Run to You

by Susan May Warren

  Yeah, her too. She looked up, wiping her face. “I’m sorry. I just…”

  “I know you needed it to be different. That you wanted a happy ending, for all of us, but you gotta go. Please. Before Kwan changes his mind and decides to hurt you. Because I couldn’t live with that.”

  His words hung there between them, ugly and raw. She shook her head. No, he wasn’t going to live, not at all.

  Oh, David. And then—because she had to, because she was going to leave him, and when she did everything inside her would shatter, and then there’d be nothing left—she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

  Really kissed him. With everything inside her, just like she had ten years ago, but differently, because this wasn’t about youth and passion.

  This was her telling him that she wasn’t going to let him die without knowing that she loved him right back. She leaned away, putting everything, all her emotions, all her love right there, in her eyes for him to see. “Thank you, David.”

  He stared up at her, a broken look on his face. “Yanna—”

  But she didn’t let him finish, just kissed him again. And, although his arms were behind him, he leaned into his kiss and gave it all he had. And he didn’t pull away either, just kept kissing her, over and over until hands grabbed her arms, pulled her away.

  “No!”

  Kwan shoved her away, toward the door, where Elena caught her. “No!”

  David was breathing hard, his eyes on her as they pulled her out of the room and shut the door behind her.

  If Kwan wasn’t going to keep his promise, David wouldn’t either. He crouched on the floor, his heart beating its way out of his chest, and tried to steel himself for what might lie ahead.

  He’d heard what Kwan said when he closed the door, heard it in Mandarin, loud and clear, like a blade separating his ribs and taking out his heart. “Take them out to the yacht. We’ll kill them when we get out to sea.”

  David closed his eyes, tried to focus on his breathing. This wasn’t over. Not until Yanna and Elena were free. He just had to hold out until he knew they were safe.

  Only, exactly, how would he know that, because he guessed that might get technically challenging with him locked in the basement, bleeding from his ears.

  Oh, Lord.

  Everything, everything he’d done had failed. Finding the real Kwan, rescuing Elena, getting Yanna to safety. Even trying to show Yanna that she could trust in God to deliver them. Yeah, that had been a resounding success.

  Help me, Lord. Help me hold onto my faith. Because kneeling in the puddle of grime, his head pounding, knowing that as soon as Kwan returned things would get ugly, he felt himself slipping. Fast.

  Help me, Lord.

  Who do you have in heaven to fight your battles? Roman’s words rushed back to him and David grabbed them for all he had, gulping them in. There is nothing I desire on this earth but the Lord. He will guide me and then bring me to glory. The words from the psalm riveted into his head.

  Do you trust Me, David?

  David leaned forward, head bowed, breathing hard. He’d grown up with his faith embedded inside him, believing that God loved him, had a purpose for him. It had become the fabric of his life, the very substance that formed him.

  He heard the dripping of some far-off water pipe onto the concrete. Feet scuffling outside. Doors slamming. Heard a woman’s cry.

  He clenched his jaw.

  God, I want to trust You. I do. I. Trust. You.

  And just like that, he felt it, a breath or wind or maybe a touch so powerful it swept through him, through his breathing, into his heart, his bones, his cells. He drank it in, gulping this feeling of strength. Of wholeness.

  He lifted his head. Breathed out long and hard. Stared at the door.

  He could do this. He could, and would stay the course. And when he died, he’d know that he’d accomplished his mission.

  Because, while he might do just about anything for his country, he would die for Yanna. And she, without a doubt, had been the mission. Kwan and his ilk would always prosper—or seem to—and people like David, believers in truth, would always fight them. But they didn’t only fight an earthly battle against evil. They waged a cosmic one for lost souls. And if David could pour out his life helping one woman—the one woman—to see that God loved her, by being the face of Gracie to her, then yes, this was why he’d come to Taiwan.

  Why he’d lived the life he did. Made the choices he’d made.

  The choice to love Yanna from a distance. To pray for her. To be truth and commitment and support in her life.

  He heard her words again, now letting them inside to touch him. You make me believe that God loves me.

  To believe that God loved her. Thank You. Thank You for letting me see You touch her life. David breathed in. Out. Thank You.

  He lifted his chin as the door opened. Bring it on, Kwan.

  “You look like you’ve been hit by a semi and dragged down the street.”

  Huh? David blinked against the light pushing into the room from the hallway, eyes wide as the body connected to the voice as it crouched next to him, grabbed his arm. “You okay, pal?”

  Roman? David opened his mouth, but nothing, no words, no breath came from him.

  “Can you stand?” Roman tucked his hand under David’s arm. “How bad are you hurt?”

  Aside from his legs wanting to give out and his brain in knots— “I’m okay. I’m—where’s Yanna?” Okay, now he was fully functioning, at least zeroing in on his priorities. He turned his hands toward Roman. “Get me out of these.”

  Roman nodded, turned toward the hallway. “Bruce! We need a handcuff key here!”

  Bruce? “No, Roma! Bruce is—”

  “Really glad to see you.” Bruce came in holding a 9mm pistol and slapped a key into Roman’s hand. “We thought you’d be fish bait by now.” He stepped back a little from David, which was a good thing because it gave David about five extra seconds to debate whether to do what he was about to do as Roman unlocked his handcuffs.

  He did it anyway.

  “David, let him go!”

  But David wasn’t listening, just squeezing. He had Bruce up against the wall, one hand around his neck, the other pinning Bruce’s weapon hand to the wall, where he could see it. Bruce had his hand around David’s wrist, was trying some kung fu bone-twisting, hold-breaking move on him, but David had gone into pit bull mode.

  He wasn’t moving until Bruce coughed out every one of his sins.

  Even with his oxygen cut off, he could nod.

  “Were you the one telling Kwan where to find us? Only you knew I was having a meet with him, only you knew about the safe house in Taichung. Why, Bruce, why?”

  Bruce was shaking his head, kicking him, punching him in the face. David didn’t budge. Not when in the back of his mind he saw Yanna on the boat, white with fear when Kwan told David he was going to kill her. Not when he remembered their contact at the safe house, and Trish Yung crying in pain and—

  “David! Stop!” Roman had him now around the neck. “Bruce didn’t do it!”

  “He’s the mole, Roman, he’s the mole.” David’s voice had pitched to a deathly low level, all his energy on keeping his hold.

  Bruce had started to turn white, was blinking his eyes.

  “He nearly killed Yanna, nearly killed me. He hurt Cho and Trish and her baby.” His voice cracked. “And Chet—what about Chet?”

  “Chet’s alive. And you’re killing Bruce. You don’t want to do this. If he’s the mole then we’ll find out but—”

  “David.”

  The voice, calm and sweet beside him, cut through his haze of anger.

  “David, let him go.”

  He looked over at Yanna. Her eyes were wide, and she was shaking her head. “Please.”

  David closed his eyes. You make me believe that God loves me.

  He blew out a long breath and impaled Bruce with a glare.

  Then he let go.

  Bruce slu
mped down against the wall, gasping in air. David stood over him, breathing hard. “So help me, if I find out you’re the mole…that you’re behind hurting my friends—”

  “He’s not. He saved your life, David.” The voice came from behind Yanna, and David looked up to see his partner standing in the doorway, handgun at his side. Chet.

  A very alive, sturdy-looking Chet in a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. He must have borrowed them from someone because he didn’t have it buttoned all the way due to the fact that he couldn’t get the shirt around the bandage that crisscrossed his chest. David hurt a little in the same place, seeing him. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in the hospital.”

  “I got wind of this story about my partner running around Taiwan busting up bad guys. You have all the fun.”

  David locked eyes with Yanna. A very alive Yanna. Then, right there in front of everyone, he reached out and pulled her to himself. And she hung on, as if she’d always belonged there

  Which, she had.

  “How’d you find us?”

  “Yanna’s wizardry,” Roman said. “When I lost you at the harbor, I went back and called Chet, who called Bruce. He fired up their GPS system and began to search—not that I thought we’d find anything, but I thought maybe, hopefully, you know, Yanna’s pretty smart.” Roman flashed her a smile.

  “Yeah. Too smart for her own good, sometimes.” But David pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  “Anyway, Chet and Bruce knew you were in Taichung, so they hightailed it down here, and we were down at the wharf, eyes on Kwan’s yacht when his people called and said they’d picked up Yanna’s panic code. From here.”

  David shot a glance at Bruce as Roman reached down and pulled Bruce to his feet. David stepped away from him, eyeing Bruce who looked shaken and was still rubbing his throat.

  “Did you get Kwan?”

  “Yeah, he’s in custody, and my people are searching the building.” Bruce’s voice came out hoarse, and David guessed he probably had some swelling. “We’ll take him back to headquarters, and then the fun starts. You can be there if you want.”

  David looked him over, sorted through those words. Translation—If I was the mole, would I risk letting Kwan rat me out, right in front of you?

  “You need to see a doctor, probably,” David said. For the moment, that was the closest to an apology he could get.

  Bruce gave a nod. Apology sort of accepted.

  “Elena—”

  “We found two rooms of women—you’re going to be sick when you see their ages. And at the loading dock, two empty containers with bunk beds built in along the sides,” Chet said.

  “He was going to ship them in containers?” Yanna stepped away from him, just a little, but not too far. Please, not too far.

  “People—kids, men, women—they’re trafficked from all over the world, shipped to foreign countries where they’re trapped and helpless. Americans in Malaysia, Koreans in America. It’s a giant operation, and Kwan is just one of many. When he’s out of the picture, another slimeball will ooze into his place.” This from Bruce.

  “You should know that there’s another one out there—a Kwan Jr., that older Kwan is grooming.”

  Bruce nodded. “We know. But we have to take down one Serpent at a time.”

  “I want to talk to Kwan,” David said.

  “First, you’re going to the hospital,” Yanna said, moving to put her arm around him.

  He looked down at her, those beautiful eyes trusting him. He had to keep his promise—the one he made to himself. And to her. “No,” he said quietly. “First, I’m going to the airport. So you and Roman and Elena can go home.”

  “I want to marry you.”

  Gracie stood in the room, drying her hands on a towel, after she’d done her best to wash the blood of Ina. Yes, Jorge was dead, thanks to a wild shot that had hit him dead center in the chest. How Ina had gotten the gun still wasn’t clear, but he had an idea it had to do with the fact they’d found him dead not on the floor, but on the bed, the covers mussed.

  Good for Ina.

  If she hadn’t done it, Vicktor might have, and wouldn’t that be a nice addendum to his list of charges?

  He had used duct tape from Gracie’s car supply kit to tape Kosta Sokolov into submission. And while he’d done it, he’d paid particular note to his ring, the one with the snake, and the red ruby. Something about it was ringing bells, although he couldn’t put a mark on it. Vicktor even taped Sokolov’s mouth shut, because he couldn’t take one more second of the man’s Russian. Or his English, for that matter. Sokolov grasped the less savory nuances of both languages.

  He finished wrapping the tape around Sokolov’s shoulders, securing him to the chair, and turned to face Gracie.

  And her statement.

  “I want to marry you.” She threw the towel onto the table and looked up at him, her beautiful green eyes no longer carrying that haunted, broken look, but now fierce, so fierce that it rattled him.

  “Yeah, me too.” He reached out to take her hand, because yes, he wanted that more than anything—well, almost more than anything, because top on his priority list was 1. Hold Gracie. And 2. Hold Gracie. Maybe number three was hold Gracie too, but by that time, yes, maybe they better be married.

  But she moved away from him. Folded her arms over her chest. “I want to marry you, now. Right now.” She’d lost weight since he saw her last, and her jeans hung baggy on her. Her tee-shirt had smudges of blood—his blood, probably.

  He raised an eyebrow. “In that?”

  “Funny. No. Or yes, I don’t care. But I want to hop in the car and head west. We’re only about a half-day drive from Vegas, and we’ll get married. Today. Before they can find you and arrest you and…” Her chin quivered. “Take you away from me.”

  In the distance, he could hear sirens.

  But in his heart, he only heard a sigh of relief. “No one is going to take me away from you, Gracie. I’m here, to stay. That’s what you have to understand—I’m not going anywhere unless you boot me out of your life.”

  And for a second, he let his fears hang there, right there in the open, because he had to know.

  “I’m not going to boot you out of my life,” she said softly.

  Relief rushed through him, so much that for a second he thought he might be woozy again. He stepped toward her but she backed away. The sirens grew louder.

  “No—you don’t understand. I really want to marry you. I don’t want to wait. I hate this living on two sides of the globe, and I want to be your wife.”

  His wife. Wow, he hadn’t realized how incredible that word might sound, and for a second, yes, he was right there with her, in the car, breaking speed limits to get married—as who? Vladimir Zaistev? And that brought him back to reality. Because not only would America give him the heave ho, but probably, since she would be an accessory to some sort of crime, Russia would never let her in, either.

  And then they’d live…where?

  Besides—”Gracie, I want to marry you right. In a church, with our friends, and before God. I don’t want Elvis singing at our wedding. I want you in a white dress because we both deserve that, and I want to know when I walk back down the aisle, I’m not going to be arrested and go through the next ten years waiting to see you.”

  Her eyes filled.

  “Most of all, I’m not marrying you until you’re ready. Really ready. And I know we haven’t seen each other for a while, but tomorrow, when I’m back on a plane to Russia, and you’re back in your apartment, you’ll be able to think. Clearly. And that’s when I want your answer. No—” He held up a hand. “I want it in a month.”

  Gracie bit her lip but this time, when he stepped close, she let him, and he put his arms around her.

  “Why do you love me?” she asked, lifting her face to his.

  Oh, that was an easy question. The hard part was where to start. “Because you’re beautiful. And smart. And you care about people. And you’re brave.
And most of all because you let me be the guy I am and don’t get mad when I fly across the ocean just to check up on you.”

  She grinned, smoothed her hands down his chest. “I need a lot of checking up on.”

  “Yes, Gracie, you do.” And then, because the police lights flashed across their window, and because well, he just might not have another chance for a long, long time, he kissed her.

  And Yanna was expected to live without David, how? Especially after he’d nearly given up his life for her—something she felt sure she would have never been able to live with.

  Yanna closed her eyes, feeling the pressure crack her ears as the plane descended into Russian airspace, toward the landing in Khabarovsk. Elena sat beside her, a whitened grip on her hand that she hadn’t loosened since they’d stumbled out of Kwan’s basement dungeon and into the light.

  She’d even hung on as David pulled Yanna into his arms one last time.

  And right there, in front of Roman, who had most definitely been watching, based on his open-mouthed grin as he’d escorted them through passport control, David had given her a kiss that told her he had heard, really heard her words to him.

  You make me believe that God loves me. She put her other hand over Elena’s, feeling her sister’s grip tremble.

  God had done this. He’d helped her find Elena. And saved David.

  God, please help me to believe in You. To trust You. As she thought the words, the knot that wound through her chest, the one she’d learned to live with, suddenly began to loosen. She felt it, even as she took a deep, tremulous breath.

  Maybe this was what hope felt like.

  She opened her eyes. Glanced at Roman who sat across the aisle from her. He had his eyes closed, but she didn’t believe for a second he was sleeping. However, he did look at peace.

  It was the same expression David wore as he pressed his hand to the window that separated them from passport control. If it was the last thing she’d remember of him, it was the look of love in his incredible blue eyes, the way they shone, the way he stared at her, as if imprinting himself on her heart.