Page 67 of My Secret Santa Clayton

The tires of my truck hummed along the pavement, a steady rhythm that did nothing to soothe the growing tension in my shoulders. Could her phone battery have died? It wasn't like her to be caught off guard, but maybe she’d lost track of time.

Or could something else have taken her attention?

Something deadly.

I took the curve a little too fast into the gravel driveway to my place, sending up a spray of slush. The cabin came into view a moment later…but Grace’s truck was gone.

“Come on, think,” I said aloud, attempting to stifle the fear that crept into my voice. “There could be a dozen reasons she's not here.”

I swung the door open and stepped out onto the gravel, my boots crunching underfoot. The cabin loomed ahead. I scanned the property, my eyes searching for any sign of her—a piece of clothing, blood. The cops were supposed to be around, but I assumed the worst. I couldn’t reach her, her truck was gone.

Dangerous people were after her…and even my short absence could have gotten her killed.

“Grace!” I called, my voice echoing off the trees. No answer came back, only the rustling leaves whispering secrets I couldn't decipher.

I jogged up to the front door, my hand unsteady as I pushed it open. The hinges creaked, breaking the silence with a sound that seemed too loud in my ears. I knew then, with a certainty that sank like lead in my stomach, that something was terribly wrong.

The cabin door groaned as it swung open. I stepped in, the quiet pressing in around me. Bear let out a soft whine from somewhere to my left. I turned to see him pacing by the kitchentable, his movements jittery and anxious. My stomach twisted at the sight.

“Hey, Bear, where's Grace?” I asked, though I knew the dog couldn't answer. His dark eyes met mine, filled with a distress that mirrored my own. He continued to pace, and I noticed Grace's laptop sitting open on the table. I glanced at the screen, but it was the piece of paper next to the keyboard that snared my attention.

A note.

A goodbye, my paranoia told me.

I picked up the note, and it hit me like a punch to the gut. Grace's words blurred for a second as I took them in. An address…a goodbye if I didn’t get there in time. The letter was a farewell, a grim acceptance of danger from which she might not return.

She had to do this alone, that much was clear.

But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t try to stop it.

“Damn it, Grace,” I muttered, clenching the note until my knuckles turned white.

Grace wasn't going to slip away from me. Not like this.

I burst back out the door, the screen slamming shut behind me with a clatter that echoed in the empty space where Grace's truck should have been. My boots pounded on the wooden steps as I descended them two at a time, my heart pounding just as hard within my chest.

I yanked open the door of my truck, the metal handle cold against my palm. I threw myself inside, jammed the key into the ignition, and started the engine. It roared to life, then I slammed the truck into gear, gravel and slush spitting out from under the tires as I floored the accelerator, tearing out of the driveway.

“Grace, hang on,” I whispered to the empty air.

I wasn't about to let her face whatever hell awaited at that address without backup.

Not without a fight.

THIRTY-ONE

Grace

I came to, my head splitting. Light pierced the room and I winced, trying to get a grip on what was happening.

I groaned out loud as I tested my limbs. Ropes bit into my wrists and ankles. I was tied up, that much was clear. There was someone settled in a chair opposite me, another figure pacing back and forth behind him. My eyes darted around, searching for a familiar face, but Mariah wasn't there.

Just Rob, sitting across from me.

“Looking for someone?”

“Where's Mariah?” I demanded.

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