d tortured himself endlessly with all the possible reasons she’d vanished, as though she’d never existed at all. Maybe he had been the only person who’d ever cared about her. So why would she reject him and everything he’d ever promised her?
What earth-shattering event had caused two lives to be permanently altered, damaged, never to truly heal?