Survive the Night (Lost, Inc.)

by Hinze, Vicki

  He was a rich target, too. Always making waves through Florida Vet Net. He had testified before Congress on behalf of veterans at least half a dozen times. Actually, that’s where her pastor in Tennessee had met Paul. After Jeff had abandoned her at the airport, she had waited for hours for him to come back. When she accepted he wasn’t going to, she called her pastor because there was no one else to call. He had tried to help her, but couldn’t in the way she most needed help because she couldn’t really talk to him. The lines were too blurry between classified information and general life information. That was normal for people in intelligence circles. Personally and professionally, too much hurt too deep. Her pastor realized the challenge before she did and contacted Paul, certain he could help her since he and Della had walked in the same world of shadows and secrets. And Paul had helped her. He’d brought her to North Bay, gotten her an interview with Madison—nothing with computers. Computer expertise, intelligence expertise had cost her Danny. Without it, she’d have been home with him. She wanted no part of them—as an investigator—and she’d focused on reuniting people with their loved ones. That helped soothe her wounded mother’s heart. Gave her something to nurture. Paul had been with her every step of the way. Helped her get the cottage, talked her through long nights of grief. They’d run into each other at Miss Addie’s café and eaten together, and both hated eating alone, so it became something they did that expanded to other activities. Picnics, parties, events in the village and Madison’s swirl of parties she considered a required part of the job for her staff. She didn’t want to get involved and neither did Paul, but you can’t rely on each other and spend so much time together and not form opinions. She liked him and he her. Then she cared and so did he. It wasn’t a lightning bolt that struck them. It was more like rising water. They grew close and the water filled the empty spaces. Now he might want her to marry him one day. And that changed everything. Even though he’d claimed he was teasing her, Paul Mason would never suggest marrying a woman he didn’t love. He loved her—and she was afraid to love him back.

  For good reason, it appeared, since he doubted her.

  Her chest went tight, her throat thick. Why did you trust him? Why did you open yourself up to being betrayed again? And how could he seem so devoted to her and yet doubt her?

  Having no answers to those questions, either, she scrunched her toes and stared mindlessly out on the whitecapped water. The sun sank lower. Her heart sank with it. The sky streaked pink and gold, muted and quiet, but her mind reeled on. She still had plenty of questions but precious few answers, and sadly, no serenity or peace.

  What about Grant Deaver?

  Glad to refocus, she gave him her attention. What did she really know about Deaver? Former OSI investigator. Good reputation but not necessarily a good guy in this situation. Everyone at the office figured at best he had torn loyalties and he would report everything that went on at Lost, Inc., to General Talbot. Yes, Deaver had been wounded in the alley after the tires were slashed, but that might have been a deliberate tactic to get the Lost, Inc., staff to lower its guard and accept him as one of them. After all, he’d only been lightly conked on the head. He could be a double agent of sorts, or not. Possible and probable, whether or not Deaver liked it. The stakes were high for Talbot and Dayton, and if they wanted Deaver to act as a mole for them, they’d see to it that he did it. They had the power to make things happen.

  Della folded her knees and brushed at the gritty sand clinging to her thigh. What would Paul think? He knew Madison didn’t trust Grant Deaver. Did Paul trust him?

  Why did his opinion matter so much? She sighed heavily. Of course it mattered. She’d trusted him. Really trusted him. Really cared about him, too. Betrayal stabbed her deep. In her mind, she glimpsed images of him laughing, them dancing, sharing popcorn at the theater, sitting on the porch swing talking about everything and nothing. Paul was always so gentle with her. Rarely pushy. Never asking for more than she could give. And, being honest with herself, she couldn’t deny how many nights she’d fallen asleep wondering what his kisses would be like.

  Naturally, come morning she would chide herself for such absurd thoughts. But in the wee hours before dawn, when darkness threatened to swallow her and all stood still and silent, thinking of him helped her hang on until sunrise. Nights could be terribly long, yawning and stretching out before her like lifetimes that all but stood still, tormenting her with memories of all she’d lost and would never have again.

  Paul had helped her through those nights. And when she’d called him during the worst of them—in the early times of horrific nightmares—to talk her through them, he always had. Just the sound of his voice had calmed her. Soothed her. Acted as a balm to her wounded soul.

  Would a man who did all that betray you?

  Would he? Was he just a friend?

  The truth hit her. She stilled. Denied the truth. Argued. And lost.

  Sometime in the past three years, her feelings for Paul Mason had grown far beyond friendship. And that truth terrified her, burned fear into places so deep inside her she couldn’t even peg where they started or stopped. How had she let this happen?

  He was her true best friend. She didn’t want to lose him. He’d heard her out, over and again, and he’d listened. Yet she’d refused to hear or listen to him. He’d earned the right to explain. Why hadn’t she let him explain? And would Paul betray her? Really? Would he? He thought Crawford was after her and put himself between them. Would a man who’d do that betray her?

  Wait. Just wait. That was doubt in his eyes.

  But, she asked herself now what she should have then: Doubt about what? Had she drawn the right conclusion or jumped to a wrong conclusion?

  Suddenly she wasn’t sure.

  They had discussed Jeff many times. Many times. But this time, Paul’s reaction had been different. This time, he hadn’t just listened. He’d asked questions. And the questions he’d seemingly most wanted answered weren’t ones about whether or not she thought Jeff could be stalking her. They were ones about whether or not she still loved Jeff and wanted him to come get her. As a friend, Paul wouldn’t be most worried about her being in love with her ex. And yet he was.

  She had jumped to the wrong conclusion, and she didn’t want to do so again. She didn’t dare make too much of this. But how could she not feel confident concluding that to Paul, this was personal? Very personal.

  And that raised another question. Could he more than love her? Had his feelings gone beyond friendship and love? Was it possible that Paul had fallen in love with her?

  No. Stop it, Della.

  She put the brakes on that line of thought. Yet she feared it was too late. Strange thoughts that started with his teasing solution had changed everything and created a spark that now flamed inside her chest. She recognized it for what it was. And oh, but she feared it. More than she thought to ever fear anything again in her life.

  It was hope.

  Oh, woman. You are the worst kind of fool. He’ll run from you just as he runs—

  Something slammed into the back of her head.

  She saw stars, then nothing more.

  SEVEN

  Della was missing.

  And Paul was out of options. His insides had passed tense knots hours ago and now hissed like coiled snakes. Detective Cray had everyone on the North Bay force looking for her. Okaloosa and Walton counties had been alerted. Madison had everyone at Lost, Inc., hopping, and she’d recruited her sorority sisters to canvass hotels, motels and condo rentals. So far, no one had turned up anything.

  Terrified, Paul pulled into Lost, Inc., parked and went inside. Mrs. Renault wasn’t in her office. Madison met him instead. “Where’s Mrs. Renault?”

  “I sent her home hours ago—before you called in about Della. She was exhausted, Paul. She called a few minutes ago. I told her Della was missing and she’s on her way in.” Madison motioned to the chair opposite her desk. “You tried Della’s favorite Chinese place, right?”
>
  He nodded. “She’d eat it every meal. Well, every meal she doesn’t eat at Miss Addie’s.” Since word had spread through the bay that Miss Addie was gone and therefore not cooking, the café was all but abandoned except for coffee drinkers taking breaks from the Della search. “Anything new from Cray?” Paul was at loose ends. Everything in him said to search, but there just wasn’t anywhere else to look.

  “Nothing noteworthy. They’re turning over every rock, he says.”

  The bell chimed. Paul turned to see who was coming in. Mrs. Renault, wearing a soft gold dress and white pumps. Her hair was loose. She rarely wore her hair down and loose.

  “Anything new on Della?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” It hurt Paul’s throat to admit it, and every time he did, his heart skipped a full beat. If he hadn’t been clear on his feelings for her before she went missing, he was clear now. The faith issue still stood in their way, but his heart zoomed right past it under fear her stalker had intercepted her. “We’re still looking.”

  “You’ve tried Chen’s, of course.” She stowed her purse in her desk drawer.

  He nodded. What if the stalker did have her? What if—

  “Yin’s?” Mrs. Renault circled the edge of her desk. “That’s her second favorite.”

  Again he nodded.

  “What about the Ritz?” she asked.

  Madison frowned. “She can’t be getting her hair or nails done.”

  “She’s not,” Paul said, starting to pace. “Jimmy’s been there twice.”

  “I’m sure you went to the beach first.”

  Paul stopped. “The beach?”

  Mrs. Renault frowned. “You should know this, Paul. You’re her best friend.”

  “Know what?” He lifted his hands.

  “Della always goes to the beach to think. Are you telling me you haven’t checked the beach?”

  “Where on the beach?” He dug for his keys in his pocket.

  “On the island near the pier.” She frowned deeper, glanced at Madison, who looked equally surprised. “Neither of you knew this?”

  “Not me. Sorry.” Madison shrugged.

  Paul grumbled. “The woman tells me nothing.”

  “She didn’t tell me, Paul,” Mrs. Renault said. “I noticed. She leaves troubled, returns less troubled. Sand on her shoes. Smelling of sunscreen. I ask if she’s been on the island at the pier, she says just to the left of it. This is not rocket science.”

  Madison grunted. “I didn’t notice.”

  “Perhaps that’s a sign to slow down a bit.” Mrs. Renault sighed. “I’m not surprised you missed it, but, Paul, I’m definitely surprised you did.”

  “Why? I can’t see her return to this office with sand on her shoes or smelling of sunscreen from my office at Vet Net.”

  “Because you typically notice everything about her.” Mrs. Renault shrugged an elegant shoulder and turned her back. “Time for tea.” She headed up to the kitchen.

  “He doesn’t notice everything. They’re just—” Madison stopped midsentence, stared gape-jawed at Paul. “You’re more than friends?”

  “I don’t know what we are.” That was true enough.

  “Oh, my.” Madison’s eyes gleamed with curiosity.

  “Not now.” Agitated, Paul moved toward the door. “If Cray calls, tell him where I am.”

  “If you find her, phone in right away.”

  “I will.” Paul rushed out. The beach. She went to the beach to think. Why didn’t he know that?

  He drove as if demons were hot on his heels, crossed the bridge to the island and got to the pier. A red CRV was parked in the lot. He compared the plate to the tag the A-1 clerk had given Cray. It matched. He called Madison. “Her car’s at the pier. I’m on my way out to the water now.”

  Paul hung up before Madison could say anything, shed his shoes and took off through the sand. He searched to the left of the pier and spotted nothing, then cut under it and looked down the sand to its right. Drag marks led down a fair stretch to a dark lump.

  It wasn’t moving.

  He ran toward it. The closer he got, the more afraid he became. It was a person...a woman...Della!

  Finally reaching her, he dropped to his knees. “Della. Della.” He ran his fingers at her throat, seeking... She had a pulse. Thank You. Unconscious. He lifted her head and checked her scalp. Felt a huge goose egg near her nape—and saw blood. It clotted her hair, soaked the sand.

  Oh, no. Please, no. Unsteady, he pulled out his phone and dialed 911.

  “Della?” With fumbling hands, he tried to rouse her. His chest heavy, his heart heavier. Why wouldn’t she wake up? “Della, it’s Paul. Wake up, Della.”

  Nothing.

  He should have told her.

  Please, give me the chance. Just give me the chance, and I will tell her. I will.

  Fear that he wouldn’t get that chance set in. Desperation rode with it. “Della Jackson, don’t you dare die. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare die!”

  * * *

  Paul paced the hospital waiting room, staring at the blue padded chairs, the gray walls and carpet. When they’d arrived, Della still hadn’t regained consciousness, but she was alive.

  In the two hours since their arrival, her doctor, Sam Mark, had come out to the waiting room twice. So far, they’d run a battery of tests—CAT scans, blood work and an MRI—and he reported that the laceration at her nape wasn’t deep. The swelling was outward, not putting undue pressure on her brain. With a “so far, so good,” Dr. Mark had disappeared behind the big metal doors again.

  Paul turned to Madison. “I’m going to the chapel.”

  She nodded. “Any news and I’ll come tell you.”

  “Thanks.” He walked down the antiseptic hallway and entered through a door embedded with stained glass. The chapel was tiny—three pews with kneeling benches and a plain wooden cross that hung on the wall above the altar. He slid into the center pew, dropped to his knees and prayed. Please.

  He couldn’t think beyond that. But he sensed he didn’t have to, that it was enough.

  “Paul?”

  Madison stepped in. “The doctor is in the waiting room. He has news.”

  Her expression told him nothing. Paul scrambled from his knees and rushed back to the waiting room. As soon as he saw the doctor, he asked, “What?”

  Dr. Mark smiled. “She’s awake.”

  Madison let out a sigh of pure relief. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Paul, she wants to see you.”

  “Madison—” he started, but this was one of those moments when there were no words.

  “I’m calling the office. I’ll let the others know.”

  Gratitude raced through his veins, and Paul followed Dr. Mark through the metal doors and then down another sterile hallway to a curtained cubicle. He steadied himself and then pushed back the curtain.

  Della lay still on the white sheets, wearing a blue hospital gown, looking small and frail and pale. Her eyes were closed, her hands clasped over her stomach. He stepped to her bedside and whispered, “Della?”

  Her eyelids fluttered open and those warm brown eyes flecked with gold he feared he’d never see looking at him again focused intently on his face. “I’m sorry.”

  An apology he hadn’t expected, and though he wasn’t sure what she meant, he assumed it was about their disagreement. “Me, too.”

  She licked her lips. “You look exhausted.”

  Paul smiled. Vintage Della. “I’ve been worried about you. But I’m better now.” He lifted her hand into his, careful not to disturb her IV. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fin—” She smiled. “I’m okay.”

  She remembered his aversion to fine and that smile reassured him. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice was thick, sluggish. “I was sitting on the beach and something cracked me in the head. I saw stars. I remember that. Then nothing until I woke up here.”

  She looked over at Dr. Mark. “Can I get out of h
ere now?”

  “Not until morning. You were out a long time. I’m keeping you overnight for observation.”

  Della frowned. Cast a wary glance at the door. “Talk him out of it, Paul. I’m fine. Really.” She swung her legs off the side of the bed and sat up. “See?”

  “Whoa. You’re swaying.” Paul lifted her legs and tucked them back under the covers. “Just keep yourself in Park for a while, okay? I need the rest.”

  She studied his face. “How long was I out there?”

  “Hours.”

  “What time is it now?”

  “Nearly midnight.”

  That surprised her. “You are exhausted, then.” She settled back in. “Okay, I’ll stay. You go home and sleep.”

  “That’s not happening.” Paul squeezed her hand. “I’m not leaving you.”

  She gave him a liquid smile so tender it made his eyes burn.

  Ian Crane from the office came in. He was a medical doctor and had privileges at the hospital. “You look okay.”

  “I am.”

  “Don’t take off on us again, all right? Paul nearly had a breakdown, and I fear when you’re up to it, Mrs. Renault is going to blister—”

  She pivoted her head on the pillow to look at Paul, winced and searched his eyes. “You nearly had a breakdown?”

  He shrugged. “I was worried.”

  She smiled so sweetly he was tempted to kiss her. If Doc hadn’t been standing there keenly watching every gesture, he might have done so.

  Doc cleared his throat. “Detective Cray is putting a guard on your door. She’ll be safe here, Paul.”

  “Yes, she will.” He hardened his voice. “I’m not leaving her.”

  “Understood. I’ll go handle the paperwork to get you moved to a room,” Doc said, then left the cubicle.

  Her eyes turned glossy. “You were really worried about me.”

  “Very.” Paul clasped her hands, pressed them to his lips. “No more disappearing acts, okay? We have issues, we talk through them.” He dragged his thumbs over her knuckles. “I want to look for the stalker, not you.”