A man she could count on, even if things didn’t go her way.
A man whose beliefs were so strong, so vividly written on every inch of him that it made her hurt that she didn’t have that too.
Sometimes, like now, when she felt as if the world was caving in, yes, she might want to believe.
But she wasn’t going to say that, not yet. And not to Trish.
Behind her, she heard Trish put down her watering can. She came over to Yanna. “I envy you.”
Yanna shot her a look.
“I do,” Trish said. “You are one of the smartest, most creative women I’ve ever met. The way you took apart those cell phones to make communication gadgets, and you were so incredibly brave at the teahouse—I just sat there drinking my tea, thinking I might wet my pants or something.”
Yanna lifted her mouth in a smile. Yeah, well, Trish didn’t have to know how close she’d come to that too. More than once in the last few days. Only her reaction was more of an upset stomach and the ensuing mess.
“And I’d give just about anything for the way you fit into that dress.”
Yeah, well, Trish had curves, cute ones, and Yanna opened her mouth to tell her so when—
“But I guess I’m lucky too.”
Huh?
“Because I don’t have brains and beauty to keep me from forsaking the Gracie that could be mine.”
Yanna closed her mouth.
“It’s not a weakness to believe in someone. To depend on them. Especially if that person is out for your good. Your eternal good.”
Yanna had the strangest, unsettling feeling that perhaps Trish wasn’t talking about David. In fact, nope, because—
“The world spends an awful lot of time trying to come up with reasons why they don’t need God. But you know, even if you think you don’t need Him, it doesn’t make His love for you any less. And I’ll bet, when you turn around and take a look at what He is doing in your life, how much He loves you, you’re going to rethink whether you need Him or not.”
So, maybe Trish might be talking about David, just a little, too.
Yanna opened her mouth again, but nothing came out—except a scream.
Wherever they came from, the men had the element of surprise when they rushed Trish and Yanna. Yanna stepped in front of pregnant Trish to protect her as Kwan’s men reached out to grab them.
“We’ll be safe here.”
Gracie turned the lock on the door to the cabin tucked into the woods, under the watchful embrace of Mount Rainier. The air smelled of freedom, the balsam and pine scent reaped from the forest surrounding the cabins. The shaggy arms of night hovered over the cabin, and Gracie shivered, even as she turned on the lights, the heat.
It had taken her a few hours to get out of Seattle, hours she spent cramming her heart back into her chest, praying that Mae lost herself in the downtown traffic like she promised. Someone had to get to the police.
And someone had to hide Ina.
Now, she finally felt her heartbeat begin to slow to a normal, or at least halfway normal rhythm. No way Sokolov would find her here. Not a chance. Because, well, she’d barely found it. Had it not been for the fact she’d ordered their brochure and traced the route once or twice on the map, she would have sailed right past Paradise Cove without even tapping her brakes.
Miss Naive, aka Ina, who had deemed Gracie unfit to be spoken to—Gracie had long since given up trying to understand the mind of a teenager—flopped down on the sofa, putting her feet up on the log table.
The cabin looked like something out of an old Western, log walls, a rock fireplace, rusty horseshoes on a shelf above the worn leather sofa. On the log coffee table in front of the sofa, a candle sat in a basket surrounded by river rock. Gracie walked into the next room—a bedroom. She stood for a moment, wondering what it would be like to be here with Vicktor—as her husband. She’d even mentioned this place to him once, or maybe twice, as some place she’d like to go for their honeymoon. He probably hadn’t even been listening.
She sighed, exhaustion so deep she wanted to climb onto the huge queen-sized bed, tuck herself under the red woven Navajo blanket, and sleep for about two weeks.
Right after she took a bath in that giant Jacuzzi in the corner.
She turned and saw the other bedroom had twin beds, although no Jacuzzi.
Probably her tired mind had stopped thinking clearly since no one would be soaking in a Jacuzzi, because hello, no one was here on vacation.
They were, as the cop shows said, on the lam. Not so much from justice, but from Sokolov and his band of thugs.
Gracie crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb, watching as Ina picked up the remote to the television and began to flip channels. She looked so…angry. So like her world had somehow upended. Where was the Thanks for impersonating a housekeeper and saving my life, Gracie?
Then again, Gracie had talked trash about Jorge, the saint.
Apparently, Ina was utterly and completely under his spell. Well, she was a teenager.
“Ina, I’m sorry Jorge hurt you.”
Ina’s stoic face crumpled and she turned away. But Gracie saw her shoulders shake.
Gracie ached to reach out to her. “Listen, Ina, you’re going to be okay. Someday you’ll find a guy you can trust and who will treat you…” Like Vicktor treats me. She closed her eyes.
Wow, she missed him. The past three days had stirred up the memories of that harrowing week when she’d been running for her life in Russia, and every single one of those memories included Vicktor. She’d been terrified, shaken by the deaths of two of her best friends, and Vicktor had been there. Yeah, he’d questioned her, and even infuriated her, but he’d been gentle. And kind. And compassionate. And finally, he’d risked his life to save hers.
She opened her eyes to find Ina turning to her. “I thought Jorge loved me.” She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. “What’s Vicktor like?”
Gracie sat on the wooden coffee table, moving aside the stone centerpiece. “Vicktor is the most considerate man I’ve ever met. And a great cook. Tidy—everything has to be perfect—but he’s not tame. In fact, he’s always moving, always thinking. He has an energy about him that makes everything else in the room start to hum. And he has a protective gene that is more developed than in others. But most of all, he loves me.”
“Yeah, but how do you know he loves you?”
“Because…he shows it. He…” And suddenly Gracie drew a blank. “Well, he tells me, and he is faithful and honest, and he worries about me.”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes, of course.”
But the answer came out fast, so fast that Ina sat over there with a look of pure doubt on her face, and Gracie didn’t blame her. Did she love Vicktor?
She loved his earnestness when he went after something. And she loved his desire to know God more. She loved the way he took care of his father—who’d been wounded by Vicktor’s mistakes, and especially how he wanted to know every detail of her life. And maybe not because he was trying to drive her crazy and put some sort of tracking device on her, but because he genuinely wanted to know her.
Yes. Yes, she loved Vicktor. “I love him with everything inside me.”
Ina was still staring at her. “So, if you love each other so much, why haven’t you married him yet?”
That, at this moment, seemed to be the million-dollar question. Because she was an idiot? Because she hadn’t been—and honestly, still wasn’t—entirely sure that Vicktor wanted her, the real her? Because from her point of view, she seemed like a lot of trouble. Maybe too much trouble. And take that away and all she had left was her American citizenship.
She stared out the window, at the darkness. “I don’t know…maybe because I’m afraid that…that he loves me for what I can give him. Not for who I am.”
Ina stared at her, a strange look in her eyes. “But isn’t that what love is all about? Meeting each other’s needs?”
Hmm. Sorta. “Wh
at did Jorge tell you, Ina? That he needed you? And if you loved him…”
Ina looked away.
Oh no. Anger rushed into her chest. “That is a lie, Ina. A horrible lie. Love doesn’t take…in fact…”
Vicktor didn’t love her because she needed him, or even for what she could give him—no, he just loved her. He’d loved her long before she had anything to offer. He loved her for what he could give her.
Oh. Her breath left her as truth poured in, that truth she’d known for so long but never really let find her heart. Real love wasn’t about receiving a response. Real love was about giving. And giving.
Even if it never received.
She looked up at Ina. “Real love says I love you. Period. Not on account of what you can give me. And not because I need you. Simply because I am who I am. I learned that once, and sort of forgot it, I guess. But I know Vicktor loves me because…well, I haven’t married him yet and he keeps coming back. He still hangs around. Still hopes. And the next time I talk to him, we’re going to figure that marriage part out.”
Please, Vicktor, don’t give up on us. On me.
Ina drew her legs up to her chest, looking about twelve years old and scared.
“Think about it, Ina—you didn’t ask me for help, but I knew you needed me. So I came. And God is like that. He doesn’t wait around until we call Him—although yes, He’s not going to force you to need Him. Yet we do. The good news is that He’s right there, loving us until we see Him, ready to rescue us. That’s what Romans 5:8 is all about. When we didn’t even know we needed Him, God loved us enough to save us.”
Ina’s expression changed. Tears welled in her eyes and she cupped her hands over her face. “Oh no. I did a terrible thing.”
A thousand possible fill-in-the-blank answers rushed to Gracie’s mind—things she didn’t want to imagine, things that she’d name terrible—
“I called Jorge.”
No, now that, she didn’t have on her list. Gracie sat there, speechless. Ina looked up, tears reddening her pretty face, dripping off her chin. “Did you hear me—I called Jorge!”
“Okay, so you called him.” Gracie lifted her hands. “No big deal, we’re four hours from Seattle, and—”
Ina got to her feet, throwing the pillow across the room. It hit the window, skidded to the floor. “I borrowed the cell phone from a lady in McDonald’s—and when you were checking us in…I called Jorge.”
Gracie froze. She remembered that woman. She’d been on the phone, relaying a take-out order for her family—Gracie remembered thinking, six Happy Meals? She must have put the phone down, only to have Ina swipe it.
Which meant Gracie was an accessory to a cell phone robbery. Getaway driver/missionary. Perfect.
She tightened her jaw. “Well, he still can’t find us. Because Paradise Cove isn’t easy to find.”
“No, you don’t get it. I called him from McDonald’s from the bathroom. And then again when we got here. I told him where we were.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Okay, okay, uh…” Wait. “Do you still have that cell phone? Because maybe I can call Mae and—”
A noise outside on the porch step made her jump. She looked at the door, at the way the lock rattled.
So much for Paradise.
“I see movement down there.” Sitting in Cho’s van, Roman had his eyes glued to a pair of binoculars—real binoculars he’d purchased last night while David and Yanna were running around Taiwan—she in stocking feet and a silky dress.
While David had been saying goodbye. At least in his heart.
“Is it Kwan?”
Roman didn’t answer for a moment, then, “No, one of his bodyguards. But he’s definitely up to something. He’s climbing into the limo, talking into a radio.” He put the glasses down. “I think one of us should tail him.”
David nodded. “I’m down with that. You go—I’ll stay here and keep track of Kwan. Take the scooter.”
David dug into his pocket for the key to his latest ride—Cho’s scooter. Thankfully, his brain cells had been firing enough this morning to prophesy the scenario that he and Roman might have to separate to tail Kwan, so he had loaded the scooter into the van.
He’d given approximately zero-point-six seconds to the idea that he should wake Yanna. But after finally flushing the panic from his system—probably around five this morning—he had made a final decision.
A decision he knew would seal their fate.
She wasn’t getting near Kwan again. He didn’t care if he had to duct tape her to Trish’s kitchen chair, Yanna wasn’t leaving the house until he brought Elena to her doorstep. And even then, only to get into the van, drive straight to Taipei, and get outta Dodge—or Taiwan, as it were.
And even after that, he had made Roman promise to keep an eye on her for a very long time because neither of them was stupid enough to think Kwan wouldn’t track her down, even in Russia.
Kwan probably had distant relatives on every corner of the planet, every one of them aching to be next in line for the so-called Serpent throne. Taking out one FSB agent surely wouldn’t give them a moment’s pause—in fact, there might even be a bidding war. Which meant that after David got Yanna on a plane, and after he’d made Roman shadow her every move, he had to return to Kaohsiung and track down the real Kwan. And then, Serpent number two. They just kept breeding…
Again David had the overwhelming urge to simply throw Yanna over his shoulder and disappear. But that caveman response wasn’t what a girl like Yanna deserved.
Not at all.
He put his hand to his chest, right where it hurt, as he watched Roman drive away.
Lord, please help us find Elena. And help Yanna see that You do care, You do love her.
He kept his eyes on Kwan’s yacht. C’mon, slimeball.
His cell phone rang. It was a burner he’d picked up at the market. He answered, not recognizing the number on the screen. “Yeah.”
“David—”
Just the tone, the way his name came out short, with pain, made every cell in his body tense.
“Trish?”
“David, they came, and they got her—”
Got…oh, no. Breathe. Just breathe. “Trish, are you okay?”
“Cho’s hurt, and I…I…” Her intake of breath cut off her voice, and the sobbing that followed had David already putting the van into gear, already on autopilot. “Hang on Trish, I’ll be right there. Just hang on. And keep your doors locked.”
“Yeah…” Her voice hiccupped. “Hurry, David… Hurry.”
Please, God. He roared out into traffic, nearly taking out a couple of scooters—watch out, boys—and sped through the next, yellowish light.
No, no. How did Kwan find—
They’d been careful, yet if Kwan knew where they were, he could have snatched them last night.
Unless he didn’t want David, just Yanna.
Again, that didn’t make sense, because David had seen him too.
No, David had seen his imposter. He hadn’t met the real Kwan, he knew it in his bones.
Then why kidnap Yanna? And how?
The bottom line was this was David’s fault, for letting himself be distracted.
He dodged a van and laid on his horn for a couple of pedestrians who apparently thought they might be able to win in a game of chicken.
The alleyways of Taiwan had about a millimeter of clearance for the van, but he went through them like he might a computer game—fast, keeping his eyes ahead, following his instincts. He did take out a planter—heard it fly up and splatter on the ground behind him—but didn’t slow, and thanked God also that he didn’t kill anyone.
Yet.
Please, don’t let Kwan hurt her. Please. He wiped an edging of wetness below his eye. Apparently, his fatigue and stress had overflowed his cup.
Oh, who was he trying to kid? If anything happened to Yanna, he’d never make it. Never forgive himself. He’d curl into a ball somewhere, dark and horrible, scre
aming.
Why hadn’t he pushed her—made her confront the idea that God cared about her?
No—why hadn’t he told her he loved her? Really, finally, in good and bad, Kwan or no Kwan, over email and up close, loved her?
Do you trust Me, David?
Yeah. Sorta. He wiped away another tear as he pulled up to the Yungs’ house.
I hope. Please help me trust You, God.
He braked, and the van screeched. He slammed it into Park and got out before it had come to a complete halt. Then he was inside.
What he saw made him grab the doorframe. “Trish, how bad is it?”
Cho had been hurt—the bloody cut and Everest-sized goose egg over his eye testified to something hard connecting with his skull. David winced, just looking at it. In true horror movie fashion, blood had run down his face, pooled in the collar of his dress shirt, down his arm.
But it was Trish who had David’s attention, the way she sat on the sofa, holding her stomach, breathing hard. Cho sat beside her, his hand on her stomach, and he looked up when David entered.
“What happened?”
A scratch down the side of Trish’s face oozed rivulets of blood. Concrete meets face, and concrete had won. “They surprised us—Cho was downstairs—I didn’t even see them coming. I just looked up, and I saw Yanna trying to intercept them.“
“I must have left the door unlocked—I can’t believe I was so stupid—”
Trish moaned, which cut off Cho’s words and made him go white. “I gotta get you to the doctor.”
Trish couldn’t take a breath, but then neither could David, or Cho probably, considering the fact that his child was the one who was fighting for life.
“Did they hit you?” David said, grabbing the phone and tossing it to Cho. “Call for help.”
“No—I mean, yes, but Yanna took most of it. They came in with this long pole—probably the same one they used on Cho.” Trish put her hand out, touching his cheek, her face crumpling as she must have been mentally reliving the attack. “And Yanna saw it coming and she stepped in front of me. It knocked us both down.” She put her hand over the baby again and made a face that prompted Cho to dial.
Run to You Page 23