“No. The others didn’t ask questions like you.”
Is that a good or bad thing?
She prayed it was the former.
He took another step, close enough now that she could smell the faint trace of aftershave mixed with sweat and something metallic. Grace dragged in a shaky breath and pressed forward. “Does it bother you that I’m asking questions?”
“No. It doesn’t.” Something shifted in his expression. “George. My name is George.”
A fragile spark of hope flickered. He was talking.
“That’s a nice name, George.”
The change in him was instant. His face twisted, fury exploding so fast she recoiled. “Nice name? Nice name! It’s not a nice name! It’s a name that got me laughed at in school! Did she care that she gave me a stupid name? No!”
Spittle flew from his lips as his voice rose, his whole body vibrating with rage. Grace’s heart rate sped up out of control. “I’m sorry.”
He advanced another step, and the look in his eyes stripped away any illusion she’d gained ground.
“You have no idea what sorry is. Sorry? That’s a joke. Do you know what she did? How she sold herself for drugs while tossing me spare change and telling me to go to the movies while she entertained men? Then, when I got home, she was so high that she couldn’t even feed me. Instead of buying food for her own son, she poured everything into poisoning herself.”
His arm shot upward, the knife glinting above his head. Grace’s breath shattered into a scream. Then the world exploded.
The door behind George burst inward with a deafening crash. Shouts filled the room. George spun, and gunfire thundered through the enclosed space, each blast rattling through her bones. His body jerked as bullets tore into him, red spraying across the wall behind him. For one suspended second, he remained upright, eyes wide with shock, before collapsing beside the table in a lifeless heap.
Grace kept screaming. She didn’t realize the sound was coming from her until another voice broke through the chaos.
“Grace! Grace! It’s me! Hush! You’re all right!”
Sean.
Her gaze snapped toward him. His face swam through her tears, his eyes locked on hers with fierce focus as he reached for her. His hands cupped her face, forcing her attention to him. “Grace, look at me. It’s okay. I’m here.”
The terror convulsing through her began to loosen beneath the sound of his voice. Her restraints fell away, and somewhere beyond him she registered Brian, Rafe, and Detective Lynch moving through the room, but all she could truly see was Sean.
The second her arms were free, sobs tore loose from her chest. Sean slid one arm beneath her knees and another behind her back, lifting her against him as if she weighed nothing. She buried her face against his shoulder and clung to him, his heartbeat pounding beneath her ear—strong, steady, and real.
As he carried her from the room, the truth finally broke through the haze of fear. It was over. She was safe. And she never wanted him to let her go again.
Epilogue
Sean sat beside Grace in the Labor and Delivery waiting room at the hospital in Little Creek, Virginia, his hand wrapped around hers as they waited with Bonnie and Dan for the newest Malone to make her debut.
Moriah had been in labor for nine hours. Nine long hours, and still no sign of the next generation of Malones.
She’d woken KC at four that morning, and his frantic text had gone out soon after. By the time Sean and Grace joined the family convoy heading north, the sun had barely climbed over the horizon. They’d arrived just after nine.
Now it was after one. And they were still waiting.
Sean’s thumb brushed across the back of Grace’s hand, his touch almost constant these past three days. Since pulling her from George Wallace’s makeshift torture room, he’d found himself reaching for her without thinking—his hand on her shoulder, his fingers threaded through hers, or his arm around her waist whenever she stood close enough.
He needed the contact, the reassurance that she was here. Alive. Safe.
Even now, with her seated beside him in the waiting room, some part of him still expected to wake from the nightmare and find himself racing toward that house again, praying he wasn’t too late.
The television mounted in the corner droned through a local news segment, but Sean barely heard it. His mind drifted to the case and everything they’d uncovered since Wallace’s death.
Grace’s account of what the man had said, combined with the evidence recovered from his upstairs lair and the background investigation Philadelphia PD had pieced together, had painted a grim picture of how George Wallace became what he was.
