“Damn it!” seethed Keith. “Why is doing the right thing always so complicated?” He stomped away, behind her where she couldn’t see. When he came back, he was wielding a gun.
Isabelle’s blood ran cold. He was going to kill Grant right now. Right here.
She had to warn him. She screamed louder, begging Dale with her eyes to help her, too.
Keith went to the door. She couldn’t see him around the corner, but she could hear him turn the lock.
“Hey, Grant,” said Keith, sounding like nothing was wrong.
“I need to talk to Isabelle.”
“She doesn’t want to see you. I’m sorry. It’s best if you just go.”
No! Isabelle rocked her chair, scooting it the last few inches until she was near the wall. Her head was the only thing she could move, so she slammed it against the wall. Pain exploded in her head. She shook it off and did it again. This time, her vision filled with flickering lights. She couldn’t let herself pass out, and she blinked hard to clear her vision.
“What was that?” asked Grant.
“What?”
“That pounding?”
“Dale’s music,” said Keith, smooth and calm.
“That didn’t sound like—”
Dale tipped his chair over, and it broke apart under his weight. The sound of splintering wood filled the room.
“What the hell?”
There was a harsh grunt, then Grant appeared around the corner and took in the situation in one sweeping glance. Behind him, Keith approached, gun in one hand, what looked like a can of Mace in the other.
Isabelle screamed and jerked her head, trying to tell Grant Keith was behind him. He spun around and saw the gun. Grant reacted in a brutally fast attack. One second, the gun was in Keith’s hand, the next, it was skidding across the floor.
Grant pinned Keith to the wall by the throat. Keith lifted the can of Mace and sprayed. Grant knocked the can aside, deflecting most of the spray away from his face, but some of it went into his right eye.
Grant’s body went limp and crumpled to the floor. His eyes were still open, staring without blinking. He lay there limp, like a puppet with cut strings.
Keith retrieved the gun and stood over him. That feral glow of insanity was back in his eyes. He was going to kill Grant while Isabelle watched, both of them helpless to stop it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Grant was seething, boiling over with the kind of rage and desperation he’d felt the night he’d killed Lavine, but it didn’t do him any good. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t even blink.
Whatever Keith had sprayed him with was fast, potent stuff. If he didn’t find a way to throw off the effects, they were all dead.
He heard Isabelle’s muffled scream from across the room. Keith had her tied to a chair. Blood ran down the side of her face, mixing with panicked tears. And her eyes, they were wide with terror and anguish.
Keith had hurt her, and Grant was going to kill him for it.
Grant tamped down the urge and tried to concentrate on what he needed to do to save her and the others. He took a quick survey of his body, trying to move anything. All he got was a tiny wiggle in his toes. Not much, but something. He had no idea how long this stuff lasted, or if it was permanent.
Panic made his heart pound. What if he wasn’t able to help them? What if he had to watch them die?
Get a grip. Focus.
At least his heart was still working. Whatever had paralyzed him could have done so to his heart muscle and diaphragm, as well. He could still breathe. That was something.
Keith grabbed him by the arm and dragged him over the floor. “Why do you have to make things so hard on me?”
Grant’s foot twitched. He moved it again, just to be sure it wasn’t an accident. It moved.
Excitement raced through him. He was metabolizing the paralytic quickly. Maybe if he revved up his heart rate to speed his metabolism it would help. He could slow his heart when he needed to take a shot. Maybe he could do the opposite now.
Keith arranged Grant’s body so he could see the room. “Stay right here. I’ll be back for you in a minute as soon as Isabelle finishes taking her medicine.”
Dale struggled to rid himself of the ropes and bits of broken chair that were taped to his legs. Keith was hardly paying him any attention. He walked by, backhanded Dale in the face, and the boy went down hard without so much as a twitch.
A splinter of wood cut Dale’s face, and blood oozed into the carpet.
Rage took over. Grant let it. He gave in to the feeling and let it consume him. His heart hammered in his chest, and sweat beaded up on his skin. He was going to kill Keith. He’d spilled a child’s blood. He’d hurt Isabelle. No one hurt his Isabelle.
Keith set the spray can down, picked up her chair, and moved it away from the wall. He inspected her head with gentle fingers. “You shouldn’t have done that. I hate seeing you bleed.”
He ripped the tape from Isabelle’s mouth, and she screamed loud enough to wake the dead. “Help!”
Keith clamped a hand hard over her mouth. “Shut up, or I’ll shoot Dale in the head right now. Understand?”
Isabelle went silent.
A buzzing sensation lightened Grant’s limbs. He could move his arms now, though he was careful not to let Keith see. Another minute or two and maybe he’d be able to sit up.
Keith poured pills into his hand and pressed them into Isabelle’s mouth. “We’re running out of time. Swallow faster.”
“Please don’t make me do this,” begged Isabelle around the pills.