Take the Key and Lock Her Up (Embassy Row #3)(22)

“Who else has so much reason to make Amelia’s heirs disappear?”

“The Society!” she shouts, as if she’s held it in too long. “Sweetheart, there is so much that you don’t know. Your mother and I … They didn’t want her to dig into it. They wanted Amelia lost. They needed her to stay lost. Please tell me they don’t know where you are.”

I don’t know what to say—who to trust—so I don’t say anything at all, and my silence is enough to make Ann panic.

“Grace, come with me. I have Dominic’s men. I can keep you safe. Tell me where Jamie is so I can send some guards to help him. Grace?” She inches closer and closer.

Closer.

“Tell me!”

“Like I said,” I say, moving along the railing toward the center of the bridge. “He died. Someone stabbed him outside the palace that night. You saw him. He was bleeding so much. I tried to stop it, but … he’s gone.”

Ann squints against the sun. “I wish I knew if you were lying,” she says.

“That’s okay.” I shrug. “I know you are.”

And then the mask is gone completely, thrown away. It might as well be floating down the river below because the illusion is never, ever coming back.

“You need to come to the palace, Grace.” Ann is pleading. “You’re one of us. You belong with us.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!”

“I can help you!” she cries. “Maybe something can be done. The royal family has vast resources. You could—”

“No.”

“Grace, your mother was my best friend. You know you can trust me.”

At this, I finally do laugh, but there is no joy in it, no love or happiness.

“No.” I shake my head. “I really don’t know that.” Then I stop laughing. I am just as serious as the situation when I say, “But there was one way to find out.”

A cloud passes over the sun and for a split second there is shadow as Ann speaks, seemingly to no one.

“Get her.”

Everything happens at once. The clouds shift. In the distance, a siren sounds. And the guards at the ends of the bridge start toward Princess Ann and me. She doesn’t even try to stop me as I bolt away. That’s not her job. She has people for that, and the people don’t look happy. Two of the men are tall and strong. Even in their dark suits I can practically see their muscles rippling. I know they could sprint five miles without even breathing hard. I know because they’re like Dominic. Like my dad. Like Jamie.

Or like Jamie used to be.

With that thought I feel a fresh rush of anger and adrenaline. I don’t want to run away anymore. I want to turn and fight—to kick and claw until the whole world bleeds as much as my brother did.

A few tourists are being ushered from the bridge, and the woman with the fake baby has left the carriage behind and is easing closer. She’s trained, I know. She wouldn’t be here—have this job—if she weren’t. But I’m trained, too, in my own way. I grew up wrestling on the living room floor with an Army Ranger, and I have the advantage of surprise and sheer unadulterated rage.

The man who couldn’t choose a souvenir is on my other side. When the woman reaches for me, I sidestep and grab her arm, spin and whirl her toward the man who has no choice but to catch her.

And then I run. I’m almost to the center of the bridge when I realize that the men on my right are no longer moving toward me. There is a blur of action—fists and kicks. Someone is spinning, yelling, “Gracie!”

And then Alexei is here. Alexei is free. One of the men is falling over the edge, landing in the water below, and Alexei’s almost to me.

He grabs my hand and yells, “Come on!” But I don’t move.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him.

Alexei turns on me, disbelief in his eyes. “What do you think I’m doing here?” He sounds like someone who is perfectly willing to fight me, too, but he’d rather not have to.

The guards are closer now. I can feel the bridge getting smaller and smaller, almost like it’s burning from both ends. I’ve burned bridges before; I should know what it feels like.

“Come on,” Alexei says, tugging me in the direction he’s just come from.

“No,” I say, pulling back and holding on.

“Grace, we’ve got to get you out of here!” he shouts.

But I just calmly drop his hand and step closer to the center of the bridge that arches high over the water. I’m almost to the highest part. To my right, I can see two guards charging toward us. To my left, I see more men coming and, of course, Alexei, who stands dumbfounded, as if wondering if the pressure has finally broken me. If maybe I’m crazy after all.

“Grace!” he yells again, but I just hold out my hand.

“Do you trust me?”

This is it, I can tell. The big moment. I can hear the guards’ cries on the wind. There is no one on the bridge but these people who would take me away and this boy who only wants to protect me from anything—everything—especially myself.

My hand is still outstretched, and I can almost read Alexei’s mind as he looks at me. Am I a screw-up? A kid sister? A killer.

A princess?

Am I someone he can trust, he wants to know.