My Secret Santa Clayton (Silver Ridge Christmas)

29. Grace

TWENTY-NINE

Grace

Mariah was out there, depending on me.

Turning onto the dirt road that led to the address I’d been given, I caught sight of them immediately—the black sedans, those damn specters that had been haunting me since I left Boston. They were parked right up in the driveway, just as ominous as when they kept showing up around town. If there was any doubt before, it died then.

This had to be where they were holding her.

I eased off the gas and coasted to a stop, just shy of the driveway. I cut the engine. The silence in the truck screamed at me, but I forced some kind of calm over my hammering heart. This was no place for panic.

“Okay, Grace,” I whispered to myself, “keep it together.”

My hand found its way to my waistband, fingers brushing against the taser hidden there. It wasn't much, but it was something. You don't get to be an investigative journalist without picking up a few tricks—or self-defense tools—along the way.

“Ready or not,” I muttered, checking the charge on the taser. I had no illusions about what this little device could do against what awaited me out there, but Mariah was worth the long odds.

I stepped out of the car. The abandoned cabin loomed ahead, its presence as unwelcoming as the secrets I guessed it held. Boards covered every window, and the front door hung open at an odd angle. It felt like a scene straight out of a horror movie—exactly what I had expected.

“Stay sharp,” I told myself, my voice barely above a whisper. I approached the cabin with purpose, my steps measured. I had to appear in control, unafraid. My gaze flicked from one potential hiding spot to another—the overgrown bushes, the darkened corners of the porch, the cars. Every fiber in me was alert for any sign of movement, but nothing stirred.

Not yet.

I reached the cabin's front porch, boots scuffing on the wooden boards. I stopped just a moment, trying to feel grounded even though my head swam. The silence pressed in on me, thick and heavy.

Then it shattered.

Mariah's cry cut through the stillness, a sound of pain and urgency that had me clenching my fists. She was in labor, here, now. This was really bad.

“Ms. Gibson. Great to see you. Come on in.”

The voice came from a man at the door, hiding in the shadows. I didn't know him, but the smile he offered felt wrong. It chilled me to the bone.

I forced myself to nod and stepped over the threshold into the unknown.

I found Mariah right away, even in the cold darkness. She was bound and gagged in the center of the room, her eyes screaming terror. I swallowed down the fear clawing up my throat and forced a mask of calm onto my face. I moved to her, but the man blocked my path.

“Standard procedure, Ms. Gibson,” he said, motioning for me to raise my arms.

“Fine,” I replied tersely, lifting them, while my mind raced with plans to get us out of this mess.

My eyes flicked across the room, taking in my surroundings. There was the guy at the door, Mariah at the center of the room…and two other men sitting in a shaft of light through one of the boards, playing cards. I peered at them, certain I recognized the one on the right…

…then it hit me.

Rob. My editor. The one person I thought I could trust in Boston.

I kept my arms raised, but my focus didn't stray from Rob. The man I'd trusted with the darkest aspects of my reporting, my confidant, sat there betraying everything I knew.

“You,” I said, unable to stop myself. “You betrayed me.”

Rob glanced over at me like he was annoyed—then he sighed and pushed himself up from his chair. The regret in his eyes clashed with the slight annoyance that creased his brow.

“Grace,” he started, his voice low.

“Save it,” I snapped before he could finish. The air in the room grew tight, but it was Mariah's muffled cry that cut through the tension. I turned to her, my sister's body bowing with the pain of a fierce contraction. Panic and fear painted her face, and something deep within me ignited.

“Please,” I said, my voice steady despite the chaos churning inside me. “Let her go. She needs help.”

None of them so much as acknowledged my plea, the man at the door starting to pat me down instead. I braced myself, every muscle coiled tight, ready to spring into action.

Mariah's safety was all that mattered, and I would fight tooth and nail to ensure it…so when his fingers grazed the taser at my hip, I didn't hesitate.

With a swift move, I seized his wrist, twisting it until he howled in pain. He faltered, and I struck, knocking him off balance with a kick to his knee. My hand found the taser, and with a decisive flick, I powered it on and jammed it into his side. The sharp crackle of electricity cut the silence before his body hit the floor, motionless.

The man at the table got up, but his shock registered for a split second, giving me just enough time. As his hand darted to his waist, I threw myself toward him, knocking him back against the wall. A satisfying crunch followed, and he reeled from the impact. His gun slipped from his grasp and hit the floor with a metallic clang, and I picked it up before scanning the room.

Rob was nowhere in sight. Had he left?

There was no time to find out.

“Mariah!” I called, reaching her in two strides.

“Grace!” Her voice broke through the gag as I yanked it off.

“I’ve got you,” I said, locking eyes with her. “We're getting out of here.”

I reached for the ropes that held Mariah, my fingers working frantically to untie each knot. Her eyes met mine, wide with a blend of fear and hope. She let out a sob, one that spoke volumes of the terror she had endured and the sliver of relief that came with my presence. “Hang on,” I said as the last restraint fell away from her wrists. We were going to get out of here, we were both going to live?—

“Grace, watch out!” Mariah screamed.

Then it hit me. A jolt of pain so intense it knocked the breath out of me. I rocked to the side, my head pounding as I crashed to the floorboards. I heard Mariah scream my name again, her voice cracking in desperation. She was up, though…and I did the last thing I could think of.

I tossed my keys at her and told her to run.

A struggle above me…Mariah fighting to get to the door. I thought she got out, but I couldn’t be sure.

Through blurring vision, I saw him—Rob, looming over me with anger etched across his face. “You shouldn't have done that,” he said, his voice low and steady.

His words were the last thing I registered before the darkness swallowed me whole.