It's almost dinner time when they speak again. He has trapped a rabbit and spent the afternoon silently preparing a stew for them to eat. Grace has been sitting in the sun alternately dozing and watching him work.
"How much do *you* remember of your past?" Grace asks suddenly as she watches him stir the stew.
"Very little before I met Doc," he says quietly. "But that's not a hardship. I don't need to know."
"Afraid of what you'll find out?" she raises an eyebrow.
"What I already know has destroyed my family," John replies tightly. "Why would I want to enlarge on that?"
"Suppose what you know isn't the whole truth?" Grace purses her lips and raises her right eyebrow. "You told me yourself that there was a 'chip' or something controlling you.' She sounds derisive when she mentions the chip and John wonders what she is up to. "How do you know what is fact and what is fiction?"
"I don't," he admits, shaking his head. "But Stefano is hardly likely to open up and lay it all out in front of me, is he?"
"No," she smiles warmly, "but *I* might."
It takes a moment to sink in and then John looks up sharply. "What do you mean, *you* might?"
Grace smiles. She has him, hook, line and sinker. It's time to get this party started and it's obviously not going to happen in this dump in the woods in the middle of nowhere. She has the bait and the means to use it. And she knows John will bite. He always does.
"I mean," she pauses for dramatic effect, "I know where Stefano keeps all his documentation. Every file he has on you, everything to do with Father John, with Gina, with Roman Brady and John Black; I know where it all is."
"And why didn't you share this little tidbit of information before?" John demands, trying to keep his ire under control.
She shrugs delicately. "You never asked?"
"And why would you offer it to me now?" he doesn’t trust her an inch. This has to be some kind of trap.
"Because I'm bored." It's true enough. "I want to get back to civilization. I want to get out of," her nose wrinkles in distaste as she motions to the cabin and surrounding woods. " And because I want to make a deal with you."
"What kind of deal?" He's wary and rightly enough.
"I'll take you to where it's all kept and you'll let me go." She acts as though this is the most simple and natural request in the world. She knows it isn't.
"No *fucking* way!" he growls, his head beginning to ache again. "I don't care about my past. I care about my *wife*. I want my *wife* back, dammit! *Nothing* else matters to me. How many times do I have to *say* it?"
"And how long do we have to carry on this impasse?" Grace retorts, her impatience getting the better of her. "John, she's *not* coming back. Deal with it."
"I will *never* accept that!" he yells at her, his face red, his throat corded with rage. "*NEVER*!" He lashes out at the closest thing in his field of vision and his hand connects with the metal pot hanging over the fire. The pot clangs against the rocks and the stew spills all over the ground. John utters a curse and clutches his burnt hand.
"Oh, well fucking *done*." Grace snarls.
"Shut *up*." John scowls at her murderously.
Grace says nothing, but pushes herself up and marches to the cabin. She's been concealing the fact that her ankle is well healed but she's finally had it. She's out of here, whether he intends it or not.
"Where are you going?" John demands.
"Anywhere where you're *not*!" She throws the words over her shoulder as she enters the ramshackle building. He meets her as she comes out, her blonde hair tied in a make-shift pony-tail and her shirt sticking to her in the heat. In her hands are the fake passport and a wad of cash.
"You're not going *anywhere*," he growls threateningly.
"Wanna *bet*?" she brings her knee up hard between his legs and laughs at his howl of pain. "So long, *stud*!"
She pushes him aside and takes off at a jog, retracing the steps she thinks they took up the hill. She doesn't bother to hide her tracks; she knows he'll be after her soon. In fact, she's counting on it. She simply wants a good head start.
Eventually, she finds the car, noting it's still well-hidden. It seems Stefano is no closer to locating them then. Good. She has been hoping that would be the case. She has plans for John, and Stefano turning up too early will ruin them. She knows Stefano will never approve of her sleeping with the enemy so it's best not to involve him. She also knows he will be furious to know that she is running with John as a willing participant rather than a prisoner, but so be it. He will forgive her.
Although he might punish her first.
She shivers with delight at the thought. She adores Stefano and she loves his games even more. She knows he will never *really* hurt her, she means too much to him and they are two of a kind. He will simply engage in one of his power plays and she will play his game until she can tease him out of his rage. It's happened before, and it will again.
She pulls John's keys out of her pocket and unlocks the trunk, flinging open her suitcase in a fluid motion. Quickly she strips off the clothes she is wearing and slips on a pair of khaki cargoes and a tight, white vest. She rummages through her bag and emerges with a pair of white Nikes and slides them on. Then quickly she grabs a pouch from the bag and unzips it. It turns inside out and quickly takes shape in the form of a rucksack. She stuffs several items from her suitcase, along with the passport and the money into the bag and zips it closed. Tossing the keys into the back of the car, she turns and shades her eyes as she heads for the road.
As she reaches it, she surveys the scene in front of her. The sun is setting across the valley, the light spreading a golden web across the trees and the sparkling water of the river. Behind her, she can hear John scrambling down the hill. She doesn't have any time to waste.
Quickly, she crosses the road and scans the riverbank. Her eyes glitter as she finds what she's looking for about half a mile downstream. She takes off at a jog, ignoring the twinges in her ankle as she hears John close on her heels.
She reaches the boat before he reaches her. She throws her bag in the wooden dinghy and climbs into it. Judging that he's almost close enough to leap for the boat, she pulls on the rope that moors the boat to the rickety jetty and uses an oar to push the boat away into the current.
She glares at him as he pounds onto the jetty.
"Stop!" he pants.
"Fuck off, asshole!" No point in making it easy for him, right?
"Grace. Stop!" He runs to the end of the jetty and teeters dangerously. "Look, I'll go with you. You're on. The deal I mean." He gasps for breath as she watches him, her expression one of suspicion.
"I thought *nothing* else mattered to you?" She pushes on the oar, maintaining her distance from the jetty.
"It doesn't," he shrugs. "But you're right. This is an impasse. And I'll make the deal with you and hope it comes out my way. That's all."
"What, that Saint Marlena makes her long-awaited reappearance before you have to let me go?" She laughs. "Don't hold your breath John."
"I'll take my chances." He raises his eyebrows. "Obviously it's either that or walk away from you now, and I'm not prepared to do that. You're too important to me."
"Oh, my *hero*," she fans herself in mock admiration. "How touching."
"Well?" John crosses his arms. "Do we have a deal?" He waits, his heart pounding. She has to know he's lying. He'll never let her go, not willingly. And if he's forced to, he'll hunt her to the ends of the earth.
"I'm thinking." She knows he's lying. And he knows she knows. The muscle in his cheek, twitching madly, gives it away. He's a hopeless liar. How Marlena ever fell for his bullshit, she'll never understand.
"Okay," she says slowly. "We have a deal."
She doesn't care if he's lying. When she gets him where she wants him, his lies won't matter. Not in the slightest.