The moment Graeme’s men dragged the group of men into the gala hall, Macy’s entire body locked in recognition. It was them. The kidnappers. The same men who had tried to take Will earlier that day.
Her fingers curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms hard enough to leave crescent marks. The memory of Will’s terrified scream when they’d snatched him from the dressing room flashed behind her eyes, and for a second, she couldn’t breathe.
He was safe now, Macy reminded herself. She had saved him from them.
Across the room, Annette went rigid. Her manicured hands, which had been clenched at her sides, twitched once before she took a deliberate step back—sheltering herself behind her mother with a cold, calculated attitude.
The way she moved reminded Macy of a snake coiling, rea
