Devlin and the Deep Blue Sea

by Merline Lovelace

  They didn't make the return run to Piedras Rojas until the next morning.

  By that time, Devlin had Wallace's full confession on record, and Doc Metwani had repaired most of the damage caused by his private session with the crew. Bruised, battered and cuffed with plastic restraints, Wallace huddled in a mass of shivering misery while Liz went to Devlin's cabin to advise him she had the Ranger gassed and ready to go.

  The cabin door was ajar, the lockers open and the built-in shelves empty. Devlin stood beside his desk, his packed gear bag at his feet. His sleek little laptop was shut down and ready to slip into a pocket on the side of the bag. The toy bear that had slouched against the computer sat in the palm of his hand.

  The pain in his eyes stirred an ache inside Liz's chest. She knew what caused it. Wallace had ad­mitted that the list of targets he'd provided Martin Alvarez had included Harry Johnson.

  "I'm sorry," she said softly.

  "Yeah. Me, too."

  He stuffed the toy inside his bag before reaching for her. The pain was still there, shadowing his face, as he drew her into his arms.

  "You know that thought I told you to hang on to?"

  "You think little things like getting hijacked and almost crashing into the sea would make me forget it?"

  "I need you to hold on to it a while longer."

  "Why?"

  "It'll be a few weeks before we can pick up the discussion where we left off. I'll have to work Wal­lace's extradition and haul him back to States. Then I need to deliver the news about Harry to his fiancée."

  Liz swallowed, fighting a sudden hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was this the first of many times they'd have to put their lives on hold? The first of a hundred goodbyes? Would the absences stretch longer and longer? Would Devlin expect her to wait indefinitely, as Donny had?

  Well, she'd learned her lesson there. She was done with waiting.

  "Tell you what," she said, locking her hands behind his neck. "I'll haul you and that piece of garbage back to the States. And I'll go with you to deliver the news to Harry's fiancée, if you'll let me."

  "You might want to think twice about that. It won't be easy."

  "No, it won't. And it won't be easy turning what we have into something solid and rich and full. But you said it yourself. We can make it work. Combine careers. Pick our locations. Aero Baja isn't the only charter service handling the big rigs. I can fly for any­one—maybe even this organization you work for."

  "You could," Devlin agreed. "I know Maggie and Adam will add their endorsement to mine." A smile slipped past the hurt in his eyes, creasing his tanned cheeks. "We'll have to put our heads together and come up with a code name for you."

  The certainty swirling inside Liz's heart over­flowed until she felt the warmth all through her body. This was right. So very right.

  "Just our heads?" she murmured.

  His laughter filled her soul. She'd spent all those empty months waiting for Donny. Or so she'd thought. Now she knew it was Devlin she'd been waiting for. Wherever their jobs took them, whatever deep blue seas needed to be crossed, they'd cross them together.

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  It was the perfect spot for a wedding. The Pacific shimmered with a thousand pinpricks of dazzling light. The December sun was kind to the guests who had trooped down from vehicles parked on the road above, bathing them in gentle warmth while tinting the cliffs that thrust out of the sea at the far end of the beach to umber.

  Rows of white chairs were set facing the turquoise sea. Subcommandante Riviera sat on the bride's side, stiff and official looking in his uniform. Jorge's wife, Maria and several of their children occupied the seats beside the police inspector. Anita Lopez and most of the regulars from El Poco Lobo filled the rows behind them. After much debate, Liz had extended an invitation to Eduardo Alvarez and his wife. They'd declined—to Liz's relief—indicating they'd be out of the country, but El Tiburon sent a congratulatory message and an offer to use his yacht for the honey­moon, which Liz politely refused.

  Maggie and Adam sat on the groom's side with their three children. Coltish, long-legged Gillian had her father's black hair and killer blue eyes. Samantha was a giggling honey-haired brunette with her mother's lively personality. Tank had barreled through the sand immediately upon arrival and made straight for the water, only to be scooped up a second from total immersion by his vigilant father.

  The protesting toddler wiggled impatiently in his designated seat beside Nick Jensen and his wife, Mackenzie. Next to them were Claire Cantwell and her husband. Claire's cast had come off months ago, but Luis Esteban still hovered over her as though she were made of the most delicate porcelain. On Claire's other side was a slender, auburn-haired woman who maintained a firm grasp on the hand of a three-year-old. Like Tank, the boy wanted to get to the waves in the worst way.

  Devlin had debated whether to invite Eve and her son to the wedding. She insisted the pain of losing Harry had dulled in the long months since his disap­pearance and professed to feel only joy that Joe Devlin found Liz while searching for her missing fiancée. Despite her assurances, Devlin thought she looked too thin and pale.

  Apparently he was the only one who thought so. Liz's former fiancée had locked on to Eve at the re­hearsal dinner last night and didn't appear at all ready to unlock. Devlin had been ready to rearrange Carter's face again when he showed up at the Two Dolphins, but Liz had felt more magnanimous—par­ticularly since Donny had arrived with a check for the last of the funds he'd appropriated from their one­time joint account.

  Not that Liz needed the infusion of cash. She'd already expanded her charter service to a fleet of three, with another helicopter on order. She and Devlin had been working the rigs along the Califor­nia and Baja coasts for the past six months, with Jorge Garcia heading their shore operations. In the process, Devlin had used his cover twice for OMEGA missions—once to bust a ring specializing in the import of human organs for sale to desperate transplant recipients, once to infiltrate a renegade military group based at a San Diego naval base. Liz had provided air support in both operations.

  They made a helluva team.

  Devlin didn't realize he'd murmured the thought aloud until a mariachi trio hired for the occasion broke into a lively rendition of "Here Comes the Bride" and all eyes turned to the woman being escorted through the row of chairs by her mother and a beaming Jorge, his mustaches waxed to sharp points for the occasion.

  "Yeah," his best man muttered over the beat of the music, "you do. Hope I get as lucky one of these days."

  "Hope so, too, Riev."

  Devlin voiced the words, but his mind, his gaze, his entire being were centered on Liz. She'd let her hair grow these past months, long enough to sweep up in a crown of blond curls banded by fresh flowers. Her dress was a simple sheath of creamy satin that left her shoulders bare. A smile tipped his mouth when he saw her feet were bare as well. Like the night they'd met, right on this very spot.

  He took her hands in his, the smile spreading to his heart.

  "Hello, darlin'. Ready to make this partnership permanent?"

  Her eyes answered for her. Filled with love and laughter, they warmed every corner of Devlin's soul.

  "I'm ready, cowboy."

  * * * * *