Manhunt.
From the moment I gave Alexei that drugged bottle of water I knew this was coming. I knew I was making him a fugitive, an outlaw. Suddenly, the Mediterranean coast feels more like the Wild West, and Alexei is supposed to be some villain on the run. It’s absurd.
“Manhunt?” My voice is shaking again, but this time for an entirely different reason. “Manhunt!” Fury consumes me. I’m aflame with righteous indignation. “Two people are dead. One more person should be dead except sheer dumb luck meant he wasn’t in the car at the time.”
“Now, Grace …” Smiley starts, but I don’t care what he has to say. I know they aren’t here because they’re worried someone tried to kill Alexei — worried that next time they’ll succeed. They aren’t even worried about who killed Spence. No, they’re here because Alexei is in the wind and Adria is embarrassed. And the crowds … the crowds aren’t going to go away.
“Do you know who tried to kill Alexei?” I ask. “Who killed his driver? Do you even care?”
“Grace.” Ms. Chancellor places her hand on my sleeve, pulls me back.
“The car had a mechanical malfunction.” Officer Smiley’s face is so straight, his expression so earnest, that it’s almost like he believes this ridiculous theory.
“Oh,” I say. “Is that what they’re calling bombs these days?”
“Grace,” Ms. Chancellor warns, but I shake her off.
“It was on a timer, wasn’t it? The bomb?” I wait, but of course they don’t answer. That doesn’t stop me from seeing the truth in their eyes. “He wasn’t supposed to be late. Alexei is never late. If I” — hadn’t drugged him — “had to guess, I’d say whoever set the bomb knew that.”
“The Russian delegation is handling this situation internally. It was an official embassy car on official Russian territory. We haven’t examined the wreckage, haven’t removed any bodies. We know only what they tell us. And they tell us mechanical malfunction.”
I can tell by the way he says it that Officer Smiley doesn’t think there was a driver, a body. Now at least I know the Adrian police are buying into one conspiracy theory. They just have the wrong one.
“Someone killed Spence. And then someone tried to kill Alexei right before Alexei was able to talk. You can’t possibly think that’s a coincidence.”
“So you’re saying that you think there is some vast international conspiracy at play here? Some cover-up?”
It’s all I can do not to turn and stare at Ms. Chancellor. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Smiley leans a little closer, places his elbows on his knees, like we’re confidants. Like we’re friends. “Now, come, Grace. We know you have an active imagination.”
Times like this I want to yell, I want to scream. I want to tell the world that I was wrong about the Scarred Man, but I was right, too. I was just a different kind of —
“Crazy.”
The officers stare at me, not blinking. I go on. “That’s what you meant to say, isn’t it? That I was institutionalized? That I have a history of psychotic breaks? It’s okay if it is. I really am —”
“Gracie?”
I turn at the sound of Jamie’s voice. He’s standing in the doorway, hurt and confused. He looks like maybe I’ve betrayed him. I’m talking about his little sister, after all. It would be easier if I’d just act like everyone else. Pretend.
“What’s going on here?” my brother asks Ms. Chancellor as both cops rise to their feet.
“James Blakely?” the woman asks.
“What do you want with my sister?”
Smiley extends a hand, but Jamie lets it hang, empty in the air.
“Well,” the officer says, pulling back. “Good to meet you. We were hoping to have a moment of your time as well. We have a few questions about —”
“Gracie, come on. We’re leaving.” Jamie jerks his head toward the door.
“Mr. Blakely, please come in. Have a seat.” That Officer Smiley doesn’t have the right to offer anyone a seat in the US embassy is something that no one mentions.
Jamie stays at the door, his own form of rebellion.
“What’s going on here?” he asks.
“These officers had some questions for Grace,” Ms. Chancellor tells him.
“Please, join us, Mr. Blakely. We have some questions for you, too.”
Jamie doesn’t budge until Ms. Chancellor says, “James. Please.”
Grudgingly, Jamie comes around and takes a seat beside me. It feels like I have a guard, a protector. It’s something I haven’t felt in ages, but I don’t let myself think about how much I’ve missed it.
“Do you have any idea why Mr. Volkov wasn’t in the car yesterday?” Smiley asks me.
“No. But I know John Spencer is dead and the boy who was getting ready to start talking about that night is supposed to be dead. So please tell me you people don’t still think this is just about some kids trying to blow off steam at some party.”
He doesn’t speak, so I cross my arms, defiant. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me the truth. But please don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”
“Let’s talk about that night. Tell us about the party,” Smiley says.
“It was nothing special. My friends went. So I went. It was just your typical, run-of-the-mill high school party.”