by Dale Mayer
He looked at her, then smiled and said, “You’re right. This could be a good development.”
“Or it could be the end,” her mom said fearfully.
“Not likely,” he said, in a reassuring tone of voice. “Just give it a few minutes.” At that, they all settled back again and waited.
Gizella studied the two gunmen, committing their faces to memory. Then she smiled and said, “Did the Navy SEALs get here?”
One of their guards looked at her in surprise, then shook his head and said, “No, of course not. They don’t care.”
“Don’t care or don’t know?”
“Either way,” he said, “they’re not coming after you.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because nobody knows where you are,” he said, with a bright smile. But no maliciousness was behind it.
She nodded. “You mean, you hope they don’t know where we are.”
At that, shots rang out on board, and then it went silent. The guard stared fearfully up above.
She whispered, “You should go find out what’s going on, before you get pinned down here, and they sink us.” He looked at her in surprise, but she saw his fear growing in his expression. She nodded encouragingly. “Go check it out at least.”
Casually he rounded the corner of the doorway, and just then a shot rang out. She watched in horror as the back of his head exploded, and he collapsed. Soon enough, two men hopped down, both of them with face masks, dressed in black, their weapons at the ready. They completely searched the area before coming back to them. One of them looked at her and frowned. “Gizella?”
She nodded, then quickly stood.
“Seriously, it’s you, isn’t it?”
She looked at his profile and said, “Hey, Baylor. Am I ever glad to see you!”
“Glad to see me?” he said in a dry low whisper. “You never called.”
She gave him a wry smile. “Believe me, I regret that right now.” It would be him standing right here in front of her. She sagged a bit and said, “My parents need help.”
“No problem,” he said. “I’ve got somebody here who’ll give you a hand. Just hang on a minute. We’ve still got to make sure the boat is secured.”
She turned to her father. “Looks like the SEALs came after all.”
He stared at her in shock, then looked after the man who just disappeared and asked, “Seriously? You know him?”
“It’s Baylor.”
“How can you tell?” her mother asked. “You can’t see anything for all the gear they’re wearing.”
“I just can,” she said, without saying anything further, because how did you explain about how that profile, that stance, that tilt of his shoulders was so recognizable? It was more than just her artistic nature at work. She’d been so damn attracted to him back then. He’d been pushing for more, but she hadn’t been ready. Afterward she had been afraid he’d gone on a mission, and she had no clue what had happened after that.
She still held on to his phone number and had been tempted to call but never had. She couldn’t really explain the impulse herself, but it had been there—that she hadn’t been able to fight the attraction, but she hadn’t done anything about it. So, of course, it would be him coming to her rescue right now. Life was once again having a great time playing tricks.
As she waited, she walked over to her mother, just as another shot rang out. It came through the glass of the tiny window, glass shattering everywhere. Her father cried out, as he was slammed against the wall by the force of the shot. She screamed and called out, “Baylor, it’s my father!”
She raced over to him, immediately putting pressure against the blood shooting from his shoulder. Instantly she heard more footsteps. Baylor came down beside her, then quickly shoved her aside. He held a hand against the wound and checked for his vitals. “I need a medic down below,” he called out over his radio. “The governor’s been hit.”
More sounds of feet moving came, and, before she even had a chance to argue, her father was lifted and carried upstairs. With a cry, her mother rushed behind them. Gizella followed in the last position, as a hand nudged her forward; it was Baylor again.
She looked up at him and said, “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“It could be,” he said grimly. “But we’re not far from help, and we’ve got a field medic here.”
“Who shot him?” she demanded.
“We have a team heading to shore right now,” he said.
“You think it came from shore?” she asked in shock. As she stepped up on deck, she realized the shore was right there. As in right there. She shook her head. “I had no idea we were so close.”
“We’ve been tracking you for the last few miles,” he said, “and you’ve been coming in closer and closer.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said, as she looked around. “I could have swum this distance easily.”
“Sure. So why didn’t you?” he asked curiously.
She looked over at him, shrugged, and said, “I couldn’t leave my parents.”
“No, I get that,” he said, then led her over to the side. There she saw other men getting her parents off. “Where will they take him?”
“To the nearest emergency medical center,” he said.
“You’ll stand guard on them?”
“We will, yes,” he said.
She made no move to get off the boat herself, and he wasn’t asking her to. She turned to look at him and asked, “What’ll happen to me now?”
“I’m taking you to a safe place,” he said. “There, we’ll debrief you and see what we can salvage out of this mess.”
She could tell he was pissed about her father getting shot. “Do you have any idea who’s behind it? What do you want to know?”
“You can tell me about that face you drew, for one thing.”
“Oh,” she said. “You found my journal.”
“I did,” he said. “Now let’s get you off here and someplace safe. We can get you a change of clothes, get you checked over, and then believe me. We have questions. Lots and lots of questions. But we’ll wait for the safe house for that.”
*
And a few of the questions Baylor had were: Why the hell was she in this situation? Where had she been all these years? And why hadn’t she called him back?
He had to let it go, as he had so many years ago, but to think of the five or so years that had passed and to have her turn up like this? … Some would call it a coincidence, others fate. He had no answers but felt such delight, aside from the circumstances, that put her on his path. They’d connected years ago at a level he hadn’t expected. Not sexually, it wasn’t even physical, although that simmered beneath the surface. Neither of them had been there to hook up, both convinced to go by well-meaning friends, but there’d been an incredible meeting of their minds. By the end of the evening they were almost finishing each other’s sentences, their thoughts were so in tune.
It had been a timing issue. He knew that. For him and for her. Hence why he’d asked for her number and had given her his. Only he’d never heard from her.
And neither had he called her.
He shook his head. Talk about timing issues. But now she was here, bedraggled, tired, but still in fighting spirit, even if a little dispirited. Then who wouldn’t be after what happened? And considering her parents’ personal problems too. He vaguely remembered talk about a health issue for her mother mentioned back then. Obviously she’d survived whatever that had been about. This scenario was bad for everyone though.
He’d been surprised at the image in the sketchbook, as he had no clue she was an artist. That showed she was more than an artist but a gifted one too. It took skill and passion to capture that face in a few hurried strokes. That Baylor’s name was in the book too …
Talk about a brain twister …
Chapter 4
A safe house? Gizella had to wonder, as she was led off the boat, put into a vehicle, and driven through a series of streets, un
til they pulled into a parking lot with multiple other vehicles. While the men kept a watchful gaze on the surroundings, she was led to a back door and inside. There, up a series of stairs to the third floor, she was ushered into a small apartment. As she walked in, she looked all around. “Is this the safe house?” It didn’t look like much. A small, sparsely furnished low-end rental.
“It is for the moment, yes,” Baylor said.
She nodded, then slowly turned and looked at him. “Thank you.” He just nodded in acknowledgment, but he didn’t seem to sense anything in the words other than a superficial meaning. She grabbed his arm as he went to walk past and added quietly, “Really, Baylor, I mean it.”
This time he stopped to really look at her, and his smile matched his eyes when he said, “I know.”
“Meaning that you would have done it for anybody, right?”
“I hope there will always be somebody to look out for anybody,” he said in a mild tone. “But did I know it was you beforehand? No. Not until I saw you,” he said. “I forgot your father was a governor and all.”
“That’s because, at that time,” she said, “I wasn’t having a whole lot to do with him.”
“Why is that?” he asked, curious.
“He was having affairs. All while my mother was going through a really bad health crisis.” She didn’t even know why Baylor was the one she wrote to in that journal, except that it occurred to her that he was probably one of the few SEALs she actually knew. A name, a face. Something she could latch on to in her moment of panic and fear, hoping somebody out there was actually listening. The fact that he’d come at all was a shock. A good one but still a shock.
He squeezed her fingers and said, “Pick a bedroom.”
She nodded, then turned to look around and saw two rooms off to the left. She walked over and chose the one that had a window view outside. But all she saw was another apartment building. She sagged onto the bed and realized she didn’t even have a change of clothes. She didn’t have her purse, her passport; she had nothing.
As he walked into the room behind her, he stood with his legs slightly akimbo, his hands on his hips. “Are you about ready for a nap?”
She shook her head. “I’m too keyed up,” she said. “I need news of my father’s condition. Food might not be a bad idea either, and a shower. But I don’t even have clean clothes to change into.”
“They’re coming,” he said, with a gentle smile. She looked at him in surprise, and he nodded. “I requested two sets.”
“Is it that easy?”
He laughed. “Not necessarily but, if you’re not too fussy,” he said, “we can get you something.”
“Fussy in that it generally fits and is clean,” she said, “but a T-shirt and leggings would be perfect.”
“Can’t count on what’s coming,” he said, “but, as long as it covers you, and it’s somewhat comfortable, and it’s clean, I figure we’re good to go.”
“That works for me,” she muttered. “What about the food part?”
“We also have food coming.”
She nodded and stood back up, wincing as she brushed off the comforter. “I’m so dirty even now, just from being in the bottom of that boat.”
“It was an old decommissioned riverboat cruiser. A small one that used to take up to thirty people at a time for tours,” he said.
“That is small,” she said.
“They weren’t always these big monstrosities,” he said, with a chuckle. She nodded, and he added, “Let’s go see if we can put on some coffee.”
She lit up at that. “Oh, God, coffee sounds wonderful.”
“Funny how that makes so many things better, isn’t it?”
“Coffee and sometimes tea.” She nodded. “Just something that’s normal and right about my world.” She looked over at him. “Any word on my father?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“And I suppose we have to wait for that.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that I can’t just go to the hospital and see him for myself?”
“No,” he said, “not at this point.”
“Why did you separate me and my mother?”
“We’re just concerned about her health,” he said, and she winced at that.
“Of course. I didn’t even think of that,” she muttered. “I just didn’t want to be separated from her.”
“If she’s well enough to be released,” he said, “we will bring her here.”
At that, she started to relax. “How long are we here for?”
“Until we can get you safely out of the country.”
“That shouldn’t be hard though. Surely you caught them?”
“No,” he corrected. “We caught the people who were on board at the time.”
She knew there were nuances that she wasn’t really getting with his words. “Translation?”
“There’s still a good chance that somebody is out there, somebody who orchestrated all this behind the scenes.”
“But they won’t care about me,” she said.
“Well, it depends on if they understand how much you know.”
“I don’t know anything,” she snapped, then glared at him. “I really don’t. I just woke up on that stupid boat.”
“So, what happened on the yacht?” He motioned for her to take a seat at the kitchen table, and he walked a little farther around the counter and put on a pot of coffee.
She watched in fascination as he instinctively found the coffee and the filters on the first go. She smiled and said, “You’ve been here before.”
“Nope,” he said, “but some things are fairly intuitive.”
She shrugged. “Not for me.”
“They would be if you’d done what I do long enough,” he said with a smile.
“It’s been years since I saw you,” she said. “But, when I got into trouble, you’re the only one I could think of in the industry who maybe would be out there, trying to help me.”
“Well, several of us were out looking,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d even remember me.”
“I know we didn’t spend much time together that night long ago,” she said, “but, when you’re lost and alone in a world that’s so ugly, I think it’s instinctive to envision this make-believe kind of relationship to give you something to hang on to, something to keep your sanity.”
“Whatever works,” he said. “As long as it kept you sane and moving forward, it’s fine with me.”
She smiled. “I certainly wasn’t trying to presume. I just needed to believe that somebody out there was trying to help us. It seems foolish now.”
“No, it’s not,” he interrupted. “It’s never foolish to do whatever you need to do to keep yourself grounded in reality.”
“And yet that wasn’t a grounded reality at all.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “A lot of times people get into trouble, and they talk to their mother, father, sister, friend, whatever,” he said. “It’s just a way of connecting to a world that’s outside of the situation you’re in. It’s normal. You didn’t do anything weird or wrong,” he said reassuringly.
She laughed. “That’s nice of you to say. Thank you.”
“Hey, it did cause a few of my cohorts to raise their eyebrows,” he said, with a laugh, “but that’s all.”
“I’m sure,” she said, with an eye roll. “I never really thought that you would be the one coming after me.”
“But you knew what I did for a living.”
“Yes, but that was past-tense too,” she said. “My understanding is that most don’t stay in the SEALs for very long.”
“Nope, eight to ten years is pretty average,” he said. With the coffee on, he sat down at the table in front of her, then picked up a pad of paper she hadn’t noticed before.
Dropping it in front of him, he pulled out his phone, pushed a button, and said, “Now that we got all the basics out of the way,” he said quietly, “just start from the very beginning an
d tell me what happened.”
She looked at him for a long moment, took a deep breath, and blurted it all out. Since he was recording it, somebody else could decipher the innuendos and the undercurrents of it all.
“I wasn’t supposed to be there,” she said, “but my mother asked me to join them after getting her final treatment done and having a clear diagnosis for the moment. She still wasn’t sure she would make it or not, and she wanted to celebrate the time we had. I made some quick arrangements, then flew down. I arrived that morning, and we were on the boat that afternoon, heading out to sea. Together we spent two days on the yacht—maybe three,” she corrected slowly.
“I’m sorry. It’s just the days are rolling into each other. Anyway, so later in the second or third afternoon, another boat approached, just kind of waved and honked. We talked for a bit, and it carried on, and we didn’t think anything of it. Other tankers and whatnot were out in the ocean, but we generally stayed away from everything.” She stopped, clenched her fingers, trying to distance herself from these memories.
“Another boat came up a little bit later, which kind of surprised us. They came right alongside of us, but this one was, I don’t even know what it was,” she said. “It looked ominous because it was all dark, blacks and grays, very sleek and streamlined. My dad was pretty impressed. Anyway, they got to talking, across the rails from each other, and, the next thing I knew, just as Dad went below to get something for them, four gunmen popped out from belowdecks on their boat, then hopped onto ours and took us all captive.
“At the time, we’d been drifting closer and closer to a tanker. I was trying to get my dad to turn on the engines and to change direction when one of the gunmen just looked at me and said, ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s perfect.’”
Letting out a shaky breath, she continued, “I didn’t understand what he meant, until somebody came aboard, turned on the engines, and, instead of pulling us away, literally slammed us right into the tanker. Yet it seemed like he had a good idea of where to go and how to do it because the tanker didn’t appear harmed at all. But then it had a steel hull, where we did not.
“We started taking on water right away, and my mother panicked and screamed. She and my father were taken off onto the gunmen’s boat. I had raced down below but was grabbed out of the water and pulled back up. It happened so fast. The next thing I know, I was pushed onto the gunmen’s boat, but, somewhere around that time, I was drugged and knocked out. I don’t really know how long we were out for.”