Page 125 of Ethan & Grace

The officer shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I know waiting isn’t easy, but it’s for your own safety until we know what’s happening.”

I nodded, feeling uneasy, not because of the words themselves, but because of what they implied. Perhaps Grace wouldn’t be found alive, and he didn’t want me to see that.

Arms folded across my chest, I leant against the Bentley, trying to keep my composure. My eyes darted around nervously, scanning the officers’ body language. Were they optimistic? Concerned? Or just on edge?

I spotted Mrs. Eddington talking to a female officer as two policemen led another man I didn’t recognise in handcuffs out of the villa and pushed him into the back seat of a patrol car. He had broad shoulders and an impassive expression. Unlike Alistair, he wasn’t wound up. His unnerving calm made him seem all the more dangerous.

Perhaps he was the henchman who had been tailing Grace, the one who had done the dirty work of her abduction. I pictured him lying in wait, then grabbing her and dragging her away. The thought alone was enough to send me spiralling back into panic. There was only one all-consuming thought in my head: Please be alive, Dreamgirl.

51

I’m really worried about Grace.

Message from Grace’s brother to their parents

Grace

I had completely lost all sense of time. In the darkness, I had nothing to orientate myself. Again and again, I held my breath and listened to the silence, trying to make out even the slightest noise that would give me a clue as to where I was. I heard nothing, and no one seemed to hear me either. I screamed and yelled into my gag, but nobody came. My vocal cords eventually felt so raw that I gave up. I’d long since abandoned my efforts to free myself from the restraints.

My skin throbbed where I’d been tied up, and I felt dizzy from exertion, hunger, and lack of sleep. I was utterly exhausted, but the adrenaline coursing through my body kept me awake, as did my racing thoughts. One minute, I was wondering what Ethan was doing; the next, whether my parents had realised yet that I was missing. I was also trying to figure out whom the voice belonged to, and I couldn’t shake the thought of the offer that could save my life.

I didn’t know if it was my exhaustion or simply the longing to be free and safe again, but the deal seemed more appealing with every passing second. Which was probably exactly what my kidnapper wanted. He was leaving me here to stew until I was desperate enough to agree to anything. And perhaps I should take his offer, if only to spare my parents the worry. But then my thoughts turned to Amy and how unfair it all was. She hadn’t deserved to die so young. A whole world of possibilities had awaited her, and if she’d had the chance, she could have done so much good. She would have saved people and made lives better. And that was why I couldn’t accept the deal. It would have meant putting a price on Amy’s life, and I couldn’t do that. Even after her death, she was priceless. I wondered what would happen to me. Would my kidnapper kill me? Or would he get his henchman to do it for him? How would they do it? Would it be quick and painless? Or would they torture me first in an attempt to make me change my mind?

My stomach churned at the thought, and a small voice in my head urged me to take the offer. Amy wouldn’t have wanted me to die. She would have wanted me to say yes, cooperate, get out of this alive. I tried to suppress the voice, but I couldn’t.

I just couldn’t.

But suddenly, out of nowhere, I realised that the quiet voice in my head had been joined by a real one. Not just one voice, but many. And there were footsteps above me. Dozens of them. Was my captor throwing a party while he had me trapped down here?

If so, this was my chance to escape. Maybe I could draw someone’s attention. I had to try, at the very least.

I drew a deep breath and screamed as loudly as I could into my gag, while at the same time gathering the rest of my strength and pulling at my restraints. It cut off the blood supply to my hands and feet, but I didn’t care. Nor did I care about the cuts on my fingers, which split open again under the strain and began to bleed anew.

I have to get out.

I have to get out.

I have to get out.

The thought was the only thing that kept me going. It made me forget my pain and exhaustion. It even drowned out my fear.

But the restraints didn’t give, so I began rocking back and forth. It took a while, but eventually I managed to get my chair moving. Once I’d built up enough momentum, I threw my entire weight to one side and toppled over. I hit the ground with a deafening crash, my forehead cracking against the cold stone. It wasn’t hard enough to knock me out, but I could feel blood trickling down my temple.

I listened to the voices again. They still sounded as distant as before, but then a moment later, they came closer. Had it worked? Had they heard me fall?

Someone rattled at the locked door of the wine cellar.

“Hey, there might be something in here!” called a muffled voice.

Oh my God . . .

The door rattled again, and a moment later, there was a cracking and splintering sound, as though the door was being forced open.

All at once, the voice was right beside me. “I’ve got her!”

My chair was set back on its feet, and someone removed my blindfold. I blinked. Having spent the last several hours in the dark, my eyes were sensitive. My gag was removed.

The man standing before me was wearing a police uniform. He spoke into the radio on his vest. “Sergeant Smith here,” he reported to his colleagues. “I’ve found the missing girl. She’s alive. We’re in the wine cellar in the eastern wing of the building.” He turned his attention back to me. “How are you doing, Grace? Are you injured?”