Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(86)

Nolan peered through a window. The house was dark and still, except for the frantic dog. Lucy tracked him as he walked to the other end of the porch and looked through the breakfast-room window.

“Dax tells me tips are pouring in,” Talia said, “but it’s going to take an army to sort through them all.”

A light was on in the kitchen. The back door stood open, and Nolan could see through the screen door and into the backyard. The TV on the kitchen counter was on, and a saucepan on the stove was bubbling over. Rice? Grits? Looked like someone had been here recently but left in a hurry.

“I can’t believe they released it,” Talia was saying. “If he sees it, he’ll be in the wind, Nolan.”

His gaze returned to the television as a police sketch appeared on the screen. Nolan squinted through the glass. The face in the picture hit him like a sucker punch.

“No fucking way,” he muttered.

“What is it?”

“I know him.”





CHAPTER 26


The pit was taller than Grace. But not by much. If she could just get a foothold, she might be able to pull herself up and out. Grace took a series of shallow breaths. One. Two. Three. No deep breaths, or it felt like slivers of glass cutting into her lungs.

She grasped the rock, then planted her foot on a bump in the stone. Bracing for the pain, she pulled herself up, then planted another foot on a small ledge. Squeezing her eyes against the hurt, she pulled herself up and reached for another handhold.

Grace looked down, breathing hard. Her shoulder was on fire. Sweat streamed down her neck, and she was plastered to the cool stone. Her feet were bare—her whole body was bare—but the lack of shoes seemed to be helping as she curled her toes over the rock.

She looked up and squinted at the sunlight. Ignoring the burn in her side, she reached up and grasped a weed dangling down from the edge of the pit. It felt flimsy, so she groped around some more, and her fingers closed around something thick and ropy, like a tree root. Praying it would hold her weight, she pulled up.

Please, please, please, God. You owe me.

Her foot slipped, and she gasped, clinging to the root and the wall with every fiber of her being. She hung there, heart pounding, as she moved her foot around, looking for a bump in the rock. She found one and used it to lever herself up while at the same time reaching her arm over the ledge.

Thorns and grass pricked her skin. Tears burned her eyes again, but they were tears of joy this time—joy and disbelief, as she heaved her body up and threw her leg over the ledge. Clawing at roots and weeds, she dragged herself across the ground and rolled onto her back.

She blinked up at the sky. Tears and snot and spit slid down her face as she lay there, squinting at the brightness.

She turned her gaze to the cliffs. The tall limestone rock face was a creamy white in the morning sun. Trees lined the top. It looked like a slab of cake with green frosting, and just the thought made her stomach yearn.

Food. Soon. If she could just find the energy to stand up and move. But every limb felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

A low rumble sent a jolt of fear through her. A car. She rolled over and scrambled to her feet. Glancing around frantically, she took in her surroundings for the first time. There was a cliff beside her. And scraggly trees all around. The engine noise grew louder. In a panic, Grace lunged behind one of the trees, yelping as she stubbed her toe on something hard.

She knelt behind the bushes, clutching her hurt shoulder and peering through the branches as a little green car came into view and pulled over. Grace cowered lower and glanced around, but this clump of trees was the best cover out here. The car door popped open, and Grace held her breath as someone got out.

A woman, thank God. Relief flooded her. The woman looked old, too, with curly gray hair in a loose bun on top of her head. She reminded Grace of her grandmother. As she walked around the car, Grace stood up and stepped toward her.

“Are you crazy?” the woman shrieked.

Grace froze.

“Have you lost your mind?” Her voice was shrill and piercing, and Grace stood paralyzed as she realized there was someone else nearby.

A low male voice answered, and Grace swayed on her feet. Him. She ducked back behind the tree and crouched as low as she could, trying to melt into the rock.

Her heart jackhammered. She couldn’t hear what they were saying. Didn’t even try. She was too petrified to move or think or do anything but try to be invisible.

The volume escalated. Grace pictured the blue eyes, the twisted mouth, the skin that looked ghoulish in the flashlight beam. Her chest convulsed, and she couldn’t breathe as the voices got louder.

“You idiot! You ungrateful, worthless—”

Thunk.

Grace registered the sickening sound of rock against flesh, then a body hitting the ground.

Then nothing.

Grace didn’t pause to think or plan or even breathe. She turned and ran.

? ? ?

Talia called Nolan from her car.

“Where are you?” he demanded.

“On my way. I just got off with Santos.”

“What’s he got?”

“Bryce Michael Gaines, age twenty-five.”

“Younger than we thought.”

“Yep. And you’re right, the police sketch they’re running is pretty good.” Talia flipped through her scribbled notes as she drove. “Mother, Katherine Hansen Gaines. Looks like she had Bryce when she was eighteen. She was arrested for possession of narcotics, let’s see . . . age twenty. Died of an overdose that same year.”