by Dana Mentink
Her heart thumped.
They approached quietly, Dan edging around to the driver’s side, Marco opposite.
Angela saw with a thrill of dread that the driver’s door was open, keys still pinging in the ignition. Marco slid open the passenger door and checked the glove box. “It’s registered to Tank Guzman,” he whispered.
Cora, where are you?
There was no indication of which direction she might have taken.
“Going to check out the tower,” Marco said, voice low.
“I’ll come,” Donna mouthed.
Dan nodded. “We’ll search the keeper’s quarters.”
Angela fell in behind him. The rain trickled down her collar, chilling her spine and soaking the bandage on her back. Since water blew under her hood, her hair was soon plastered to her skull. They picked their way over rocks and planks of rotted wood that had fallen long ago as the building descended into decay. The ground was slick, and Dan offered his hand, which she gripped tight.
Stumbling as they went, she looked at the shrubs, dark branches waving in the violent wind. Where had Cora hidden? Or had she been found? Abducted? Killed? Angela suppressed a shiver.
The dilapidated structure affixed to the wall of the four-sided tower had a large door, bookended on each side by two rectangular windows. The glass had long since been broken away, leaving three gaping black mouths, frozen in a silent scream. The scent of the sea mingled with the smell of rotting wood, mold and something else she could not identify.
Dan stepped inside first, blocking her from following until he’d beamed his light around.
“Clear,” he whispered back at her. “See if you can spot anything.”
She entered, almost overwhelmed by the black emptiness, the smell of decay. She’d seen such barren spaces before, prayed in them, the bombed-out homes where lives had ended, dreams had died. But she’d had God right by her side in those moments, to offer hope to the hopeless and the confidence that there was life in Him, a future in the face of gut-wrenching pain.
God, where are You? she thought as the memories of the past mingled with the awful blackness of the present. She could see nothing but the wind-blown trash that had accumulated inside, shards of broken glass catching her flashlight beam.
Nothing.
There had been no word from Marco and Donna, and clearly Cora had not driven away. A bit of color caught her attention, and she bent down. It was a tube of lip balm, berry flavored. It was not surprising to find such an item in the detritus, but the fact that it was clean indicated it had been dropped recently. Very recently. As someone fumbled in their bag?
She held it up. “Cora was here.”
He nodded slowly, eyes scanning.
She followed Dan’s gaze. The beach? The lighthouse occupied a square lot on a rock cliff that jutted out over the ocean. There was a sharply plunging descent down to a curve of beach not twenty feet from their current location. Would she have headed there? It made no sense, but then Cora had been terrified and might have fled without thinking it through.
Dan checked his watch. “High tide soon.”
Which meant that the little beach would be submerged. And Cora with it? She swallowed.
They exited the keeper’s quarters. A flicker of light from the wooden tower indicated Marco and Donna were continuing their search. They had almost reached the lantern room, hemmed in by the rusty iron railing. Dan sent Marco a text.
“Not sure he’s getting them,” Dan said.
“Be careful, you two,” she breathed. Those ruined stones, the rusted railings and rain pouring through the holes in the fractured walls. Marco will keep Donna safe, she reminded herself. If she lets him, her mind added ruefully.
Dan and Angela took the torturously steep stone stairs that had been hewn out of the side of the rocky cliff. Pooled water made every step treacherous, and the journey was slow. Dan slipped, nearly catapulting down the stairs, but Angela was able to grab the back of his jacket and anchor him while he regained his balance.
“Thanks,” he whispered.
“Anytime.”
At the bottom, they stepped into ankle-deep water. Dan checked his cell and found they had no signal there. The tide had already pulled the waves up and over the shallow lip of beach. How much longer did they have before they would have to escape back up the steps? She wanted to ask Dan, but he suddenly jerked her into the shadows, behind a jag of rock.
“I heard something,” he mouthed in her ear. “Going to check it out.”
“Me, too,” she said.
“No. Water’s rising fast. Go back to the stairs and call Marco. You can get a signal there and we need to be sure he knows where we are.”
“Dan—”
“Just call. Better four of us knowing the situation than one obnoxious doctor.”
“And a waterlogged chaplain,” she finished. She’d surprised herself. Did she actually still believe she was a chaplain?
His face lit with a smile, and he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. She gasped.
“Sorry,” he said, brushing a strand of soaked hair back from her eyes. “I’ve got a thing for dimples.” He leaned in again, his mouth so close to hers. Tingles coursed through her nerves, but he stopped and pressed his cheek to her forehead. “Go now, Angela,” he said, grazing a finger over her chin as he pulled away.
Her cheek warmed where he’d kissed her, the only spot in her body that seemed to feel any heat whatsoever. She slogged back to the stairs. It took her five steps up before she got a signal. “Marco, we’re down here. On the beach. Dan’s heard something.”
“On it.”
His response relieved her. At least she knew they were safe. She pocketed the phone and made her slippery way back down the stairs, once again splashing into the frigid water which was now at mid-shin level. A rumble of thunder made her jump. She could not see any sign of Dan thanks to the fin of rock that blocked her view.
She longed to creep around that barrier, but she knew the smart thing to do would be to stay put and wait for Marco and Donna. A shout rose above the pounding waves; there was no mistaking it.
She edged out a few steps, trying to peer around the rock.
To her left she saw Marco and Donna begin their journey down the steps. They would arrive in moments, and she could wait no longer. Dan needed her help. She could feel it.
With the sharp rocks cutting at her hands, she sloshed her way gingerly around the protruding section of cliff, the water now climbing to her knees. Shivering, muscles rigid, she pressed on. Darkness seemed like a smothering blanket, with only glimpses of weak moonlight penetrating the clouds.
Inch by inch, she cleared the rocks, finding herself in a bowl-shaped cove where the cliff wall was more gently sloped. A crescent of rocky beach still showed, but not for long, she reckoned. Straining her eyes, she sought any sign of Dan. The light was pinched off by drifting clouds. Now she was in complete darkness, water slapping around her thighs as her legs slowly went numb. She did not want to activate her flashlight for fear it would give away her location to Cora’s pursuer, but the minutes stretched by and there was no sound from Dan.
She had only a few more minutes before she would need to return to the steps or be totally submerged. After a deep breath, she flicked on the flashlight.
The beam caught Dan in the water, apparently shouting at two figures on the cliff side, though she could not make out his words.
He shot a surprised look at Angela, took a reflexive step toward her. There was a scream from above, and one of the figures lost their grip on the rocks and tumbled backward into the ocean.
FOURTEEN
Dan lunged into the surf. Salt water stung his eyes as he frantically tried to locate the fallen victim. Angela headed right for the spot, her flashlight beaming a path for him
to follow. Splashing awkwardly, he surged against the agitation of the waves toward Angela.
“Here,” she yelled, groping around in the water.
He churned to her side, grabbed the back of a soggy shirt and hauled with all his strength.
A face emerged, dazed and sputtering.
“Tank,” Angela said, shocked. “What happened?”
Dan pointed to the cliff where the other figure struggled upward, face nothing more than a streak of white in the darkness. “That’s Cora. Tank was climbing up behind her.”
“I got to get her away, somewhere safe,” Tank moaned.
There was a scream from above, and a cascade of rock broke loose from the cliff side. Dan’s stomach twisted. A fall down those rocks from that height would batter her to pieces. Cora had somehow managed to hold on, at least for the moment. No telling how long that would last until the cold and fear overwhelmed her.
Marco and Donna splashed over.
Marco took in Cora’s progress. “Got any rope in your truck?”
Dan nodded.
“I’ll get it. Lower it to her.”
“I’ll climb up from here and get her harnessed,” Dan said.
“No,” Angela blurted. “That’s too dangerous.”
“I’m a pretty good rock climber, among other things.”
Marco cocked his head. “You sure, Doc?”
“I’m always sure,” Dan said. “That’s part of my charm.” He pushed Tank toward them. “Take him back up the stairs before the tide gets any higher.”
Marco grabbed one of Tank’s arms and Donna the other.
“I don’t think this is smart,” Angela said.
He chuckled. “I’m sure Jeb would agree,” he said, heading toward the cliff. “Stay with Tank. Call for an ambulance.”
“Dan...” she started.
He looked over, framed from behind by a wash of rolling waves, tall and strong even against the storm.
What could she say? Be careful? I care about you?
Did she care? Could she possibly have feelings for a man at this time in her life? She stood frozen, mute, as the water rose and slapped around her legs. Donna moved toward the stairs with Marco.
Dan came close and put his hands on either side of her face.
“Hey, Chaplain,” he said. “Tank needs you. Go do your thing.”
“I can’t just leave you here.”
He ducked to look right in her face, his eyes capturing hers. “All you have to do is get him up those stairs. One foot in front of the other.”
One foot in front of the other seemed impossible if it meant leaving him alone, at the mercy of the ocean. Then his lips were on her temple, and he kissed her there.
“Time to go.” He stepped back and gave her a cocky thumbs-up. Donna tugged on her jacket sleeve.
“Let’s go, Angela. We need your help. Dan will be okay.”
Her body felt leaden with fear and cold as she half walked, half swam back to the stone steps. The rising water was waist high, breaking with slaps of jarring cold against her numbed body. Shuddering now, she felt the bite of the wind, and each movement was an excruciating effort. What if Dan did not come back? He was a doctor, not a special forces operative or a firefighter, skilled in cliff rescue.
Lord... Panic immediately overwhelmed the prayer.
One foot in front of the other. She focused on her feet, plowing through, pushing on though her body screamed for her to stop.
Marco and Donna hauled Tank up one step at a time, their progress too slow.
“You two need to take him,” Marco said. “I’ve got to get that rope down to Cora before she falls.”
Donna nodded, taking up position at one of Tank’s shoulders, and Angela stepped up to support the other. Tank was able to help a little as they struggled up step after step. She looked down at the stone, black and unforgiving as they inched their way up. Angela’s muscles were screaming and her breath came in frantic puffs as they finally crested the top.
“Dan’s truck,” Donna said. “It will give Tank some protection from the rain.” With backbreaking effort, they dragged Tank to the truck, propping him in the passenger side. Donna found a blanket behind the seat and wrapped it around him as best she could.
He blinked, as if he was coming out of a trance. “Cora. Where is she?”
“They’re getting her,” Angela said, forcing the words through her stiff, frozen lips.
He nodded, and his eyes focused on hers. Teeth chattering, lips nearly blue, he clutched the blanket to himself. “I...I,” he stammered, then stopped, hands falling slack, face twisting with emotion.
Angela pulled up the edge of the blanket, tucking it around his shoulders. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk now.”
Donna whispered in Angela’s ear. “This has turned into a full-blown rescue. I’m going to call the police if they haven’t already been notified. We don’t have a choice.”
Angela nodded as her sister stepped away.
Tank coughed. “We were going to run. He found out about our meeting place somehow. He must have bugged my phone. Why didn’t I think of that?”
A bout of violent shivering cut off his words. Angela wished she had the keys to the truck so she could turn on the heater.
He coughed until he choked for air. “I was waiting in the lighthouse, and I saw a car come. I ran to help Cora. We thought we could hide on the beach, but the tide was coming in.”
Rain slammed against the windshield, thunder crashing so loud it shook the ground under her feet.
“I have to go help,” she said. “You can tell me the rest later.”
He reached out a hand, his cold fingers clawing at hers. “Thank you...for coming for her. I’m sorry.”
Angela felt stricken. She had come, but had it been too late? Cora had looked so small, barely a dot against the cruel expanse of rock. She squeezed his hand and pulled away, a tiny piece of her wondering.
I’m sorry. For involving Angela in the first place? For attacking her?
What if she was wrong about Gruber being the one?
But Tank couldn’t be her attacker. Could he? A man who loved his wife? Loved his brother? And hated her for causing his brother’s death. The whole situation was a nightmare. “I’ve got to go help.”
“Wait.” Tank rooted under the blanket and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a capped plastic cylinder, the type of canister that used to hold film back before the digital revolution. “In here, in case I don’t make it. You can get him.”
“What are you saying, Tank?” She wanted to press more, but she heard voices shouting over the howling wind.
“Go,” he said. “Go help my wife.”
She stowed the canister in the pocket of her jeans and followed her sister along the cliffs.
The wind roared, blowing the rain into stinging needles.
They found Marco attaching the rope to a sturdy iron pole wedged into the rock. He tied a knot in the other end and began to feed it over the lip of cliff. When he’d fed out fifty feet or so, he approached the edge.
“Rope’s away,” he shouted down to Dan. “Got it?”
It seemed like an interminable length of time, and then the faint shout of Dan’s reply came.
Angela went weak with relief.
“He’s got it. Tying her in,” Marco said.
Another few minutes of anxious waiting, and they heard Dan’s signal. The three of them hauled on the rope. In the distance, a siren wailed. Angela hoped it was the ambulance. No telling what Cora’s condition was. Or Dan’s.
She pulled harder, the rough rope digging into her palms. Hand over hand they toiled until her skin was burning, eyes nearly blinded by the downpour.
Finally, through the deluge, Cora appeared, f
ace contorted and scraped.
Angela and Donna ran to her and eased her over. While Marco sent the rope back down for Dan, they carried Cora to the truck and put her next to Tank. His face quivered with naked relief. He pulled her to him, wrapping the blanket around her and speaking softly in Spanish, lips pressed to her wet hair. She was shivering, crying, babbling.
“Cora,” he said. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. All of it. I’m going to get you out of this mess—I promise.”
Angela sighed as she saw Dan climbing over the cliff edge, Marco holding firmly on to his arm. The relief overcame the cold and the pain in her back and hands.
One foot in front of the other, inch by painful inch, the four of them had conquered the storm and the sea and brought Tank and Cora to safety.
And Dan. He stood slightly bent over, hands on hips, struggling to catch his breath. She wanted to run to him, throw her arms around him and send up a prayer of jubilant thanksgiving.
The next moment seemed to unroll in slow motion. She smiled at him, her arm half lifted in a greeting. She took two steps toward him.
Then a shot rang out.
And then another.
* * *
Dan dove for the ground, Marco right behind him. The shots came from somewhere in the trees, bullets sparking where they hit rock.
“Get down, get down,” he yelled at the women.
Through the driving rain he could not see where Donna and Angela had gone. Another shot drilled into the side of Marco’s rental car. The ambulance, lights flashing, pulled up and rolled to a stop.
Marco tried to shout a warning, but the paramedic was already on his way out, carrying his kit, oblivious to the danger. A shot exploded the light bar on the top of the rig. The medic dove back inside, no doubt radioing for the police.
The shooter seemed to be bent on creating chaos, or he was an unskilled marksman. Another bullet hit the iron pole, ricocheting with a shower of sparks.
“The women,” Dan shouted. He could find no sign of them in the inky darkness.
“Near your truck,” Marco called back. “Tank and Cora are inside, so they’ve got cover.”