The Sleuth Will Set You Free - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Thirty-Two

"Mom!"

At first, I was sure that they were my words. I was sure I had said it, because that was all that kept going through my mind—Mom, Mom, Mom, over and over and over. I thought it had been me, but when my mother let go of Dad's hand and ran to Grandma, I knew that I had thought wrong.

Mom ran into Grandma's arms, landing with such strength and certainty and undeniable longing that I was surprised Grandma didn't fall over. It knocked the wind right out of her, but once Grandma got her bearings again, she held on tight, and I didn't think she would ever let go. Which was just as well, because I didn't think Mom would ever let her.

Grandma is a lot of things. She's ex-CIA. She's a headmistress. She's a wife and a friend and a sister by many meanings of the word, but there, her daughter in her arms, she was unapologetically human. "You're alive," she breathed. "You're alive."

"I'm sorry," Mom mumbled into Grandma's shoulder. "I'm so, so sorry. I wanted to call you. I wanted to call so many times, but—"

"But it would have blown your cover," finished the familiar voice of my grandfather. He seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, or maybe he just existed everywhere. Surely the Joe Solomon was capable of such a thing. "That's what this was, right? You needed to lay low? To make sure that certain people thought you were dead?"

Mom pulled away for face him, an act which Grandma didn't seem to appreciate very much. She gave a nervous chuckle, rubbing one hand over the opposite arm. She shrugged. "Learned from the best, I guess."

Grandpa Joe shook his head. "I didn't teach you this, Cammie," he said, cool. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought that he wasn't angry beyond belief. Except I did know better. Boy, did I know better. "We've been looking for you."

Mom didn't try to joke this time. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Thought you were dead," he went on.

"Joe, I'm—"

"Your dad was my best friend, Cam," he said, not letting her get another word in—or better yet, not letting her give another excuse. "I lost him to the Circle. I did it. And now, I've had to spend the past year wondering if I lost you to the same people." He shook his head again, like he was too tired from looking at her, so he dropped his gaze. "We really thought you were gone this time."

She nodded, slowly, like she wasn't quite sure of herself. "That's what I needed," she said. "For you to be safe. You needed to think I was gone—for good."

Okay. So at this point, I should probably mention that I don't fight with my mother. I fight with Dad all the time—that's just kind of how we do things—but Mom? No way. Nuh uh. No thank you. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't dare raise my voice at her, but I firmly believe that absolutely nothing about that night could be considered normal. "So that's it then?" I said. "You were just going to leave? Take off and never see us again, without so much as a goodbye?"

If Mom saw the fire in me, then she didn't react accordingly. Normally, people would brace themselves. Prepare themselves for the explosions that Morgan Goode was capable of. My mother did no such thing. When she looked at me, I was three-years-old again—a toddler throwing her tantrums.

"Hey, kiddo," she said with an exhausted smile. She looked happy to see me, which she totally shouldn't have. When she started to close the gap between us, I held my ground, not willing to help (but not exactly willing to take a step back, either). She pointed to my chest and said, "I see you got my message."

I looked down, watching my mother's pewter pendant catching the light of the room as it swung. I only had it by luck. The chain had slowly been falling apart, so much so that it had almost disappeared on Dock Twelve. Thankfully someone had picked it up and—