The Price of Grace

by Diana Muñoz Stewart

  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.”

  His voice sounded so young, so hurt. Gracie felt her own throat grow tight with tears. “Yeah. I promise. They’re alive.”

  A brutal curse, a sobbed “Fuck. That bitch. She lied. She really lied?”

  He began to tremble. The adrenaline backlash. She needed to get him moving and out of here before it got worse. “All lies. She pretended to be my sister Cee. Pretended to contact you on my behalf. I wouldn’t have gone behind your dad’s back, hurt you that way, inserted myself in your life that way.”

  Ty wiped snot from his face, blinked. “They’re for sure alive?”

  Oh. Kid. Goosebumps raced down her body. They needed to get out of here. Where was Layla? Was she close by? She had to be. She had to be watching what was happening. Was anyone else around?

  “Yes. I promise. I promise you, Tyler. The scene was faked. You know how they fake stuff like—”

  “Aliens or ghosts caught on video?”

  “Yes. Like that. We have to get out of here.” Now. “Okay? Can you untie me?”

  The skin on his cheeks heated. He nodded and rushed over, dropped to his knees, put the gun on the floor. As he untied her, his fingers shook, so did his voice. “I saw what you were doing. When I put the gun to my head. I saw it. You’d let me shoot you. You’d let me do that if it meant that I got to live.”

  Grace couldn’t stop the small, pained sound that escaped her throat. Or the tears. He saw. He saw her. “Yeah. I would’ve.”

  He loosened the knot and the slack was instant, releasing her arms. She rolled. Swinging her arms under her legs so they were in front of her, she began to untie the rope from her feet.

  Ty watched her. “Do you think she’s around here somewhere?”

  “Yes. Layla, that’s the woman you met, not my sister Cee, is around. And probably not alone. Did you see anyone else in the house?”

  “A limo driver brought me here. Drugged me. After that I just saw…uh, Layla.”

  Discarding the rope, Gracie put a hand on Ty’s shoulder and he helped her to stand. She wobbled. Ty put an arm around her. Shaking out her drugged legs, she said, “I’m okay. Can I have the gun, Ty?”

  He retrieved it and handed it to her.

  “Let’s go.” One hand on Ty’s arm, making sure he moved so that he was always protected by her, Gracie used every bit of caution her slowly awakening body required, scanning the house for any sign of danger.

  Adrenaline quickly heightened her senses, and she became sharply conscious of every pop and creak of the floorboards, the slide of Ty’s black-and-white canvas sneakers, the way her boy held and released terrified breaths, the whooshing sound of water. Water?

  Her eyes searched. Remembered. The fountain. The water inside was shiny, slick with rainbows playing inside it. And the smell. Why hadn’t she noticed? Not water.

  Pulling Tyler’s arm, she yanked him forward, and shoved him in front of her. “Go!”

  He stumbled against the front door, slamming it open, as he tripped onto the porch. A step behind, Gracie scanned the trees.

  And then she saw her, no more than a shadow, a dark figure moved through the woods, raised her gun, intent on making sure Tyler and Gracie would be dead in a moment, their bodies burnt in the explosion.

  Layla.

  Everything unfolded in one horrible instant. A moment of brutality that seared itself into Gracie’s horrified, witnessing mind.

  As calm as a woman who has never lost a thing in her life, Layla stepped from the woods, weapon raised. No darts this time. An AK semiautomatic rifle.

  Launching forward, Gracie shoved Tyler, propelling him into the air. She followed, her body covering his as they flew forward. Her one hand pushing him down, the other bringing up her gun, a panicked voice screaming in her head—not fast enough, not fast enough.

  A rat-a-tat of gunfire erupted a split second before Gracie’s finger depressed the trigger of her weapon. That moment played out in blinding clarity. The feel of Tyler’s warm back against her palm, the smell of the summer woods, the startled silence of time standing still as the electric prayer fired through her brain as quick as the shot, quicker: Please, God, keep Ty safe, let the bullets only strike me. And then Layla’s skull exploded, her body seized by the spray of bullets, as muscle, tissue, and brains were shredded on impact.

  Ty and Gracie slammed to the ground with a thud and a whoosh as air was knocked from Tyler’s lungs. She landed partially on top of him, spun off, scrambled to her feet, gun raised and ready. But Layla stayed down.

  Made sense. She no longer had a brain. Movement. On the driveway. Gracie pivoted and brought her gun up as her pulse pounded in her throat, ears muffled and ringing from her not-fast-enough shot.

  “Hold your fire, Red. It’s me,” Victor said as he limped forward, face pinched with pain, semiautomatic sticking out from his sling. “You okay?”

  “Layla!” The cry tore from the woods, like the large figure. Rage and disbelief contorting his face as he charged forward, leveled his gun at Gracie. She screamed, swung her weapon around. Victor turned at the same time, and…

  Another figure moved through the woods. Bigger than the first. He hit the charging man, slammed into his side like a fullback, knocked him to the ground.

  Dusty held the man’s gun arm down, while bringing his own gun down on the man’s skull again and again. There was a crack, crack. A splatter of wet darkness shot up into the space between the man and Dusty. And then stillness. Dusty got off the man, lurched up. Scanned the darkness. “Cee said there were two of them.”

  A beat of definitive silence, as if for an entire heartbeat, or the skipping of one, the world went quiet. And then Gracie yelled, “Forget him. Explosives! Run.”

  Bringing his two-way to his mouth, Victor turned and ran. Tyler was on his feet running. A split-second later, Gracie was by his side. And Dusty too. Car lights appeared down the drive. Cee was driving?

  Gracie made a looping gesture with her hands. Cee swung the vehicle around with a skid of wheels. Gracie jumped into the back seat and ended up between Ty and Dusty. Victor climbed in the front, his door still open as Cee tore down the drive. It slammed shut, caught him on his good arm.

  He cursed.

  The house exploded. The SUV lurched forward, like a giant hand had come up behind it and given it one firm shove. The people inside flew forward and then hit the back of their seats with the momentum.

  And then a series of concussive blasts began to explode down the driveway, catching the trees on fire, and sending pockets of fiery debris raining down around them. Cee swung the car left and right like she’d been doing this for a living. Mad skills. Great teamwork.

  Her body rocking back and forth between Tyler and Dusty, Gracie looped an arm through each of their arms. Unable to articulate a single word of the relief and horror crowding her throat.

  The glow from the fire lit the night sky as the car pulled out of the driveway onto the road. Cee stopped the car so Dusty could drive. As he moved to get out of the seat, Dusty leaned over, kissed Gracie gently on the head.<
br />
  And beside her, Tyler reached over, grasped her hand, and squeezed. “Thanks for rescuing me… Mom.”

  Chapter 69

  Standing guard against a horde of trespassers as the summer sun scorched the ground, Dusty was beginning to think once again he had John McClane’s Die Hard-brand of luck.

  He wiped sweat from his face. They were outnumbered. The field, some called it a quad, was awash in red. The enemy hid everywhere. Behind the huge boulders that lined the field. Stationed atop the guard tower—a raised deck with telescopes the school used for stargazing. And crouched behind trees and bushes.

  His crew now consisted of him, Gracie, and Ty. They were hunkered down behind a Dumpster hidden by a fancy wooden fence at the field’s edge. Their teammates needed to be freed. But that meant getting across this field, across a field guarded at every conceivable ambush point. He’d seen episodes of Game of Thrones that were less messy.

  “I’ve been in tighter places,” Grace told him. He raised an eyebrow then grinned, because so had he, but that had been a lot more fun.

  Maybe reading his mind, she elbowed him. “Here’s the plan.”

  She outlined a pretty decent game plan, using some stones and Popsicle sticks to mark it out. It could get at least one of them through alive. Only needed one to free the other players.

  Tyler watched them from the edge of the Dumpster.

  Gracie beamed at him. “Got it, Ty?”

  “Yep. Got it.” He raised his paintball gun, turned, and ran out onto the field, screaming “Leroy Jenkins!”

  Dusty shook his head. “Your son.”

  Gracie grinned. “Gotta love him.”

  She ran after him, firing randomly.

  Dusty had a good mind to let them go it alone. Naw. What fun was that? He ran out balls to the wind, or what he liked to think of as Butch-Cassidy-and-the-Sundance-Kid style, a.k.a Leroy Jenkins.

  The paintballs pelted the ground and their jumpsuits in no time. Tyler and Gracie were tripped up and went sprawling onto the grass together. He came up and fell on them, covering their bodies with his own. Paintballs slammed into him. Hurt. No fucking kidding. That hurt.