by Susan Stoker
There was a security camera pointed right at him. He’d noticed it as soon as he’d walked up to the large porch in front of the house. Logan stood ramrod straight with his hands folded in front of him, waiting to see if the door would even open. He had his doubts.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, but was probably only about thirty seconds, the door creaked open and Logan came face-to-face with a man who had to be a butler. He was around seventy or so and his deep frown paired with the permanent wrinkles on his withered face made him look meaner than a snake.
“Yes. Can I help you?”
“My name is Logan Anderson. I’m a friend of Grace’s. I heard she’s been sick and I came to check on her. See how she is. See if I can do anything for her.”
“Miss Grace has been feeling under the weather, but I believe her parents are providing all the assistance she needs.”
The man went to shut the door, but Logan was faster. He put his foot in the doorway and his hand on the door. “Please. She has a lot of people who are worried about her. I know everyone would feel better if I could just see her for a moment. I don’t want to bother her, or her parents, and I certainly don’t want to make her feel worse, but I feel as if I wouldn’t be a good ambassador for her friends if I didn’t at least give her our best wishes in person.”
Logan hoped the old man would hear the idle threat in his words.
He did.
He took a step back from the door and gestured for Logan to come inside. “If you would kindly follow me, I will notify Mrs. Mason that you are here to inquire about Miss Grace. If she thinks it is in her daughter’s best interest to get out of bed and meet with you, they will be down shortly.”
The man’s words were completely polite, but it was the tone that got to Logan. The butler was irritated that he’d had to let Logan inside, but he didn’t give a shit. He was going to see and talk to Grace no matter what. An old man wasn’t going to stop him.
He followed the butler down a hallway filled with portraits of unsmiling men on the walls, into a dark room that looked like it was seldom used. There was an uncomfortable looking antique couch against one wall. The floor was a dark wood, and the curtains on the large window were a heavy red velvet. Two chairs, a bookcase filled with books on one wall, and a side table furnished the rest of the room.
“Make yourself comfortable. It might be awhile. If Miss Grace is healthy enough to come out of her room, she will need to make herself presentable.” The man bowed his head, then left Logan in the room, closing the door behind him.
Logan eyed the room, finding what he’d been expecting. In the corner, high on the ceiling, was a security camera. Knowing he was being watched, Logan wandered the room, acting nonchalant. He checked out the titles of the books on the shelves, mostly nonfiction, looked out the window at the immaculate grounds outside, and paced.
In the three years he’d known Grace in high school, Logan had never been to her parents’ house. They’d always met in the library at the high school for his tutoring sessions, or had seen each other at whatever sporting event was going on. He’d thought he’d known all there was to know about Grace, but he’d been so wrong. He knew she lived in the huge house on the outskirts of Castle Rock and had money, but he didn’t know exactly how rich her family was. Logan would bet everything he owned that there were maids, a cook, and probably even a few drivers residing in the house somewhere.
Logan regretted not getting to know more about her back then. He’d been all about himself, drinking up her sympathy and attention, and not bothering to try to find out anything about Grace herself. Not once did she ever tell him she was unhappy. And Logan suddenly realized that it wasn’t her style. She spent their time together trying to make him smile, trying to make sure he was all right. It was just one of the things he liked about her. Then and now.
He tried to look calm on the outside as he waited for Grace to appear, but on the inside he was seething. He simply couldn’t picture her living here. She was so fresh, so unassuming. She’d given him no indication when they were teenagers that she cared about the money her folks had. Yes, she was always wearing designer clothes, and she had a nice BMW back then, but she didn’t act like she was better than him, or anyone else at the school.
Without judging him, she’d listened to him go on and on about how horrible his mother was and how much he hated being at home. She’d commiserated with him when he’d told her that his mom sometimes bought booze instead of food. She’d even encouraged him to join the Army when he graduated, if only to get away from his home life.
Not once had Logan guessed that she lived in such a stifled environment. That she was desperate for her parents’ love. She was too . . . vibrant to live in a tomb like this one.
The door behind him creaked as it opened, and Logan spun around.
Margaret Mason stood at the door, her arms folded in front of her demurely.
“Good afternoon, Logan. It is pleasant to see you after all these years. I am sorry about your parents’ passing.”
The words were polite and modulated, but Logan couldn’t hear any sort of emotion behind them. There wasn’t sympathy. No sincerity. It was obvious she frankly didn’t give one whit that his parents were dead.
“Thank you, Mrs. Mason. It’s been a difficult time for sure.”
“You and your brothers are back in town for good then?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Logan didn’t elaborate.
“Mmmm. Grace will be down in a bit. As you know, she’s not been feeling well and needs to change into more appropriate clothing to greet visitors. She was in bed sleeping, of course.”
“I understand. I appreciate your allowing her to visit with me.” Logan hated the words, but knew they had to be said. It was more than obvious that this woman ruled the house. If she didn’t want Grace to talk to him, then she wouldn’t. It was that simple. He was very aware of how she’d kept his letters from Grace all those years ago, and he wanted to rail at her for it, but he held his tongue. For the first time, he realized how Grace might feel. She probably wanted to defy her mother, but knew the power the woman had over her. It was definitely eye-opening, and suddenly, Logan was actually thankful for the first time in his life that his mother only physically abused him instead of manipulating and emotionally blackmailing him and his brothers. He knew what he’d gone through was easier to deal with in some ways than what Grace had been, and still was, experiencing.
“I’d offer you some refreshments, but with the way Grace is feeling, I know the smell of tea and scones would only make her nauseous. You understand, I’m sure.”
Logan gritted his teeth. “Of course. I won’t keep her too long. Her friends and I are just concerned about her well-being.”
Margaret tittered. “I’m not sure what you think is going on here, young man. Grace’s father and I aren’t keeping her prisoner. She’s simply not feeling well. Luckily, she was visiting us when she fell ill and wasn’t alone at her apartment.”
“Good to hear. I’m looking forward to talking with her.”
After another ten minutes, which seemed like ten hours as Logan tried to make small talk with Margaret Mason, the door slid open another few inches, and Grace stepped into the room.
Logan’s first thought was that she, indeed, didn’t look well. Her face was pale and she had dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was back in its customary bun, although Logan much preferred the more relaxed ponytail she was wearing the last time she saw him. She was wearing a pair of black slacks, her usual heels, and a green silky blouse that buttoned up the front.
He eyed her critically. All in all she looked normal. Put together. Polished. Other than the circles under her eyes, her face didn’t show any evidence that she’d been beaten. The skin around her neck was blemish free. Of course, bruises could be hidden under her clothes, but she walked toward him without a limp, showing him that her legs and hips were just fine. Overall, she looked like a young woman who’d simply been under the weather f
or the last few days . . . just as her mother had said.
She walked straight up to him and stopped, looking up with wide eyes. “Hello, Logan. It’s nice of you to stop by.”
Her words were polite, and emotionless. It was as if Logan were looking at a Stepford Grace instead of the vibrant young woman he remembered from a few nights ago.
“Hi, Grace. How are you?”
“I’ve been better.”
“Let’s sit,” Logan told her, taking her hands in his own. They were ice cold. He frowned as he led her to the antique couch, the only place in the room he could sit next to her.
Margaret Mason moved to settle on one of the chairs next to the couch, well within hearing distance.
“Can you give us a moment?” Logan asked politely, even though he really wanted to tell her to give them some space.
“Oh, just ignore me. I just want to make sure that Grace doesn’t overdo it. You know how she is . . . always thinking she can push herself. I don’t want her to have a relapse.”
Again, the words sounded concerned and polite, but there was an ugly undertone that Logan didn’t understand. He wanted to talk to Grace without her mother around, but unless he wanted to bodily pick up Mrs. Mason and throw her out of the room, something that wouldn’t help him actually get to talk to Grace, he needed to play it cool. That pissed him off. He hated being manipulated by the other woman.
Logan sat on the couch and angled his body toward Grace. He’d purposely seated her so her back was to her mother, sitting nearby. Margaret could see his face easily, but not Grace’s.
“You have the flu?”
Grace shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s probably a virus of some kind.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Of course. Mother called the family physician. He examined me and said that whatever it was should run its course in a week or so.”
“Hmmmm. Felicity stopped by your office and was surprised to hear you were sick.”
Logan watched Grace carefully, studying her body language. Her hands were in her lap, clutching each other. She didn’t fidget, she didn’t shift at all. She looked composed and in control . . . except for her hands. Her knuckles were white with the strength she was using to hold onto herself. And the pulse in her neck was beating so hard, Logan could clearly see it. Those were the only outward signs that something wasn’t right. But they were like huge blinking banners for him. She was practically screaming at him to help her, but he couldn’t. Not when he didn’t know what was wrong.
“I appreciate that. Please thank her for me,” Grace told Logan without changing her facial expression.
“Is there anything we can do for you?”
“No, thank you. My parents are taking care of me, just as they always have. How are your brothers doing?”
Logan wasn’t sure why she was asking, but he knew the more time he spent with Grace, the more clues he might get as to what was really going on. He felt in his gut that everything wasn’t as it seemed. “They’re good. I was in Colorado Springs yesterday on a job, and Nathan drove me crazy with his constant texts. I swear the man is connected to his cell. He wouldn’t know what to do without his gadgets.”
“I hope everything is all right.”
“All right? Oh, with the job?” He waited for her to nod, then reassured her. “Yeah. The client merely needed an escort to a court appearance. Her ex was bullying her and she just needed to show him that she had someone on her side. It works most of the time with bullies. Once they see that the person they’ve had under their thumb for so long isn’t afraid of them, and has someone to stand next to them, to fight for them, they slink away.”
It was ballsy of him, but Logan couldn’t have stopped the words if his life depended on it. He wanted Mrs. Mason to know that he had Grace’s back.
“I admire what you do, Mr. Anderson,” Margaret interjected, disapproval ringing clear in her words. “But if the young woman didn’t make the wrong decision to be with an inappropriate young man in the first place, she wouldn’t be in her current position. Correct?”
Logan tore his eyes away from Grace and turned to look at her mother. She had balls, he had to give her that. “Maybe, maybe not. The man could’ve acted one way toward her at the beginning of their relationship, but changed once he had her under his thumb. But regardless of how it happened and whose fault it might’ve been, it’s never okay for one human being to bully another. Period.”
Margaret didn’t say anything, merely shrugged and gave him a fake half smile. Logan turned back to Grace, and noticed, in the short time he’d been talking to her mother, she’d moved. Only slightly, and if he hadn’t been examining her so carefully earlier, he wouldn’t have noticed.
Her hands were still clasped together in her lap, but she’d shifted so that one of her sleeves was pushed back a couple of inches.
“What are your symptoms? Have you been able to eat anything?” Logan didn’t really care about Grace’s answer, but wanted to keep her talking while he observed her.
She answered him in the same soft monotone voice, but he ignored it, trying to understand what Grace was obviously trying to tell him with her actions. There was some redness on the wrist she’d exposed, but no bruising. There was a line of what looked like a rug burn over the top of her hand, and another line right below her wrist. That was it. No finger marks, nothing that would scream to him that she was being held against her will.
“. . . appreciate it.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Logan asked, having missed what she was saying.
She smiled at him then. A polite vacant smile that she might’ve bestowed on any stranger she met on the street. “I said, thanks for coming by. I appreciate it.”
Mrs. Mason stood up, and Grace followed her lead, leaving Logan no choice but to stand as well. “Thank you for caring about our daughter enough to stop by, Mr. Anderson. It means a lot to us that she has such caring friends.”
“Grace has a lot of people who worry about her. I’m just glad it’s nothing more serious. You’ll get in touch with Felicity, won’t you, Grace? I’ll tell her that I saw you today, but you really should talk to her yourself.”
“I will. When I’m feeling up to it.”
Logan couldn’t stand it anymore. He leaned forward and took Grace into his arms in what he hoped looked to her mother merely like a friendly hug. He wanted to whisper in her ear that she wasn’t alone, that he’d figure out whatever was going on, but he couldn’t. Not while her mother hovered nearby. Instead he pressed the fingers of one hand into the small of her back and wrapped the other around the nape of her neck, making sure his thumb brushed against her invisible tattoo just as he’d done the other night at the gym.
“Take care of yourself, Smarty. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. You’d be missed,” Logan told her earnestly.
“Thank you.” The two words were a breath of sound next to his ear rather than actually sounds spoken out loud, but Logan heard them loud and clear.
He pulled back and put his hands on her shoulders. The pulse in her neck was still beating incredibly hard, and Logan felt her clutch his sides for a moment before her hands dropped and she stepped away from him.
“Feel better soon,” he said lamely.
“I’m sure I will.”
“Come on, Grace. It’s time you got back to bed,” Margaret said in a no-nonsense tone. “I don’t want you to have a relapse. Your father is waiting for you. He’ll help you back upstairs and get you comfortable again.”
Grace swallowed once, then dropped her gaze to the floor before walking toward the door. She looked back once, and the hair on the back of Logan’s neck stood up once more. It was the look of a woman who wanted to hope for the best, but was expecting nothing but the worst.
Remembering the silly thing he used to do when they were in high school that always made her smile, Logan looked her in the eyes and gave her a small chin lift. She didn’t smile, but bit her lip, even as her eyes filled with t
ears, and returned his gesture with a similar one before turning around and exiting the room.
When Grace had left, Logan reluctantly turned to Mrs. Mason. He had to play this out. “Thank you for letting me see your daughter. She means a lot to me and her friends.”
“Of course. As I already stated, she’s not a prisoner. I am merely concerned about her health. That’s all. Maybe you should call before you come over next time. I know it took a lot out of Grace to change so she could look presentable.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you again. I can see myself out.”
“Nonsense. James will do that.”
Logan wanted to roll his eyes. Of course the butler’s name was James. He merely nodded and followed Mrs. Mason out of the room. The old man was waiting for them, and Logan thanked Grace’s mother once more before following James to the front door.
He wanted to tear out of the driveway as if the hounds of hell were after him, but forced himself to drive sedately. As soon as he turned onto the street in front of the house, he picked up his phone and dialed.
“How’d it go?” Nathan asked, not bothering to say hello.
“She’s in trouble.”
“Why, what happened?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when I get to the office. Call Cole. And Felicity.”
“Will do. Did you see her?”
“Yeah.”
“And? Give me something, man,” Nathan said testily.
“I don’t know. She said all the right words, but she was terrified,” Logan told his brother.
“Of what? You?”
“Not exactly. For me, maybe. Of her mother, definitely. Give me forty minutes or so. I need to shower. Get the stink of that house and that woman off me.”
“That bad?” Nathan asked, sympathy easy to hear in his voice.
“That bad,” Logan confirmed.
“No problem. Blake is on his way in anyway, and I’ll get Cole and Felicity. Anyone else we need to pull in?”
“Not right now. I don’t have anything concrete, only my hunch. And that’s not enough for anything official. But I’ll tell you something, bro. She’s getting out of that fucking house. One way or another.”