by Mary Carter
“Pardon the American expression but—that is fucked up.”
“Oh, believe me, I know.”
“Wait. He doesn’t believe her, does he?”
“I don’t think so. But they weren’t letting him speak freely.”
“Stan was there?”
“I think so. He said he’d seen him.”
“At least that’s one mystery solved.”
“And Rafael is working for Stan.”
“We suspected that. Anything else?”
“No. That’s the gist of it.”
“You said Carrie Ann was crazy. I know it was an American expression. But is there any chance she actually is crazy?”
“What do you mean?”
“Telling Jake she’s you. Dressing as you. Switching ID. Posting pictures dressed as you on Facebook. Is there any chance she actually thinks she’s you?”
“No. Not a chance.”
“Are you sure?”
“I was alone with her several times before all this happened. She always knew who she was.”
“All right. Whatever it turns out to be—they won’t get away with this,” Jean Sebastian said. “Not if I can help it.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Grace said. “How does your driver feel about going now?”
“He’s waiting downstairs,” Jean Sebastian said. “Let’s go.” On their way out, Grace passed her Taylor Hummingbird. For a few seconds, her fingers ached to touch it. For the first time in months, she actually missed it, wanted to play, wanted to sing. Maybe she was the type who could sing her pain. Who knew? Her gut told her to bring it. It wasn’t logical, but then again, neither was her life at the moment. She picked up the guitar on the way out the door.
“We’ve got a long ride ahead of us,” Jean Sebastian said. “You can tell me more about the past.”
It was the last thing Grace wanted to do. But he was right. The answer lay somewhere back there, and if she couldn’t figure it all out, maybe Jean Sebastian could.
CHAPTER 34
Carrie Ann sat on the bed in the tiny, musty room, absolutely fuming. She was going to kill Stan. He had completely usurped her power and changed the entire plan. She was the one who was supposed to get kidnapped. To see if Grace would try and find her. She was the one who was supposed to leave the clues. And she certainly wasn’t supposed to be spending her “missing” time in this hovel of a room. She was supposed to be at the Ritz Carlton on the beach. She could just kill Stan. She hadn’t had a single second to talk to him or Rafael alone. Although she had to admit, he’d successfully raised the stakes of their little game, but at her expense. At least it was almost over. The festival and Grace and Carrie Ann’s mutual birthday were only two days away. So why the hell was Stan luring Grace all the way out to Cadaqués? Several times Carrie Ann had almost blown it, by going off on Rafael. He was enjoying his little power trip way too much. But she could endure two days. She just prayed that if Jake and Grace decided to press any charges that they would believe she hadn’t been in on the drugging and kidnapping. Jake might believe her, but not Grace. They wouldn’t be in the spot they were in right now if Grace had ever believed her. And if she would just open those damn letters, she would know that this was all a game. But Grace hadn’t opened the letters. Because Carrie Ann and Jake were still here. And Stan had ruined everything. It was Jake that Grace was searching for, not Carrie Ann. That wouldn’t prove Grace’s loyalty to Carrie Ann. This had all been a huge mistake. And it was all because of Stan.
Because he was still obsessed with Grace. Carrie Ann should have seen it. She never should have enlisted his help. And once again, she was going to be guilty by association. Maybe she was going to have to end this thing sooner rather than later. Plan or no plan, at this point, she just wanted to stick it back to Stan. She was going to kill him. She was absolutely going to kill him.
Jake had never seen Rafael with a gun. They used some kind of sedative, and the handcuffs, and besides Rafael flashing his knives, the real weapon that kept Jake from escaping was the constant threat of what they would do to Grace if he tried to interfere. He could barely look at or talk to Carrie Ann after what she had pulled in the café. What she had made him do. He couldn’t get it out of his mind, kept replaying it over and over.
I’m Grace Ann Sawyer.
Jake had not fallen for it. “Lady, you are out of your fucking mind.” He had gotten up and headed for the door. Within seconds Rafael’s hands were planted on Jake’s shoulders. Jake had tried to jerk away, but Rafael had dug into his arm and turned Jake around to face him. Then before Jake could defend himself, Rafael’s fist had connected with Jake’s mouth. Jake had felt the blow, his teeth cut into his upper lip, and a few seconds later he tasted blood.
“Stop,” Carrie Ann had said. She had hurled herself at Rafael. He had given Jake a final shove into the wall, then backed away. Jake had sat on the floor, mouth bleeding. The staff had remained in the back as if they were all deaf. Carrie Ann had knelt down beside Jake. “Do you see now?” she had said.
“See what?” Jake had said.
“Grace isn’t who she says she is. You don’t know her at all.”
“I know her. And I’m starting to know you.” He had pointed at Carrie Ann. His finger had shaken. She had pulled Jake up, leaned in to wipe the blood off of his mouth with a napkin, and whispered.
“Go along with it, Jake. They’re going to let you talk to Grace soon. When they do, pretend like you’re starting to doubt her.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I’m trying to help her. I’m trying to feed her clues.”
“This is unreal. This is unreal.”
“Say it right now so Rafael can hear you.”
“Say what?”
“Something that shows you’re starting to doubt her.”
Jake had squeezed his eyes shut. Did he trust her? God, she was good. She sounded so sincere. “Who are you, Grace?” Jake had said loudly. “Just who the hell are you?” Carrie Ann had nodded, and then put her arm around Jake before bringing her head to rest on Jake’s shoulder. Jake had heard something whir. He had looked up to see Rafael holding a camera with a little red light glowing in the corner. Rafael had caught it all on video.
And now Jake was freaking Grace out, making her think he doubted her. He had played right into their hands! But what choice did he have? He had tried to warn her on the phone, the only way he could. Would it sink in later? And even if it did—then what? What was the true endgame here?
Carrie Ann had been the one to coach him. “Grace and I used to play Hot and Cold all the time. If she doesn’t pick up on what you’re saying to her, tell her she’s cold, very cold. If she does, tell her she’s hot.”
But Grace didn’t get it. All he did was upset her, and he wished he could take it back. She wouldn’t fall into the arms of a handsome stranger at a time like this—would she?
No. Don’t think like that. This was their game. Messing with Grace’s and Jake’s heads, making them paranoid, creating doubt. Jake loved Grace, and Grace loved Jake, and they were going to get through this somehow. But he was starting to think they weren’t going to get out of it without a fight.
How could they trust that the psycho was really just going to let them go? Grace thought Jake and Carrie Ann were in Cadaqués, and now she was off to find them, yet here they were in Barcelona, still stuck in a shoebox of a room.
There was only one window, toward the top of the wall, and it wasn’t large enough for him to fit through. The door was kept constantly locked. Any time they were allowed out to walk the perimeter of the neighborhood or get something to eat, Rafael was their constant companion. Carrie Ann was supposedly in a room down the hall. It made it impossible for Jake to figure out whether she was a victim or a mastermind. Sometimes, she was “allowed” into Jake’s room. She would sit and tell him stories about Grace—who she was still calling Carrie Ann—either in an effort to ease her own loneliness, or as just another sick mi
nd game. Bit by bit Jake was learning about Grace’s past, everything that had brought them to this point. Once in a great while, Jake had to step back and admit that Carrie Ann had told a partial truth. He hadn’t really known Grace, not in the way he had thought he had. She had kept her past locked away. She had never told him about Carrie Ann.
He had decided. He would never hold it against her. Whatever past drama that was being played out, he knew it wasn’t her fault. She was a good soul. She had a huge heart. And the years of secrets had hurt her most of all. It made him furious that Stan was still trying to make her pay—for whatever reason. Carrie Ann had hinted about Stan’s having a crush on Grace. That worried Jake most of all. And—Jean Sebastian. He’s been amazing, Grace had said. Jake wanted to wrap his hands around Mr. Amazing’s throat and squeeze. Mr. Belgian. Mr. Congo.
He had to get out of this room. He was sick with worry over Grace. He was disgusted by the dirty linoleum floor. The plain walls. The musty, maroon bedspread. The cloying heat, hardly dissipated by one loud, whirring fan. He was pacing the room when the door opened and Carrie Ann was shoved in. Rafael entered behind her, shut the door, and threw something at Jake. His initial reaction was to duck, until he realized it was his cell phone. He caught it, then just looked at Rafael. Carrie Ann scrambled onto the bed and huddled near the headboard. She was sniffling. It was the first time he’d seen her cry.
“Stan says you need to call your mami,” Rafael said. “And no funny business.” Shit. Jake looked at the phone. Should he call Grace instead? But what would he say? The calls were still being monitored somehow. “Now.”
Jake called his mother. She picked up on the first ring, which meant she was truly pissed.
“Jake?”
“Hey, Mom.”
“Oh my God. I thought you were dead. I’ve been calling Jim Sawyer nonstop until he finally gave me Grace’s number. I was just about to call the police.”
Should she? Should Jake let her call the police? And say what? My son has been kidnapped, but I don’t know where he is, and his girlfriend is also somewhere? No. There was nothing they could do. “Mom, I’m sorry. We’re on vacation—I just thought it would be fine if I talked to you when I got back. Between the time difference and the expense—”
“But you know how I worry.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I am. I’m fine, Mom.”
“Every time I called Grace was there without you. Why is that?”
“Nothing sinister, Mom. You know me—I like to wander around checking everything out. Grace wasn’t feeling well for a few days so she stayed in—”
“She didn’t say anything about not feeling well.”
“You know Grace, Mom. She’s a very private person.” From the bed, Carrie Ann snorted. Jake glanced at her, then turned away.
“And what’s this business about you meeting friends from college? Who did you meet from college?”
“Grace misunderstood. I just met some guys who went to the same college as I did—you know how it is—we got to shooting the bull.”
“As long as you’re not running with the bulls.”
“Funny.”
“You’re not, are you?”
“No. I’m not. And I’m actually kind of ready to come home.”
“You’ll be home in three days, right?”
Three days? Could that be right? That meant that Grace’s birthday was the day after tomorrow. He couldn’t let her turn thirty without him. He had to do something. “Right, Mom. Listen—I’m out of minutes—”
“You don’t sound like yourself. Tell me the truth. Did you and Grace break up?”
“No. I love you, Mom. Sorry, there’s a beep—we’re going to be cut off.” Jake hung up the phone.
“Toss it here,” Rafael said. Jake tossed the phone. Then he took a few steps toward Rafael. Rafael crossed his arms against his chest. He was tall, but skinny. He also smoked a lot of dope. Jake could take him, couldn’t he? And wouldn’t that be the moment of truth? Carrie Ann would either help tackle Rafael or Jake would find out once and for all whose side she was really on.
“Back up,” Rafael said. He put his hand in his pocket, then brought out a long, gleaming knife. Shit.
“Grace’s birthday is the day after tomorrow,” Jake said.
“So is mine,” Carrie Ann said. “We’ll be thirty.”
Jake stared at Carrie Ann. “I don’t believe a word out of your mouth,” he said. “And if you two think I’m going to let this psycho lure my girlfriend out of Barcelona and to this Salvador Dalí House, well, you all have another think coming.”
“Bringing fists to a knife fight?” Rafael said. He sounded as if he enjoyed the prospect.
“Are you ready to kill me?” Jake said. “Because that’s the only way I’m staying here another minute.”
“Are you sure that’s how you want to play it?” Rafael said.
“No,” Carrie Ann said. “Look. He might not kill you, but he’ll hurt Grace. Is that what you want?”
“I’m sick of these mind games.” He pointed to Carrie Ann. “You start telling me the truth right now, or so help me—”
Rafael approached with the knife held aloft. “You touch her, I kill you with pleasure,” he said.
“Let’s all calm down,” Carrie Ann said. She shot Jake a look. He shook his head, then retreated to a corner of the room. He was going to cry in front of these assholes, and he didn’t want to. He’d let Grace down. He never should have left her alone with Carrie Ann. He shouldn’t have accepted that drink. He should have believed Grace when she said that Carrie Ann was evil. Jake turned and lifted a small table by the bed. He held it over his head.
“Jake,” Carrie Ann said.
“Let him,” Rafael said. “He’s a man. Men need to smash.” Jake slammed the table into the wall. One leg broke off. A splinter lodged itself in his palm. Rafael let out a torrent of Spanish that had the sound of attaboy. “Bueno, bueno,” Rafael said. “Feel better?”
“Next time it’s coming down on your head,” Jake said. He picked up the table again. Rafael frowned as if not sure whether to believe him.
“Can you just give us some space?” Carrie Ann asked Rafael.
He glared at Jake, waved the knife around. “I’ll be just outside this door,” he said.
When the door shut, Jake whirled around to Carrie Ann. “Why would he listen to you? If you’re just an innocent victim like me?”
“Maybe he’s sick of listening to you whine.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you want to bust out of this place, announcing that fact in front of the guy we have to escape from is not exactly the smartest plan.”
“You have a better suggestion?”
“I’ve done all I can do.”
“Oh, yes. You’re a regular Mother Teresa.”
“I told you that crazy story in front of Rafael so that it would get back to Stan. He thinks I’m doing my part to make Grace feel as if she’s going crazy. That’s why Rafael let you repeat it to Grace. With a little bit of luck she’ll figure out what you were really trying to say. It was the best I could do.”
“It wasn’t good enough. She didn’t get it.”
“Just give it time to sink in.”
“What if it doesn’t? What if it’s too late?” Carrie Ann didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Jake didn’t know how, but he was going to have to bust out. What was it they said about kidnappers? Never let them take you to a second location.
Don’t go, Grace. Don’t leave Barcelona. Jake repeated the plea over and over in his head, knowing all the while it was too late. She was already gone. Ignoring Carrie Ann, he picked up the table and alternated between yelling and smashing whatever pieces were left of it against the wall until Rafael came in with the handcuffs.
“You’ll have to cut me,” Jake said when he saw what Rafael had planned.
“No problema,” Rafael said.
CHAPTER 35
Grace had hated Stan’s barn from the minu
te she walked into it. It was looming and dark; a heavy, sad feeling had worked its way into the joints and settled. And that was before. It smelled of oil and manure. The Gales only had a couple of cows, which were currently grazing in the field, but boy did the large, messy barn stink. Stacks of hay, the carcass of a rusty old car, a John Deere tractor, moldy feed buckets, and empty horse stalls filled the bulk of the space. Carrie Ann, Grace, and Stan headed for a ladder leading up to the hayloft, tucked away beneath the old, thick rafters.
Stan was more animated than usual, which for him meant a bounce in his step and slightly more chatter. Grace brought up the rear, dragging her feet, not at all happy with their new meeting place.
“Did you get it?” Carrie Ann asked Stan.
“I got it,” he replied.
What now? Grace wondered as they climbed up the ladder. Grace was the last to reach the loft. When Stan held out his hand at the top, she was forced to take it. There was a gap of about a foot between the last rung and the floorboard of the hayloft. She wanted to go home. Stan’s hand was cold and clammy. As soon as she was sitting on hay, she wiped her hand on her pants over and over, as if trying to rub off his touch. As soon as they were all seated, Stan dug around in his backpack. He pulled out a tall bottle. The liquid was gold.
“Scotch,” Carrie Ann said. “Nice.” Next he pulled out a single Camel cigarette.
“We’ll have to share,” he said. “It’s all I could get.”
Grace didn’t want to drink scotch and share a cigarette. She wanted to go home. She could do that, right? She could say she was going home, walk down the ladder. She was more afraid of going down than up, terrified of that gap. Maybe Lydia would come up from the basement of her house, where she had her painting studio, and see what her son was up to. Grace’s mother was probably home ironing a shirt for her dad or scolding one of the boys.
Carrie Ann lit the cigarette. The tip glowed orange, and a sharp smell hit the air along with a cloud of smoke. That was worse than the manure. Surely Lydia would smell that? Carrie Ann didn’t even cough. She inhaled, blew smoke, then inhaled again.
