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Chapter 66
The sound of lapping water greeted Gracie’s ears as she began to wake up. A toilet? She opened her eyes. Everything was blurry. She blinked. It didn’t help.
Neither did trying to lift her head. So heavy. That sounded the alarm that sent adrenaline racing into her body, the shot of which sparked her blood and woke her up.
Where was she? The cabin. The woods. Layla. She needed to do something.
Her body delivered a staggered situational report. Dry throat. Pounding headache. Aching arms. Probably because her hands were tied behind her back to her legs. Trussed up.
She rocked, brought up her head. Her vision did a vertigo flip. Then settled. Her eyes watered. She blinked away tears and the room washed into focus. She was on the floor, half her body on an Oriental rug, upper half pressed against the scarred wooden floor of the cabin.
Layla must’ve dragged her inside. The water sound was a fountain on the floor. A meditating Buddha with water flowing from the center of a lotus flower nestled in his lap. Disturbing.
The room was old-lady-having-an-English-tea-party style, with Victorian seating and lamps and enough dust to make her nose wrinkle. It was dimly lit by one fringed lamp on an end table near the couch.
She turned her head to take in more of the room and saw him. Tyler. He paced the floor to her left, talking to himself.
“Tyler?” Her voice sounded as grim as she felt.
He pivoted in her direction. Gun in hand. Tears lined his face. “Why? Why did you do it?”
“Ty—”
“Why!” He pointed the gun at her.
Gracie’s mind came online with a jolt. “What you saw was fake. Your family is okay. Listen to me.”
He wiped tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, the very hand holding the gun. “Done listening to you.”
Gracie’s heart trampled through her throat like a bull through anyone careless enough to get in its way during the run of Pamplona. “Be careful with that gun. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
He snorted a desperate sounding, agonized laugh. “You want me alive, but you don’t get it. I’m not alive anymore. You took them. You took me. You—”
His voice broke. He began to sob. The weapon went down, pointed toward his own feet.
“Tyler. No. Listen—”
“Shut up!” He pointed the gun at her again.
Realizing as the cold calculation of her training washed the panic from her body that she wasn’t going to convince him of the truth, Gracie came up with a new plan. Ty was in no place to believe her. He wasn’t able to distance himself from the beliefs that had been so carefully installed in his head. She had to try something else. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please. You’re not a killer. You don’t want to hurt me.”
He laughed. The gun shook in his hand. He nodded. “You’re right.” He pointed the gun at his head.
“No!” A spasm ran through Gracie’s body.
Tears streamed down his face now. “This is what you wanted. Me. You killed them for me. Now you get nothing. Spend your whole life in jail. Empty.”
No, no, no. She had to stop him. She had to do something. Fuck! She rocked on the floor, tried to get closer to him. She couldn’t even fucking move.
Something. Something. Make him angry. Make him point that weapon anywhere but at himself. Point it at her. “They deserved it. Those fucking idiots. Especially that little one. Stupid fuck. Kept asking for you. I enjoyed killing him.”
Fury took over the pain in Tyler’s eyes. He jerked the weapon away from his head, aimed at her, and shot and shot and shot.
Chapter 67
The woods had a lot of unsettling noises at night, places a foot could be put wrong, but nothing made Dusty as afraid as this walking, getting farther and farther away from the woman he loved.
He needed to get that vest off Cee and head back to Gracie. He’d been able to take several glances at the device. It was held on by Velcro. Knowing he’d need to get it off quickly, no telling how well his jammer would work and what kind of intrusion work-around Layla might’ve setup, he’d already tried to get information from Cee about the device.
How much it weighed. If she could see a clock or certain wires. No surprise that she’d only been able to answer with “I’m not allowed to answer that.”
Didn’t matter. The questioning itself had given information—how closely they were being monitored. Verbally? Like a hawk. Visually? Not so much.
Because while he’d asked his questions, he’d altered his direction. He shifted course to the left and then to the right, subtly, not overtly. Whoever was monitoring didn’t flag it or tell Cee to “Stay this course. Do this.”
In addition, the guy had never asked him to remove his night vision goggles. Which probably meant he couldn’t see him that well. And if he wasn’t mistaken, there was a lag that had gotten a bit longer the deeper they went into the woods. Sometimes when Dusty asked his questions, Cee was able to get a whole word out before she’d then say, “I’m not allowed to answer that.” So whoever was operating this rig wasn’t close by. Good to know.
Dusty kept walking, talking up a storm, because he’d also noticed whoever monitored them seemed to get distracted by Dusty’s talking. Always knew what his uncle had called Dusty’s “chipmunk chatter” would come in handy one day. Voice had been a lot higher in those days.
He readied himself to put his plan into action, scanned up ahead, picked the perfect spot. Made sure there were no more mini-drones. There weren’t. Layla only had those suckers closer to the house. Slowing his pace, he waited for Cee to catch up.
He glanced back, got a visual, made sure she was in grabbing distance before he put a foot wrong and tripped over a root.
She gasped, bent over his prostrate body. The moment she bent, he reached up and flicked up her camera, so it showed trees and darkness.
Her eyes went wide and terrified. He put a finger to his lips and worked the straps that held the device. Pulled the Velcro off as he spoke, talked loudly over the noise. In a sense, using his own voice to jam the signal. “Fucking root. Did you hear that snap? I think that was my ankle.”
“Oh, it’s twisted,” she answered. “It looks bad.”
Quick kid.
“Yeah. Can you help me up?”
“I need to step back. I’m being told…”
Too late. Dusty flicked on his jammer, got her out of the vest, tossed it and the helmet into the woods. He rolled and bounced up from the ground, picked her up, and ran like the devil himself was after him.
Boom! The blast sent him sprawling. As he fell, he shifted to the side to avoid crushing the kid.
They lay in the dirt. Gasping. Sore. She was up a half second before him, looking around the woods as if expecting an enemy. “You did it.”
He stood on slightly wobbly legs. She hugged him. He hugged her back, then held her away from him so he could make sure she wasn’t injured. “You okay?”
She nodded, though he could see she was bleeding. Looked minor. “Okay, Cee. Gotta work fast here.” He took off his bullet-proof vest, put it on her. “And take this two-way and these night vision goggles.”
She tightened the vest. “But how will you see?”
“Take them and walk north. The two-way is set to the right channel, but don’t use it unless you really need to. Whoever strapped that bomb to you might think you’re dead, but not if they pick up your signal. You’ll find a car there. An Expedition. The guy inside, the guy on the other end of this two-way, is named Victor.”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll go, but you take the goggles. There’s tripwire set up near the house. I don’t know where.”
“How many guards?”
“Two. And one of them is huge.” She pulled back a little. “Even bigger than you.”
Bigger than him? Wasn’t sure s
he could see so well in the dark, but he’d take her word on it. “Okay. I’ll take the glasses. You take the two-way, call Victor.”
Distant gunshots ended their conversation. “Go!” Cee shouted.
And he ran. His arms pumped. His body fought for speed. Every obstacle came into focus. He jumped branches, roots. His heart pounded. And he prayed. Grace. Please Lord, give me Grace. Don’t let me be too late. Please.
Chapter 68
Gracie’s body convulsed at the thuck, thuck, thuck impact of each of the bullets being fired into the floor around her. They stopped. The echoes faded. And the smell of gunpowder filled the room. Gracie worked to unclench her locked jaw. Then she opened her eyes.
Tyler had lowered the gun. He stared at her. His face a mask of fear, confusion, and hope. He sucked in snot. “You said they were alive.”
