Page 76 of Forged in Secrets

When the door opened–whenever that would be, if Craig and Jade’s promise of freedom was even real–she wouldn’t have a chance to stop and think. She’d have to act right away, and she wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to do it.

She had been furious at both of them, but her anger had settled slowly into a combination of pity and terror. Craig was in over his head. She could see that. The thought of harming him felt wrong, even though she could argue with herself that he deserved it. Jade was much more dangerous, but if Grace attacked her, Craig might suddenly become a protective father.

She sighed, taking the three steps required to reach the bed and sinking onto it, letting her arm rest in a pool of sunlight streaming in through the porthole. She took several belly breaths, trying to calm the racing thoughts crowding her mind. They would do her no good. She was here in this room until something changed. She wasn’t in control.

But she knew exactly who was.

She opened her mouth to pray aloud, not caring who might hear.

“Father in Heaven,” she began, “please watch over me. Please help me to be patient as I await whatever comes next. Help me to take this time to relax my body, and most of all, to rest in You. Please grant me wisdom.”

She paused, swallowing hard as unexpected tears began to blur her vision.

“Please, Jesus,” she added, “just tell me what I need to do. I’m scared.”

She waited there for several minutes, eyes pressed shut, trying to think and not to think at the same time.

There was no voice calling out in her mind, no words written in the seamless blue sky outside the boat. But she knew.

All He was asking of her right now was to wait.

She sat up on the bed and shuffled toward the desk, reaching out her fingers until she could wrap them around the curtain rod.

Renewed anger swelled up within her with sudden force.

She didn’t want to let go of the weapon. She wanted that door to open, and she wanted to start swinging.

The last time she’d waited instead of acting, her life had changed forever.

Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered what she did. Maybe she and everyone else in that church would have ended up beneath the rubble just the same.

She always told herself that, and maybe it was true.

Then again, maybe it wasn’t.

Had she continued to report her student’s suspicious comments about jihad, she might have been able to prevent him from blowing himself up that Sunday morning.

She could have been persistent. She could have had the courage to keep trying. They could have kept calling her a liar, paranoid, prejudiced. Why did it matter? Why had she cared what they thought, so long as she knew that she was doing all she could to protect the innocent?

But she had cared.

She’d gone against her instincts. She’d let herself be convinced that everything was fine.

In the end, thirty people had died.

“Jesus, please,” she begged, her knuckles white against the curtain rod, every nerve in her body tensing in wait. “Please, don’t make me sit here and wait for the roof to cave in on me again. Let me do something. Let me try and save her.”

She hated the answer, but she could feel it deep within her, and she knew she could not disobey His gentle command.

Wait.

Grace walked over to the porthole again and threaded the curtain onto the rod before hefting it back into place.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

BEN

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