The Price of Grace

by Diana Muñoz Stewart

  She came to the swing gate that marked John’s property and slowed to a stop, sweating and panting.

  Layla must be enjoying this. Gracie hadn’t seen any cameras, but a little way back instructions had started appearing on her phone that let her know she was being monitored.

  Normally, she wouldn’t get service up here, but her phone had been taken over, admitted into some kind of Wi-Fi network. Layla had obviously done that. As Gracie caught her breath, her text alert beeped. She read it. Leave the goggles on the road.

  She took a long look down the driveway, scanned as far as she could in the woods, before reaching up and pulling off her night vision. Her eyes blinked and adjusted as she bent and placed her googles on the ground before starting down the driveway—which was, thank God, downhill. She reduced her speed down the half-mile, mostly because she couldn’t see very well.

  When she saw the cabin lights, she slowed to a walk and did some recon. One person on the distant porch. Layla. She spotted no one else, but she couldn’t see very far into the woods without her NVG. Surely Layla had at least one person covering her. Probably more.

  She might not be in the best shape of her life, but Gracie still had above-average conditioning and her breathing quickly evened out. Too bad she couldn’t control her sweating as easily. Her clothes, black cargo pants and shirt, clung to her sweat-soaked body. She wiped her face with her hand and swung at the swarm of gnats circling her head like a rain cloud.

  “Stop right there.”

  Gracie startled and stopped. The disembodied voice had come from a small device attached to a tree.

  “Strip.”

  “Is that necessary? You must have sensors.”

  “Strip.”

  Crazy person. Gracie pulled off her boots, struggled out of her sweat-drenched pants, lifted off her shirt, and stood there in her bra and panties. She twirled to show she had no weapons and wasn’t wired.

  “You have a tattoo?”

  “Can I put my clothes back on?”

  “What does it mean?”

  The calmness of Layla’s voice turned Gracie’s blood to ice. This was a game to her. “Why do you care?”

  “If you tell me, I’ll tell you where Cee is.”

  Gracie’s heart started to pound. Cee. Was she close? The yellow lights of the cabin fell across Layla, but she wasn’t close enough to read the expression hidden by the woman’s baseball cap. “I got the tattoo when I was fifteen. My sister Justice”—the one who shared no blood with her but was her sister—“and I snuck out.”

  “You ran away?”

  “Yeah. For two weeks. And in that time, we got into a lot of trouble. I met a tattoo artist. She started the tattoo. It was supposed to symbolize my take on the world, grab the sin, the apple, the bad decision, and don’t let go.”

  “Bold. You said started it.”

  She didn’t want to answer this lunatic’s questions, but as long as she was calm and paying attention to Gracie, she wasn’t paying attention to Dusty coming in the back way. “Yeah. We were caught, had an incident with a stolen vehicle. Anyway, I had it finished later.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Cee is in the woods. Does that make you feel better?”

  It should. It didn’t. “Is she alive? Injured?”

  “Actually, she’s been doing a good job of following instructions. And judging by where your friend Dusty is, he should come across her soon. She’s wearing an explosive vest. It’s a booby trap. I wish you’d come alone. That’s going to be hell for me to clean up. Don’t worry, though, I have a plan.”

  Gracie had to swallow over the boulder of anger that had avalanched into her throat. Cee was rigged with explosives? Dusty would have his hands full trying to disarm that device. And she wouldn’t let herself think of any other outcome, but that meant he was out of the plan. Ty was at the house, and she had no idea if someone was guarding him. She also had to assume Dusty hadn’t yet sent Victor the signal.

  So she had no weapon. No idea of how many people were working with Layla—though she’d wager a guess the two big guys that had been at her club would probably be here—and she still needed to deal with the psycho on the porch.

  Crud. She needed a new plan. Fast.

  “Can I get dressed?”

  “Yes. Please do. I’m starting to feel self-conscious. You can come the rest of the way to the house. I’m on the porch. I just want to talk.”

  Funny. Hysterically funny. “Good. That’s what I want too.”

  And to kick your crazy ass.

  Chapter 64

  Walking through the woods any time of the day, but especially on an overcast night, was a skill. Dusty knew well the minuscule adjustments and awareness a person needed to avoid tripping or getting caught up in brush. He’d learned this from his Uncle Harvey, who’d had a negligent parenting style and a big woodsy property filled with old junk.

  Once you’ve tripped over a car bumper in the dark, you learn to look after yourself in those woods. After his overbearing father, it had been a blessing to be alone. Uncle Harvey had understood that. Still, he’d gotten lost many times. Never once scared him, though.

  But he was scared now. Adjusting his night vision goggles, he glanced at the small device in the tree. Some kind of drone. It had definitely spotted him. Too bad he needed the battery on his jammer for when he got closer to the house.

  Despite himself, he was impressed with Layla. And incredibly freaked out. This was a different kind of war. One built not on knowledge of guns and warfare, but on technology and ones and zeros.

  He’d do his best with the skills he had and hope he got close enough to use them to stop that lunatic. Wouldn’t be easy without the benefit of surprise. Stalking forward with a quiet that said he expected her to send the cavalry or at least a big dog or two, he pulled up short when he saw the girl. A girl wearing a helmet. He knew her. Had met her at the house, at dinner. Cee.

  He moved forward with cautious strides, scanning the area as he went. No one in the woods. Just the kid. The kid’s helmet had a camera attached to it, and he’d guess some sensors.

  As he neared, he noticed something odd about the way she carried herself. “You okay?”

  She took a step back. Her lips tightened into a line of determination. “I’m”—she looked down at herself—“strapped with something.”

  Good Lord. Kid was rigged with explosives.

  Dusty took a deep, steadying breath. He didn’t know a lot about explosives, but a quick look told him that the wires and explosives were hidden inside the vest. Not easy to get at without setting it off.

  No wonder Cee shook like a leaf despite the fact that it was as hot as hell. A hell Layla was doomed to spend eternity in.

  Through his NVG, Dusty tried to get a better read on the wires and camera attached to her head. Not a timer. Not a wire trigger. Nope. A cell phone on the front said it was set to be remotely detonated.

  Cee jolted, and he heard a sound from the helmet. Not Layla’s voice. A man’s voice. Couldn’t make out what he’d said. “We have to leave the woods. Or else. If we get far enough, the device can’t be set off. We don’t have much time.”

  So some guy somewhere with an itchy trigger finger was in charge of this mess. Looked like his jammer was going to be needed a bit earlier than he’d intended. First things first. Figure out what kind of a visual this guy had on him. “Okay. You good to run?”

  “We can’t run. We have to walk. Or it’ll be set off right away. And you have to walk in front of me. Keep your hands up.”

  Okay. He had no choice but to leave these woods, walking. That meant even if he could get far enough away to save Cee, he wouldn’t make it back in time to help Gracie.

  He followed her directions, scanning the dark for more of those drone cameras. “No problem. So do you know who’s talking to you?”

 
“I—I’m not allowed to answer that.”

  That cleared up nothing. Fine. If there was one thing he was good at, it was a distracting conversation. “Ain’t it just a nice night for a walk in the woods?”

  He heard Cee make a small, pained sound. “I don’t want to die. But if you can save yourself…”

  She trailed off. Dusty’s heart filled with an unexpected and heavy weight. This was one brave kid. He shook his head. “That’s a nice offer and all but wouldn’t really be much of a life knowing I abandoned such a fine young person as yourself.”

  She sniffed an obviously runny nose. “I should’ve known better. I don’t deserve…”

  Aw, damn. “Sometimes you can’t outsmart Loki.”

  “Loki?”

  “Trickster god. And he’s got all sorts of minions. So sometimes you get tricked. Live and learn, my uncle Harvey always said. And then he’d tell me, ‘People always emphasize the learn part of that, son. But it’s really the live part that’s most important.’

  “I tend to agree. Live. Don’t really matter if you learn shit. As long as you can greet God at the end of your short life and tell him you lived without fear.”

  “I think I want to do both. Live and learn.”

  “Fine by me. Uncle Harvey died from too much chewing tobacco, so you might have a good point there.”

  She didn’t laugh, as he’d hoped. Instead, she said, with that soft Spanish accent, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  This kid. He didn’t know her whole story, but he knew she’d been trafficked. Mukta had rescued her. Fuck.

  He’d been fooling himself. There was no blurry line of morality. This was right. Rescuing this kid. “No worries. Harvey lived a big life. But here’s the thing—I’m pretty fast. Long legs and all. So you tell me if you have trouble keeping up.”

  He hoped she got what he was telling her. They might not be able to run, but they shouldn’t be moseying either.

  “Okay.”

  He picked up his pace. She didn’t say anything. He turned and saw her keeping up.

  Smart and brave. And now that he took a look at her eyes, alight through his NVG, he saw something else too. Yeah, she’d live and learn.

  And use her knowledge to change the world.

  Assuming whoever manned the controls on that thing wasn’t herding them far enough away from the cabin to blow them up.

  Chapter 65

  The driveway flattened out as Gracie neared the house. An old cabin with a stained rocker on the porch and the carcass of a bear would’ve been more appropriate for this scene.

  But Gracie stood before a faded Victorian cottage, almost gingerbread in its cuteness, wide wraparound porch, wicker rocking chairs, and though it was too dark to see now, the online photos had shown a cheery lavender-and-royal-purple color scheme.

  Large moths fluttered around the lights by the front door and tried to get inside through the screen door. Layla sat on a wooden footstool on the porch, a rifle with a scope pointed at Gracie. She looked very comfortable with the weapon.

  Great. Apparently, her sister was a computer genius and had experience with weapons.

  Up until that moment, Gracie hadn’t been sure she could kill this woman, her blood, if it came to it. She realized now she probably wouldn’t have a choice. She knew the look of a person way off the deep end, someone who thinks they are still totally in control.

  Layla wore camouflage from head to toe. Her eyes were wide, almost horror-movie wide, as if someone else had control of her body and she fought them internally. Her smile was coy. Her posture eager.

  All of this told Gracie a lot. This meant something to her. It wasn’t just about getting Gracie out of the way so that Layla’s father could be president. No. She wanted this. She was enjoying this.

  Layla’s blond ponytail bounced behind her camo baseball hat as she tracked Gracie. “That’s close enough. It took you a while to figure things out, huh? Even with Porter sending a hitman after you. Even though he’d made that mistake and put you on alert. Unbelievable how much I was able to mess with you. It kind of got boring.”

  Layla wanted to play games, brag about her genius. Of course. Gracie knew enough about the psychology of psychopaths—socially cunning, glib, high self-esteem—to know that this moment, this very second, Layla was thoroughly enjoying herself. “Where’s Ty?”

  “You’re not much of a sharer, are you?”

  “On the contrary, I’m glad to sit down with you and have a long talk, as long as you give a little to get. How is Ty?”

  Her hands slick with sweat, Gracie could practically feel the heat from the red dot of a laser pointed at her head. Layla squinted through her sight at her. “Did you know you’re who I should have been? You’re her.”

  She’d been right. Helping her father and his career was secondary to the slight to Layla’s ego. “Where’s Ty?”

  “Inside.” She smiled, a wide, elegant grin, the kind of smile a politician would covet. “He’s a good kid. Too bad you don’t really know him. He says it doesn’t matter to him. He says he’s happy. That should mean something.”

  Layla was trying to manipulate her. Gracie knew she mattered to Tyler. She knew because that’s how Layla had been able to abuse and manipulate his trust. “You’re really enjoying this.”

  “Of course. This is why I did it. This moment right here. I could’ve just tried to kill you like my stupid brother. But this moment, this electric, delicious moment where you are helpless and I’m one step away from ending this nightmare has been worth all of my trouble.”

  Apparently Layla had seen the movie, the ending where the villain reveals the master plan, and decided that that was it, that was her big life goal. This too was the typical grandiose mindset of a psychopath. “I have to admit, I’m impressed. Brava. But if you don’t mind, sestra, I want to see Tyler.”

  “Don’t fucking call me that! You will do what I want. When I want it. You need to hear me.”

  The change in Layla’s demeanor was instant and intense. A light switch being thrown in the dark. No longer casual and calm, but angry and determined and bent on revenge. Maybe Gracie could use this. Her plan, the one she’d just devised, required she get an invite into the house. She needed to get close enough to Layla to disarm her. “Look, I’m your prisoner. I will do whatever you want. Hands up. Lips shut tight. As long as you let me see—”

  “I used analytics to track your son through the internet, to watch where he went, to gauge who he was. I tailored content to him, lured him into asking the question: ‘Can I find my mom?’ I even wrote articles about how to track down a birth parent. And he paid me for the privilege. Of course, he thought he was paying a private detective ten thousand dollars to find his mother.”

  Layla laughed. It was a light and tinkling sound, and it chilled Gracie’s blood. It was a laugh coated in the delusions of a brilliant but unhinged mind.

  “Once he knew who you were, I hired someone to follow him. To mimic you, what you were doing when you’d set out and stalk him in Manayunk, but to be a little more obvious. You’re very good at not being spotted. I’m better. At everything.”

  Oh, God. No wonder Ty had waved. He’d paid for information, had tried to find out about her, been looking for her. The volcano of Gracie’s skin stayed cold and under control, but inside, she was panicking. This nutter was devious. She’d gone out of her way to manipulate Ty. “Why would you do that? Why involve him in this?”

  “Really? Didn’t think I’d have to explain something that obvious. You’ve been stalking him. You contacted him. Got him to give you $60,000 to help fund your vigilantes. You set him up on an expensive laptop in order to get him to help you—the location of which will be anonymously sent to the FBI—you lured him out here, and then when he realized what a nut you were, he tried to defend himself. And shot you dead.”

  Cold swept down Gr
acie’s body, freezing her to the spot. “You’re going to kill me and make it look like my son did it?”

  Layla tsked. “Simple minds conceive simple plans. He is going to kill you.”

  “Ty would never do that.”

  “Of course he would. You killed his parents. His mom. His dad. His little brother. Pretty awful of you.”

  She’d seen John a few hours ago. “They aren’t dead.”

  “No. But I made it look like they were. Showed him a video and everything. He was very upset. I slipped him a little sedative to calm him down. And to confuse him.”

  Gracie’s stomach rolled. Oh, Ty. “Seems to be a family trait. Drugging people. I get why your father did it. I don’t understand why you did this, risked this. You already set me up with the FBI to clear your father’s name. If you’d done nothing else, I would’ve gone down for a crime I didn’t commit. Or at least been charged with it and been embroiled in years of legal difficulties. Your father would probably be president before it was all said and done.”

  “Simplifying again. That was to take down your mother.” Layla emphasized the word “mother” so strongly that saliva shot from her mouth. “But you? You don’t get to fucking live. My dad has one daughter. One.”

  Rage glistened in her too-wide eyes. She looked like she wanted to shoot Gracie. She looked like murder.

  “It’s fine, Layla. It’s all good. You are his one daughter. I honestly don’t care. I have a family.”

  “Fuck you,” Layla said. She raised her gun and shot.

  Gracie dove to the side, a moment too late. She felt the sting of a dart pierce her leg as she hit the ground. A dart?

  She reached to pull it out. Her hand felt like it belonged to the world’s least coordinated person as she tried to yank it from her thigh. Missing the blurry end twice, she struggled against her drooping body, but found her vision beginning to dim as she looked up at the night sky.

  Layla came into her view, bent over her. “Yeah. You see, that’s the problem. I’m not his daughter. You are.”