Page 128 of Faded Gray Lines

I saw it coming across her face like a slow-moving freight train, and when it finally hit, it took everything out in its path. “Stella’s missing!” she screamed, slipping on the soaked grass as she climbed to her feet. “Did you know that? My grandparents are dead. Your fucking cartel killed them and stole my baby. He knew it and was going to trade me for her to ease his conscience.”

“Leighton...”

“He knew they took her, Mateo,” she repeated, gritting her teeth. “I’m glad he’s dead.”

“How do you know he’s dead?” The masochistic side of me asked the question, although part of me already knew the answer.

A haunting smile curved her face. “Whose body do you think they pulled out of the safe house?”

Forty-Three

Leighton

Five Hours Earlier

“Sarah, wake up! We have to get out of here!”

My Grandpa Harcourt had served as a volunteer fireman for the better part of fifty years. If there was one thing he was adamant about, it was teaching Brody and me every minute detail of fire safety. Because of his stubbornness, I knew I had fifteen to seventeen minutes to make it out of here rather than the usual three to five.

Just by looking at it, I knew the house we were in was old. That worked in my favor. Solid wood walls burned slowly. Had Emilio taken me to a newer location, I would’ve already been dead.

Forcing myself to remain calm, I checked the clock. Two minutes. I struggled as flames licked the baseboards. Watching in horror, I froze as ash and smoke began to rise, filling my lungs.

I coughed while pressing my nose against the floor. “Sarah!”

Jerking on my restraints again only succeeded in shaving the skin off my wrists. The flames hadn’t touched me, but that didn’t stop the blistering heat. I started to panic, and then I heard my father’s voice, reminding me of the day he decided knowledge was more important than my innocence.

“Duct tape is a kidnapper’s favorite method of restraint because it’s quick and forces his victim into submission, Lil’ Bit. They eventually just give up. You’re not going to get out of it by fighting against it. Give me your wrists. I’m going to show you a trick not many people know.”

“Oh, my God. I forgot.”

Positioning my bound arms on the sharp edge of one of the chair legs, I furiously sawed my wrists up and down just like he’d taught me until the tape snapped, freeing my arms. Climbing to my knees, I shook the shit out of Sarah and glanced at the clock again.

“Get up!” I coughed while covering my mouth. “We have less than seven minutes!”

Shattering glass pulled my attention away as a square piece of thick metal with a huge stick attached to it repeatedly slammed through the window. As soon as all the glass disappeared, a man tumbled onto the floor in a heap.

As fire raged around me, all I could think of to say was, “Was that a carjack?”

Groaning, Alex crawled over to me, “Where’s the kid?”

“She’s not here.” I coughed. “I thought you were dead?”

“So did they,” he growled. “Damn, I had a chance! If I knew they didn’t have the kid—”

“You wouldn’t have come back,” I finished for him.

Darkness consumed me, and in the midst of chaos, I fell into the abyss.

“Fuck this.” He covered his mouth and nose with the inside of his elbow. “You Harcourts have ruined my life. Burn in hell, bitch.”

I didn’t remember picking up the chair. However, when I swung it, the wood splintered, and Agent Alex Atwood hit the floor with a muffled grunt.

“You first,” I hissed.

Then I noticed something shiny beside his pocket. Dropping to my knees, I grabbed his keys off the floor and crawled toward the window.

Three minutes.