I put the phone to my ear, wandering away from the music and chattering.
“Hello, Mia Spencer speaking,” I answered the unknown caller professionally, happy it wasn’t the hotel. Maybe it was the president this time.
“Mia Spencer?” a formal sounding voice asked.
“This is she,” I replied, something settling in my stomach.
“Ms. Spencer, this is Officer Santos of the Washington, DC PD,” he said.
My heart turned to lead and I had trouble swallowing. I knew. Something bad had happened. Police officers didn’t just call for a chat. I tasted bile. What if he had found us? And this cop was on his payroll? I struggled to contain my fear. I looked at the back of my daughter’s head. I’d die before letting him find her.
“What can I do for you, officer?” I asked, trying to sound strong.
My eyes met Zane’s, and his didn’t hold anger. They were latched onto me with something akin to concern. He watched my every move.
“Ms. Spencer, I’m sorry to have to tell you this over the phone, but Mr. and Mrs. Thorndon had you down as their next of kin,” he said softly.
I jerked, not expecting this to be the topic of the conversation. I felt the world tilt and I struggled to stay upright. “Are they,” I choked. “Are they okay?” I asked, more liked pleaded him to tell me.
There was a pause. A small one. But one that made my heart break in two.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Spencer, they were murdered last night. We found them this morning.” His voice held sorrow but a distance, like a man who had done this a hundred times before.
My head pounded and I failed to let his words sink in. “No, you have it wrong. I just spoke to them yesterday, it’s not them,” I protested desperately. I started pacing. It couldn’t be them. It had to be a mistake. They were the only family I had. The only family Lexie and I had.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Spencer.” The voice held finality.
It hit me then; it sank in. They were gone. Murdered. My legs gave out from under me at that point and I collapsed into a chair that was perfectly placed. Otherwise I would have fallen to the ground. The cop may have been still talking. I couldn’t hear him. I couldn’t hear anything apart from the beating in my chest. The ripping, the soul-wrenching pain. My breath came in pants.
My phone was ripped from my ear and Zane crouched in front of me. His huge form took up all of my vision. I focused on it. On his vest. On his strong arms, his tattoos, the thick cords of muscle in his neck. The day’s worth of stubble on his jaw hiding his goatee slightly. Then I met his eyes, which were locked on me as he barked into the phone. I didn’t move my gaze from them. They were my anchor, stopping me from toppling over the abyss.
“Who the fuck is this?” he demanded, half shouted.
There was a silence and Zane listened, his body taut.
“Murdered,” I whispered, my voice broken, tortured. I was saying it to myself, tasting the foulness of the word on my tongue when I verbalized it.
Zane flinched when I spoke.
Murdered. How could the two most caring people I know be murdered?
My phone wasn’t in Zane’s hand anymore and his large hands spanned my neck, gripping it softly.
“Mia,” he began in a voice so tender I had to stare a moment to make sure it was him that actually spoke. It was. The rough, sometimes downright scary dude was speaking to me in a gentle, soft and comforting tone. His eyes were the same.
“Who would want to kill them?” I asked him desperately. “They’ve never hurt anyone in their entire lives. They’re grandparents, nice people. Ava bakes brownies. Who would want to hurt a grandma who bakes brownies?” I choked out. Though they may not have been blood, that’s what they were. They were my parents. The only grandparents Lexie ever knew. Ever would know.
Zane’s face hardened. It looked like he was going to say something, but a small voice beat him to it.
“Mom?”
I looked past Zane to see Lexie standing slightly behind him. Killian wasn’t far away, his expression grim.
Pain sliced through me at the sight of my daughter. The one who was almost always happy. Who, despite her father and the fact she had grown up without luxury, had a good childhood. Largely thanks to two people she doted on. Two people who I would have to tell her were gone. Her carefree life would be shattered and she’d feel a pain it was impossible to protect her from, shield her from.
I stood from the chair, finding my strength in my daughter. I needed it for her. Zane stayed close beside me.
“Dollface, let’s go home,” I said quietly, failing to disguise the anguish in my voice. I didn’t want her to have to hear this here, around so many unfamiliar faces. Granted, the faces of Gwen and Amy were locked on us in worry, as were the gazes of their husbands, but this was not something Lexie needed to go through with an audience.
I tried to gently direct her to the street but she stayed still.