Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
Without a word, Brian reached inside his jacket and pulled out his lock-pick set. Around them, the others drew their weapons, the soft clicks of safeties disengaging seeming unnaturally loud in the thick evening air.
Sean’s grip tightened around his Glock. Every instinct screamed at him to smash through the door and tear the place apart until he found Grace. But patience and precision were what would get her out alive.
Brian crouched at the lock and went to work. Sean kept his eyes moving—house, windows, driveway, street—watching for any sign Wallace had detected them.
Less than a minute later, the lock gave with a faint click, and Brian pocketed the picks and drew his weapon. As slowly as possible, he turned the knob and eased the door inward.
Rafe entered first, Sean on his heels, the two of them slicing around the jamb. They moved as one, weapons up, eyes sweeping every corner of the dim garage.
The white sedan was parked in the furthest bay.
The sight of it sent a surge of fury through Sean.
Closer to the door sat a gray Toyota Camry.
Even in the dim light, the damage along the front passenger side stood out.
The crumpled metal lined up perfectly with the impact point that had sent Sean sprawling across the asphalt days earlier.
There it was. Proof. The bastard had kept the car.
Brian brushed Sean’s shoulder and pointed toward the wooden staircase climbing to the enclosed loft above. At the top waited a closed door.
Every nerve in Sean’s body locked onto it—Grace was up there.
He moved for the stairs, taking them as fast as he dared without risking noise. The old wood gave the faintest creak beneath his boots, each sound ratcheting his pulse higher. At the landing, he reached for the knob only to find it was also locked.
He glanced back at Brian. Under normal circumstances, they’d pick it. But there was no time for that. If Grace was restrained, injured, terrified—and God help him if Wallace was already hurting her—every second spent waiting was another second too many.
Sean shifted his weight onto his left leg, drew his right foot back, and then drove his boot forward.
Keep him talking, Grace.
The frantic command looped through her mind as she stared at the man standing over her. Every second he spent talking was another second for Sean to realize something was wrong, another second for the police to start looking, and another second closer to rescue.
But how could Sean ever connect this monster to the quiet pharmacist in the white coat?
The thought sent fresh fear skittering through her.
At work, he’d looked so ordinary—calm, professional, and easily forgettable.
The kind of man no one noticed twice while picking up a prescription.
White coats were supposed to belong to people who helped others, not men who strapped women to tables.
Her psychology course surfaced through the panic. It had been a required class, one she hadn’t thought about in years until this moment.
Build rapport. Encourage engagement. Humanize yourself. Make him see you as a person instead of an object.
It was the only chance she had.
He stood watching her, silent and unreadable, as if weighing her last question. She forced herself to speak again.
“Why are you doing this? Did I do something to make you angry? Did those other women? I’m sorry if I did. It was never my intention to insult or hurt you. My name is Grace. I’m a physical therapist. Did you know that?”
His head tilted, his eyes narrowing with uncertainty, but he said nothing. Her gaze dropped to his hand, and her stomach lurched. He was turning a knife between his fingers, the silver blade flashing beneath the bare bulb in an almost absent rhythm.
The sight of it made her throat constrict. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to meet his eyes again. “I don’t even know your name.”
That stopped him. His brow furrowed as though the question itself confused him. “Why do you want to know my name?”
Because if she kept him talking, she stayed alive. “I guess it’s a habit. When I tell someone my name, I like to know theirs.”
He studied her for a long moment. “Hmmm. You’re not like the others.”
Knife still spinning, he took a step closer. Her muscles screamed from the strain of the restraints. Her shoulders burned. Her wrists and ankles throbbed where the ropes bit into her skin. Fear coursed through her so fiercely she thought she might be sick, but she held his gaze.
“I’m not?”
“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.