Page 97 of Blade

“She couldn’t have gone far.” My eyes turn to the road, the exit, the places Grace might be heading. I’m expecting Artis to shift the car into drive and hit the gas.

Instead he looks at me and waits.

“What?” I ask.

“I don’t know where to go. Maybe we should wait for the next call from the monitoring station.”

“Artis—no!” I protest. “She could freeze to death by then! And what if they lose the signal?”

He hangs his head. “Okay—then where would she be going? What did she tell you in there that made her run away again?”

I think now about what she said, what spooked her.

“She heard them fighting—Emile and Dawn, and possibly Westin, the night he was killed. They were in Emile’s office.”

Artis goes quiet as he fights to hold an expression. What is it, exactly? Curiosity? Surprise?

“Did you know?”

Now a change, the pull of his cheeks, squint of his eyes. “Know what?”

I rattle off everything I learned from Jill back home and Grace just moments ago.

“Emile was speaking to a reporter about The Palace. He was telling them things about Dawn’s training methods and Westin’s practices. And about us—me, Jolene, Kayla, and Indy. He knew everything. He wanted to take this place down before leaving for California.”

Artis shifts back in his seat. “You think they killed Emile? And then what—moved his body? And now they’re letting everyone believe Grace did it?”

Impatience seethes inside me—I need Artis to catch up, to get to where I am in understanding what happened. He doesn’t know what they’re capable of. I can see it on his face. How crazy I must sound.

“There was something else Grace saw—a car she recognized in the parking lot. But she heard you coming down the hall, and she ran out the back before she could tell me.”

“Wait—someoneelsewas at The Palace the night Emile went missing? Besides Dawn and Westin?”

“Yes ... please—just drive. We need to find her.”

Artis puts the car in gear and starts to move.

“Who does she think was there? Besides Dawn and Westin?”

“I don’t know—just drive toward the condos. Maybe she’s going back there.”

Artis does as I ask, but I can see his face growing apprehensive.

“It’s a little convenient that she didn’t have time to tell you—don’t you think? Before she ran away again?”

I shake my head, look at him. “No—I don’t. She was scared.”

He exhales long and hard. “And you’re sure it was blood in that closet?”

Now I understand. “You think this is all a ruse? That she’s making it up?”

“She hasn’t exactly been helpful—until now. Saying, what? That she heard a fight, then someone else coming, and now there’s blood in the closet between the offices ... she’s found a way to explain the blood on her skates.”

I can’t believe what he’s saying. But then I think, maybe it’s me—maybe I’m blinded by the past. She knew exactly what to tell me to ignite my own fear—that Emile knew a secret about me.

“And what about the dress?” Artis asks. “Someone would have seen them in the dorm if they’d taken it from Grace’s room.”

“Not necessarily—and what are we even doing? It’s their job to prove Grace is guilty. Not ours ...”