Hadley & Grace(37)

Grace takes a tentative step toward her as a man’s voice from inside the car says, “Mrs. Torelli—”

“Shut up!”

Grace freezes.

In as calm a voice as Grace can manage, the words sounding like they’re coming from outside her body, she says, “What do you say we put him in the trunk while we figure this out?” It’s the only idea she can think of, panic running through her as she watches Mrs. Torelli’s body convulsing and the gun hiccuping with it.

Mrs. Torelli doesn’t exactly nod, but her head twitches around her eyes, and Grace takes that as consent. Slowly, hands still up, she moves toward the car.

Pebbles dig into her bare feet, and her sweats ride low on her hips, in danger of falling down because the tie has come loose, but her focus is entirely on not making any sudden movements that might get the man shot.

Through the window, she can just make out his silhouette, a burly shadow sitting like a statue. When she reaches the passenger door, she says, “I’m going to reach in and grab his keys.”

Mrs. Torelli gives another twitch of her head, and Grace creaks open the door.

The man keeps his face turned, his eyes on Mrs. Torelli. His hair is light, and Grace can tell by the lines around his neck that he is not young. She would guess middle aged. Which is good. It means he is not a rookie and has been around long enough to know what’s what.

Her heart beats out of her chest as she crawls inside. He tenses, and she freezes, willing him not to be stupid and get himself shot, and he must draw the same conclusion, because a second later he relaxes. She reaches across the seat and pulls the gun from the holster clipped to his belt, then pulls the keys from the ignition and backs out slowly.

After checking the safety on the gun, she clicks it off, then moves to the rear of the car and opens the trunk.

A door behind her opens, and she whirls to see Mattie standing in the frame. “Mom?” she says, her eyes surveying the scene and growing wide.

Grace looks back as Mrs. Torelli looks up, and everything else happens in a microsecond: The car door slams open, knocking Mrs. Torelli to the ground. The man is out of the car and lunging for the gun. Grace fires. The bullet strikes a foot in front of the man’s hand, and he freezes.

Time stops, and the world closes in on Grace as she stares at the patch of asphalt that’s exploded and realizes what she’s done. She’s just fired a gun at a federal officer, and her life as she knows it is over. Her heart clatters so hard she feels like it’s going to shoot from her chest.

The agent straightens slowly, his hands raised.

Mrs. Torelli scrambles to her feet and points the gun at him, her body quaking violently, the gun waving with it.

“It’s okay, Hadley,” Grace says, working hard to keep the tremor from her voice and using Mrs. Torelli’s first name in hopes of calming her. “He’s getting in the trunk now. He’s not going to hurt you. He’s walking toward me.”

The agent backs up cautiously, his movements slow and his eyes on Mrs. Torelli, who continues to spasm and shake.

“In,” Grace says when he reaches her.

He looks down at her, sizing her up. “In,” she says again, sharper this time, amazed how in control she sounds despite her brain being on fire.

With a sigh more of mortification than fear, he climbs into the small car’s trunk and folds his thick limbs into a fetal position so he’ll fit.

Grace slams the hood shut and nearly crumbles to the ground, her knees buckling beneath her.

Mattie runs toward them. “Mom, are you okay?”

Grace straightens and steps in front of her. “Mattie, get your brother and your things from the room and from the van,” Grace says.

Mattie hesitates, her attention still on her mom, who is convulsing with sobs, the gun still held out in front of her, pointing at the spot where the agent was.

“Now,” Grace orders.

Mattie runs off, her face white with fear.

“Mrs. Torelli—”

“Hadley,” Mrs. Torelli mumbles, her voice huffing through her panic. “My name is Hadley.”

“Okay. Hadley,” Grace says, stepping toward her carefully and taking the gun from her trembling hand.

She secures the safety and slides it into the waistband of her sweats; then she does the same with the agent’s gun, cinching the drawstring tight around them.

“I need you to sit tight. Do you think you can do that?”

Mrs. Torelli’s pupils are small as pinpricks, and tears still stream down her face.

“Hadley,” Grace says, taking hold of Mrs. Torelli’s shoulders and forcing her to look at her. “I need you to stay here and wait for me. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

A small nod.

“I’m going to grab Miles, and I’ll be right back.”

Her head reverses direction.

“Mrs. Tor . . . I mean, Hadley, I promise, it will only be a minute.”

Her head shakes harder. “No,” she says, her bottom lip trembling. “You need to go. You and Miles. It’s not fair. You shouldn’t be here.”

And as Grace walks toward her room, she thinks Mrs. Torelli is right. She needs to take Miles and go.





29





MARK


Mark is in the trunk of his own damn rental car, bumping around like a sack of potatoes, his body crashing into the hood, then slamming down again each time the car hits a bump. He wraps his hands around his head to protect his skull, swearing and cussing at the pain and his stupidity.