With a small shake of his head, Hardison blows out a long, slow breath. “We got a perfectly good drone in the air right now. You say Grace is in that bastard’s house? Let’s find out.”
Zephyr cuts in. “And if I get too close trying to see in that window? You lose the element of surprise. Be damn sure you’re willing to take that risk.”
I pin my gaze to the screen. The drone is hovering a good twenty feet over the roof. All the windows are dark. Grace could be in there. Alone. In pain. Afraid. Or…she could be anywhere.
“Cap.” All the humor has vanished from Hardison’s tone. “This is a huge fucking risk. But it’s also our best chance.”
Connor blinks, almost startled. “Jesus. He’s not even being sarcastic anymore.”
Hardison doesn’t look away from me. “That’s how you know I’m right.”
Grace
The light from the nearly full moon slashes across the end of the bed. The cloying scent of oleander clings to my lungs, suffocating me even through the sheet I hold to my mouth and nose.
The thin, scratchy blanket wrapped around my shoulders is my only source of warmth. Of comfort.
My thoughts chase themselves in jagged, broken loops.
Parker screaming as they dragged her away.
The bright lights, gnawing hunger, and ear-splitting sounds inside the box.
The ceremony.
The poison. Cramping muscles. Pounding head.
Lying on cold stone.
Ropes holding me down.
The chanting. The lanterns. The blade piercing my side.
Another sob rips from my throat. I don’t have any more tears to cry. I’m so dehydrated, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. But the last time I tried to make it to the bathroom for water, I collapsed, landing in a pile of oleander blooms. If I’d had anything in my stomach, I would have lost it right then.
I pin my gaze to the window. It’s only an illusion of freedom, but I’ll take an illusion over my own spiraling thoughts.
Something flickers red just beyond the glass. But then it’s gone again.
I rub my eyes, then wince as I catch the edge of the incision at my temple. When I look again, it’s gone. Until…it’s not. This time, it’s not just a single pulse. It’s a whole series of them. A pattern.
No. It’s not possible. I’m hallucinating. Or…am I?
Dragging the blanket with me, I crawl over the carpet of flowers, my knees aching, my palms crushing the blooms, until I can curl my fingers around the sill and pull myself up.
Pressing my palm to the glass, I strain to see what’s out there.
It’s all black. Almost…delicate. With four circular rotors moving so fast, they’re only vague blurs.
My heart stutters in my chest. I force my fingers to bend.
Make a fist. Thumb pointed up. A.
Move the thumb across the fist. Pinky finger out. Draw a J.
The red light blinks once.
Tears blur everything. I didn’t think I had any left, but for AJ…apparently I do.
