Oh. My. God. “I don’t understand! Are you telling me that he could either be dead, fighting for his life in the hospital, or is being held hostage by terrorists?” A lump the size of a golf ball formed in my throat as the severity of the situation hit home.
Her voice cracked, and I could tell she was sobbing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry….” Then the phone went quiet for a moment and a masculine voice came on the line.
“Darlin’, this is Hank. I know you’re probably scared as hell, but we don’t know if he was one of the men shot or captured. He could be alive. We’re doing everything we can to get the information.”
I fell to the floor just as Max ran into the room. “What the hell?” He hefted me up, sat me on the small loveseat, and then grabbed the cell.
“This is Maxwell Cunningham. Who am I speaking to?” He stopped speaking and listened for a long time. His body seemed to harden into stone right in front of me. His jaw went tight and he growled through his teeth. “What’s being done? I want intel. I need the names of the men who didn’t make it and the two who were treated. I need that information yesterday, Hank. Do you or Aspen have any connections to the executive branch?”
While I watched Max pace, his cowboy boots heavy on the linoleum floor, it dawned on me. I had connections to the government. Warren Shipley. And that man owed me a very big favor since I didn’t put his son into jail for trying to rape me.
“I do,” I said. It came out as more of a whisper, seeing as my throat had that giant ball of emotion clogging the way.
Max kept talking but held a hand over the receiver. “Just a minute. What, Sis?”
Pushing down the crushing weight and desire to curl up into a tiny little ball and cry myself into sweet oblivion, I sat up. “Um, my June client. Warren Shipley. His son is one of the senators for California and Warren runs high government level deals between this country and others all over the world. He knows the president. There’s a picture of both of them in his office. He owes me a favor.”
Max’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth twisted into a grimace. I wasn’t about to share why the rich socialite owed me a favor, and I never would. I’d moved on. I was past that and doing well mentally and physically. Until all of this happened.
Having a plan, any plan, helped me believe I could make it through until we got more information. Wes, my beautiful Wes. He could be in the clutches of men who had absolutely no care in the world for Americans, our politics, or our religious beliefs—the type of men who spent all of their time torturing and killing those who didn’t share their beliefs. Worse than that, he could be dead already, or fighting for his life in some faraway hospital in Asia.
Dear God, please, please, let him be alive. Please let him come back to me.
* * *
After I got myself cleaned up at the hotel, I sat down, and shaking like a leaf falling off a tree, I called Warren. He was happy to hear from me until he heard the reason for my call. He promised he would use every resource known to him, including his personal connection to the president, and get back to me within the day, if not sooner. He said he had some resources in the Philippines that were good at getting information about terrorist groups. So good, they’d helped him steer clear of any when transporting his goods through Asia just last month.
I felt the next six hours pass as though I were wading through concrete. People came and went, gathered around me, but I didn’t recognize their presence. Not in the mental sense. I may have nodded, given a few yes and no answers, but mostly I walked around the hospital and the hotel as if I were a zombie. Because I was. The sheer volume of fear was like electricity over the skin of my entire body. If someone touched me, it was as if I’d been zapped by a sizzling hot poker. There was no breaking through it. All I could do was wait, wonder, and worry. Christ, the worry for Wes’s safety was a physical, breathing thing, a frightening being that controlled my every thought and action. I was no longer me. I was just it—the worry.
The worry wouldn’t let me eat. The worry wouldn’t let me hold basic conversations with people who loved and cared about me. No, it wormed its way so far into my subconscious mind that Mia was no longer there. Only it lived within me, creeping its ugly, disgusting thoughts into my brain. The thoughts turning to images of my beautiful Wes cowering in a corner, naked, petrified, wounded, in excruciating pain, screaming to be let go, let out. He’d know in his mind that he might never leave, that he would likely die there.
Running to the bathroom, I hurled the small bit of breakfast I’d eaten earlier that morning. I heaved and hacked into the toilet, trying to expel that evil beast within, the one making despair so prevalent I didn’t recognize what beautiful looked like. Couldn’t even see it anymore, even when looking at my baby sister’s face. The one face in all the world I’d found solace in, until Wes.
“Wes!” I screamed and then heaved into the basin. “Come back, goddammit! Don’t leave me here. You promised paradise!” I howled, not even aware that I was in the private bathroom where my Pops was fighting for his life. My tears flowed alongside the bile and stomach acid working its way out of me.
“Sugar!” Max crouched down. His thighs braced on the sides of my ribs, and he held my hair back. “You’re not alone, Mia. I’m here, Sis. I’ll always be here. You’re not alone,” he whispered against my hairline as my stomach stopped lurching. He covered me with his body like a blanket, warding off the chill I hadn’t been able to shake since I’d gotten to Vegas over a week ago. Helping me up, he leaned me against the sink, wet some paper towels, and wiped my mouth before getting more and wiping my face.
“I won’t make it if he’s gone,” I whispered.
Max closed his eyes then pressed his forehead to mine. “I’ll see to it that you do. Maddy needs you. Your father needs you, and Mia, honey, I need you.”
“But Max, I love him.”
He let out a tortured sigh. “I know, darlin’. I know, and if something ever happened to Cyndi, I’d lose my mind, but you can’t. Not now. We don’t know what’s going on yet. Give it a little time. Let your friend find out what he can. Then, depending on what they say, we’ll handle it. Together. Okay?”
I licked my lips and rubbed my aching forehead against his. I looped my arms around his head, shoved my face in his warm neck, and let the tears flow. He held me and let me cry while I whispered all my fears to him—that I’d lost Wes, that I’d lost Pops, that I’d lose Maddy when she got married, and now that I had Max, that I’d lose him too. Over and over, he assured me that none of those things were going to happen. He said we needed to have a little faith in God, in the strength of Pops and of Wes, and that we’d all come out of this smelling like home-baked apple pie.
More than anything, I wanted to believe what he’d promised. For the first time in my life, I gave it up to God, to the universe, to anyone who would listen to get me through this with my loved ones coming out of it alive and well.
Chapter Four
“Dear God, I uh, I know I don’t pray to you very often, and I don’t go to church as much as You’d like.” I groaned and blew out a deep breath. “That’s a lie. You know it’s a lie. I never go to church. Can’t remember the last time I set foot in one.”
Pinching my lips together, I pressed them into my clasped fingers and closed my eyes. I was leaning over the side of the bed at the hotel. The sun had just set, and Maddy and Matt had left to have dinner before doing the night shift with Pops. I was supposed to be resting, but in reality, I couldn’t sleep. Wes—worrying about him, scared out of my mind as to what might be happening—was all I could focus on. I wanted so badly to just get on a plane and fly to the island where he was last seen. But I didn’t even have the exact details about which island they were on. Warren hadn’t called, and it had been twelve hours. Twelve full hours of absolutely nothing.
No word, no hope, no nothing.
And that’s what brought me to the moment where I’d knelt in front of the bed, put my hands up in prayer, and pleaded with a God I�
��d never truly connected with before.
“Let me start over, God. I can do that, right?” I shook my head. “I can do that. You don’t care. You know I’m not perfect. Okay, here goes.” My entire body shuddered as I started again. “The man I love is missing. I refuse to believe he’s dead. I think I’d know if he was dead. Wouldn’t I? I mean, You make these soulmate connections, right? Soulmates feel the other in a way that’s not describable. Therefore, if my other half wasn’t on this Earth anymore, I’d feel it.” Waiting to see if God was going to answer left me feeling rather hollow inside. If He could just send a flicker, a zap of energy, a pulse wave, anything to allow me to believe I was on the right track, I’d have been thrilled.
Moments passed as I waited. Nothing.
Groaning, I blew out a long breath. “Here’s the deal. Wes means more to me than I’ve been able to admit to him. If you take him from me, I won’t get the chance to tell him.” I sighed and rustled up the courage to say what I needed to say to Wes, even if I was channeling it through prayer.
“You make loving someone seem easy, when it’s only ever been hard. Being with you is like sitting on the surface of the sun without being burned. The love I have for you has changed me. Made me someone different. A woman worthy of the more you’ve promised. Our paradise.”
Then the tears fell. “Please, God, please don’t take away paradise before I’ve had a chance to breathe in the air, soak in the warmth, delve into the depths of its beauty.”
My body started rocking back and forth, the words whispered over and over in a prayer, a chant.
“Please. Please don’t take Wes away from me.”
“Don’t take Wes away.”
“Don’t take Wes away.”
* * *
Several pings jarred me out of a fitful sleep. I’d fallen asleep while leaning over the side of the bed where I’d knelt to pray. The last thing I remembered was begging the Lord not to take away the man I loved. Time would only tell if He’d taken pity on me.
The display on my cell phone blinked against the wall next to the side table where I’d set it to charge. Like an old woman with severe arthritis, I maneuvered my stiff joints and exhausted body into a standing position. Lifting my arms up high toward the ceiling, I rolled onto my toes and reached for the sky, stretching long unused muscles. Various joints popped and crackled, protesting the last week-and-a-half of sitting in plastic chairs, kneeling by bedsides, and not getting enough rest.
I ambled over to the side of the bed and plopped down, picking up my phone.
What if it’s news about Wes?
Equal parts trepidation and anticipation tightened my chest as I glanced down and frowned.
To: Mia Saunders
From: Blaine Douchebag Pintero
Pretty, pretty Mia. I haven’t received payment. You owe me.
I owe him! The nerve of that fucking bastard.
Pressing my fingers into my temples did not alleviate the tension that came with the necessity of dealing with Blaine. The simple truth was, I didn’t have his money, and there was no way I was going to be able to make it magically appear. Not only was I going to be a hundred grand shy for missing my payment this month, last month’s payment went to the client I’d flaked. So technically, I was two hundred thousand in the hole because he wouldn’t be getting a payment at the end of this month either. To date, I’d paid him six months’ worth at the end of each month, for a total of six hundred thousand toward the million Pops owed. Millie had no choice but to pay off bachelor number nine the hundred thousand I made in August from Max to save her own ass and the company. I usually didn’t get paid until the end of the month, and since I wasn’t working September, that was another hundred thousand lost. Business was business, and a man with a hundred grand to blow on an escort could wrap Millie up in court for ages. She’d have lost everything. Now I’m the one who stands to lose everything…again. Fuck!
What would I do? If Wes were here, he’d offer to pay the debt. Of course, he would. At this point, I’d have no choice but to accept his offer, at least until I got the extra money from my brand new ownership in Cunningham Oil & Gas. I could ask Max for the money. He’d give it to me…but ugh, I couldn’t do that to him. Nothing like a long lost sister begging for cash. “Hey, I’m your new sister. Thanks for twenty-five percent of your family legacy. Can I borrow two hundred thousand until I make money off you next year and can pay you back?”
Falling back on the bed, I stared at the text again. I just needed to ask for more time.
To: Blaine Douchebag Pintero
From: Mia Saunders
Pops took a turn. Not working these two months. Need more time. Five more months and I’ll have it with interest.
I figured the adding interest part would do it. If anything, Blaine was a businessman and money was his kryptonite.
To: Mia Saunders
From: Blaine Douchebag Pintero
Let’s discuss over dinner. Our place. You remember.
Instantly, I went from wired to straight pissed off. How dare he try to get me to go out with him when my father was dying and my boyfriend was missing? Okay, he didn’t know about the boyfriend part, but still. What angle was he trying to work? Last time I was here, he asked me out. Now again. It’s like he forgot that he cheated on me with not one woman but two—at the same fucking time—the very day he proposed. When he asked, I wanted to take a little time to think about it. I needed to decide if I wanted to be a kept woman. Blaine had offered me the world—jewels, a penthouse apartment overlooking the strip. The works. Said I wouldn’t have to worry about anything but looking beautiful and taking care of my man. At the time, it had sounded like one helluva deal. Plus, the bonus was that he’d offered to pay for Maddy’s college education if I agreed to be his wife.
Being so young, I needed to think about it. On the one hand, it afforded me a way out of one living hell, but could promptly put me smack dab into another. I knew he wasn’t just a businessman. I’d seen the clandestine meetings, the strange need for bodyguards all the time. People we’d meet in the casinos or along the street knew him, or knew of him, and what they knew put a look of fear into their eyes—one that couldn’t be hidden. That never sat right with me. It was only later, after I’d found him balls-deep in his receptionist’s snatch and mouth sampling the wares of her twin sister’s nasty pussy that I found out what his main business really was. When he’d told me he was in the lending business, it wasn’t for a local brokerage or banking firm. It was a whole different kind of lending where, if you didn’t pay up on time with interest, you took a plunge off a pier into shark-infested waters wearing concrete shoes.
That was the type of man Blaine Pintero really was, and I had the lucky job of dealing with his bullshit because he’d fucked over my dad and me in the process.
To: Blaine Douchebag Pintero
From: Mia Saunders
Can’t. My father is dying. Name your terms.
To: Mia Saunders
From: Blaine Douchebag Pintero
I don’t negotiate in writing. Dinner. Our place. Don’t defy me. You’ll regret it.
What was he going to do that hadn’t already made me wish I were dead? Hurt my father more? Besides, he had gotten six hundred thousand dollars from me already. I’d proven the wait would be worth it. I did some quick math in my head and put my fingers to work, praying he’d take the bait. The sick feeling in my stomach was not helping. I needed to eat something more than a package of leftover saltines from Max’s club sandwich from yesterday if I was going to deal with douchebags like Blaine.
To: Blaine Douchebag Pintero
From: Mia Saunders
No. You’ll receive the next payment end of October with 5% interest. That’s all I can give.
I read it several times and then hit send. I sat, clutching the phone, waiting for the little sign to pop up that he’d seen it. And then I prayed. Hard. Let him accept the deal. Just give me this one get out of jail free card.
To: Mia Saunders
From: Blaine Douchebag Pintero
That’s two missed payments. I’m sorry, pretty Mia, you give me what I want and meet me for dinner Friday night, or there will be hell to pay.
Fuck! I can’t win for losing. A door slamming against the doorframe startled me out of my reverie. Maxwell’s large frame entered my room.
“Hey, your father’s doing better!” he said with triumph and joy coloring his words. His chest was jerking back and forth as if he’d run the hundred-yard dash.
I stood up fast and then caught myself as a wave of dizziness overcame me. Bright little stars dotted my vision as I blinked rapidly. “What happened?” Once I got my bearings, I walked over to him, and together we made our way out of the hotel room, down the elevator, and across the street.
“Don’t really know. The doc just said they were going to take him off the respirator. Apparently, he’s breathing on his own.”
Stopping in the middle of the crosswalk on a very busy Vegas street was not a good idea, but that didn’t stop me from doing it, so taken I was by his statement. The wave of relief that hit me was all encompassing, like a tsunami, controlling all thought and halting my ability to move forward.
Max chuckled and looped an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Sis. Let’s go check on your dad and see what else the doc has to say.”
When we entered the room, Maddy was there, snuggled into the arms of her fiancé, Matt. His parents were standing off to the side in silent support. The doctor was pushing buttons on Pops’s machines. His gaze lifted to me as I got closer.
“Ah, perfect. Thank you, Mr. Cunningham, for bringing her so quickly,” the doctor said to Max and then focused on me. “Now that you and your sister are here, I can give you the information together. Mr. Saunders has apparently begun to try and breathe on his own. His efforts are now strong enough that we can set the ventilator so that it will breathe for him only if his oxygen saturation falls below a certain level.”
September: Calendar Girl Book 9 Page 4