Abducted

by Dana Mentink

  Jett let out a cautious breath. They’d scored a victory, even though it was only delaying the inevitable end. In his job as a navy explosive ordnance disposal technician, he’d learned how precious moments could be—seconds could mean the difference between a safe detonation and a catastrophe, going home to the woman who loved you or your life ending in a fine pink mist, according to the dark humor of the EODs.

  They’d bought some moments. It would do for now.

  He endured the blow Miguel gave him between the shoulder blades and helped Sarah gather up her supplies. Young moaned once more.

  “It’s okay, Mr. Young. We’re going to take you somewhere now,” Sarah said, her voice as cheerful as he figured she could make it. There was no response.

  Jett wondered if they were taking Young out of the frying pan and dropping him straight into the flames. It was a mercy that the guy was too out of it to realize what was happening.

  As Jett readied himself to lift the stricken man onto the stretcher, he was thunderstruck as Young gave Sarah a slow wink before he closed his eyes again.

  * * *

  Sarah struggled hard to keep her fear in check as they carried Young to the back of a delivery truck and climbed up after him. She knew she was going to be delivered into the hands of a murderous man who ruled by intimidation. It was dark inside, hot as a furnace, but a small amount of light shone through a slatted ventilation panel in the roof. She did not take her gaze off Young for a moment, but he made no further signs of consciousness. Had she imagined the wink? But the quickly concealed surprise on Jett’s face indicated he’d witnessed the same thing. What if Young was not the helpless victim he appeared to be? Yet he was certainly not faking his injuries. The man was in dire medical straits, no question, but his last “fit” had been well timed and kept them both alive, at least for the next uncertain stretch of time.

  Miguel sat on a wooden box lashed to the floor, a silent warden as the truck lurched away from the house where Juanita had made a deadly bargain for her father’s life. Though Sarah knew Jett wouldn’t see it the same way, the girl had not had a choice. What bargain would she have struck to save the lives of her family members? It was the kind of question that remained best unanswered.

  Sarah tried to steady the stretcher against the heaving of the truck. On his knees, Jett attempted to help, though they’d tied his hands together in front of him with a plastic cord and done the same to his ankles. Helpless—all three of their fates were controlled by violent men with evil intentions.

  She felt the tide of anger and darkness rise up inside her, fresh as it had been the moment when their car had been rammed by another six months prior, ending the life of her hero, her father. It was as if she could still feel the shards of glass flying around her, see her father’s arm braced on the dash, his other holding protectively to her shoulder as they’d skidded out of control. The terrible shriek of metal still rang in her ears when she let it. Pain, darkness, medicines and surgeries, and then she’d woken to find the horror was not a dream. Her father was dead.

  It was unjust, unfair, unacceptable. Her hands balled into tight fists. Wasn’t her father’s death enough for her to endure? And her sister Angela’s recent encounter with a killer? How much was Sarah Gallagher expected to take? How much, God?

  When it became too much, she forced a breath in and out, recalling the painful lesson she’d been learning since her father’s death. How many hours had she lain in the hospital with a broken pelvis and a punctured lung wrestling with God? It’s not about what you do or don’t deserve, Sarah Gallagher, it’s about seeking Him. Hard-won wisdom, excruciating to learn, difficult to hang onto. If it weren’t for the rock-solid love and faith of her three sisters and her mother, she might never have made it.

  She wondered if her sisters even knew she and Jett had been snatched. They might not, if Juanita had been coerced into silence. And the police would not report her gone if it meant crossing Beretta. There might be no one looking for them at all.

  She kept her eyes closed speaking silently to God, who she knew was there, even in the present terrifying circumstances. When she opened her eyes again, Jett was watching her, one eyebrow quirked.

  “Still thinking God’s listening, huh?”

  “He is.”

  A quick flash of anger distorted his features. “Yeah? Then maybe you should ask Him why we’re in a truck with a half-dead guy on our way to visit a drug lord.”

  “Silencio,” Miguel shouted, banging his bat on the metal floor.

  Sarah jumped, and Jett leaned against the wall of the truck, bound feet and bound hands.

  Bound heart, she found herself thinking, looking at his handsome face, so quick to flash the arrogant smile against the hurt she knew was inside him, a hurt rooted deep in his past. Those brown eyes, the tint of coffee, had sparkled with tears when she’d broken up with him. It was the only time she’d ever seen him close to crying. He’d proudly told her he never cried, even when his father, fueled by alcohol, would get out his wooden stick. No tears from Jett, but she’d cried oceans for him.

  His lips were dry, she noticed, and she wanted to ask Miguel for some water, but she knew he wouldn’t provide any and Jett wouldn’t drink it anyway.

  Again she closed her eyes, let the anger and fear settle as best she could, and resumed her prayers. The truck interior was stifling, but the jostling eased off half an hour into the journey. She gathered from the angle of the floor and the grinding of the truck gears that they were headed up a slope, ostensibly toward Beretta’s mountain compound.

  Facts about Antonio Beretta were mixed with the local storytelling. Depending on the storyteller, he was either the son of a deposed Mexican president or perhaps a farmworker who had taken on the mantle of a drug lord by murdering anyone who got in his way. He provided gifts and favors to certain people, and he also arranged for the abduction and murder of his rivals and their family members. What was the truth? Sarah and Jett were about to find out. She swallowed, a painful motion against her parched throat.

  A sudden lurch made her bang the back of her head on the truck’s metal siding. She grabbed hold of Young’s stretcher to hold it steady as the vehicle bucked and shimmied.

  “Flat tire?” Jett suggested to Miguel. “You guys know how to change one? I can show you, if you don’t.”

  She beamed Jett a hard look, which he returned with a lazy smile. She wished he would not antagonize the man with the baseball bat who craved an excuse to beat him senseless.

  Miguel said nothing, and the truck rolled to a stop. He marched to the back, reaching for the handle when the door was suddenly rolled up from the outside. Sunlight streamed in, blinding them. Trying to shade her eyes, Sarah caught a glimpse of a gloved hand snatching Miguel out of the truck.

  Jett struggled to his knees and crawled to Sarah.

  “What’s happening?” she breathed.

  There was a sound of shouting.

  “Don’t know. Can you cut me loose?”

  She searched her medical bag. “They took my scissors.”

  “Use something else. Anything sharp. Fast.”

  She pawed through her bag until a gunshot split the air. Then another.

  Jett tensed, leaning close to her. She could feel the warmth emanating from his body, but it brought her no comfort.

  Outside, the noises died away until all Sarah could hear was the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears.

  “Who is out there?” she whispered, still searching for something to cut his restraints. She found a small blade in a plastic case. With fumbling fingers, she freed it.

  “I can make out two men. Three, maybe.”

  “The police?” Her heart leaped as she sawed away at the bands around his ankle. “Rodriguez must have figured out what happened and sent help.”

  Jett stared into the sunlight. �
�Uh-uh.”

  Sarah worked frantically with the blade, freeing his ankles. “Jett, what are you thinking? Who are those men?”

  “EODs have a motto,” he said slowly. “Always Prepare for the Worst.”

  “How could this situation get any worse?”

  Jett put his bound hands on her shoulder and held on, as if he could somehow anchor her there away from the danger. She reached for his hands to try and release them from the zip tie. “Jett?” she asked urgently. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ve got that feeling.”

  “What feeling?”

  “The kind of feeling I get right before something blows up.”

  FIVE

  Jett waited until his eyes adjusted to the light pouring through the back of the delivery truck.

  “Come out,” said a figure silhouetted by the sun. The voice spoke in unaccented English—an American as far as he could tell. That was a good sign. Wasn’t it? Jett’s legs were now freed, but Sarah had not had time to cut loose his wrists.

  “Stay behind me,” he said to her as he climbed out of the truck. She followed, and he offered his bound hands to help her.

  They were on a remote stretch of dusty road, hemmed in on all sides by immense trees, thick as living walls. The shadows and the incendiary temperature indicated it was late afternoon. Jett exhaled in deep satisfaction as he took in the sight of Miguel lying on his stomach, hands bound behind him. A man wearing fatigues kept Alex at gunpoint while another forced him to his knees and tied his hands, as well. Alex’s other man was not visible, but presumably had been dealt with, too. Out of the frying pan...

  “My name is Tom,” said the man who was clearly in charge. Jett could see now that he had crew-cut blond hair. He was shorter than Jett by a good six inches, but strong, tough, with a military bearing. Jett figured him to be in his late forties. “Are you hurt?” Tom inquired, his tone polite, cold.

  Sarah shook her head. “But there’s a man inside the truck. His name is Del Young. He’s gravely injured and he needs to be taken to a hospital right away.”

  “We are aware, ma’am.” In fact, one of their rescuers had already hopped into the back of the truck and was checking Young’s pulse.

  “Who sent you?” Jett said.

  Tom didn’t answer. Instead he spoke into a radio unclipped from his belt. “Ready.”

  Was he radioing another vehicle?

  Sarah hugged herself. “Thank you for rescuing us. They were taking us to Antonio Beretta’s compound. He is desperate to get his hands on Mr. Young.”

  “We are aware of that, too.”

  Sarah blinked in surprise. “How did you know that?”

  Tom did not reply.

  “So you’re well informed,” Jett said, “but I didn’t get an answer to the question. Who sent you?”

  “Does it matter?” Tom said, flat blue eyes fixed on Jett. “You would have been executed shortly when Beretta got what he wanted.”

  “I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

  Tom kept his gaze on Jett and Sarah as he bent to listen to a whispered report from the man who had been tending to Del Young.

  Sarah tucked her fingers against the small of Jett’s back, thumb through the belt loop of his jeans. The gesture touched him. It was the way she’d kept him close when they’d been in crowds in the long-ago days when she’d loved him.

  Don’t you know I’d never let you get lost? he’d said. And he wouldn’t. At the tender age of eighteen, he would have sacrificed anything to keep her from harm. Back then, he hadn’t known that love could end so abruptly, like an exploding mortar. He saw her body had relaxed; she leaned her head against his arm, sagging in relief. He wished he could feel the same.

  “I can’t believe they found us in time.”

  “Yeah.”

  She caught the tone, raising her eyes to his. “What’s wrong? They’re friendly, aren’t they?” she whispered.

  He stared at Tom. Friendly? There was no flicker in the blue eyes, no sign of tension in the muscled frame, only complete focus on his mission.

  Understandable. Jett was the same when he’d been active duty. The mission came first. Time for chitchat later. A wise strategy when your job was detonating bombs. Still, there was something, a piece that did not fit. One thing he’d learned as an EOD was to trust his instincts.

  Tom spoke into the radio, and two vehicles approached from somewhere down the road, where they must have been idling. The first was a battered Jeep. Behind that was a pickup with the back covered by a camper shell. “Please take a seat in the Jeep,” Tom said.

  Sarah eyed the small vehicle. “What about Mr. Young?”

  “He will be transported in the truck.” Tom’s mouth crimped in a humorless smile. “Don’t worry. It’s a short drive, and you will all arrive at the same location.”

  “Which is?” Jett demanded.

  Tom didn’t answer at first. “You don’t trust me?”

  “I can count the number of people I trust on two fingers. You’re not one of them.”

  Sarah stood stiffly before Tom. “I demand to be taken to the nearest police station,” Sarah said. “We need to contact the American embassy immediately.”

  “Of course,” Tom said. “Please get into the Jeep and we’ll depart.”

  Sarah hesitated, her troubled gaze shifting from Tom to Jett.

  Tom held up a palm. “The longer we stay here, the more likely Beretta will send others.”

  Sarah did not look completely convinced, but she walked to the Jeep and Jett followed behind.

  “What about Alex and his men?” Sarah pointed. “What will happen to them?”

  “They will be delivered to the police.”

  “Beretta will kill you,” Alex shouted. “He will not let this betrayal go unpunished. You won’t live through the night.”

  Tom did not look at them, but a slight gesture sent his men into motion, taping Alex’s mouth and loading him and Miguel into the truck.

  “Where’s the third one?” Jett asked.

  Tom’s mouth tightened. “He was able to escape, in spite of his gunshot wound. It’s another excellent reason for us to move quickly, in case he survives long enough to inform Beretta.”

  The driver directed Jett to sit in the front. Sarah was ordered into the back next to another of Tom’s men.

  “As a precaution,” Tom said. “In case Beretta has more of his people on the road. Mr. Jett can keep a lookout from the front seat.”

  “I’d be more help without my hands bound,” Jett said, holding up his wrists.

  A moment passed between them, and in that couple of seconds Jett knew.

  Jett kept his features composed as Tom removed a knife from a sheath on his belt and considered. Tom lingered there a moment, the blade gleaming in the failing sunlight. He flicked it ever so subtly in Sarah’s direction. It was a movement so small only Jett saw it, but he deciphered the unspoken message.

  “Be careful, Mr. Jett,” Tom said softly as he sliced through the ties. “Dangerous territory ahead.”

  Tension crackled through his nerves. Dicey situations didn’t bother him. Forcing Sarah into a dangerous path was another thing entirely. He knew without question that Tom had an agenda entirely apart from merely rescuing three Americans.

  Patience, he told himself. For now, you and Sarah are safe.

  The Jeep rolled smoothly into a neat U-turn before the driver took off in the direction from which he had come.

  Jett caught Sarah in the rearview mirror. She was scared, he knew, but outwardly composed. The glimmer in her iridescent eyes told the story. She also had gleaned the truth.

  This was not a rescue. It was another abduction.

  * * *

  Sarah’s back ached
from the endless drive over dozens of potholes. She’d learned to live with a low level of chronic pain after her car accident, but the rough Mexican roads made every nerve along her spine complain. It seemed to her they were driving in circles, though she was no longer certain even what town they were passing. The sun was setting when they reached an unfamiliar industrial area. They passed a few ramshackle buildings with rusted equipment parked outside and what looked to be an abandoned car. Not one person was visible anywhere, not a single employee or foreman. It was too late for the afternoon siesta. Closed up for the day?

  She tried to force normal breathing, but her body was on high alert. These so-called rescuers had their own goals, and she knew it did not bode well for the three of them. Think, Sarah, she told herself. How can you help? Her medical bag was presumably still in the truck, but she’d stowed the blade that she’d used to cut Jett’s ankle restraints in her pocket. It was probably of no use whatsoever, but at least it might give her a chance to help them later on. The guard next to her was not disposed to letting his attention wander, so the tiny knife would have to stay hidden for the moment. Think like a detective, why don’t you? Figure out where you are.

  There was no scent of the ocean in the air, no cooling breeze to indicate they’d moved toward the coast. Inland, she decided. She saw from the position of the sun that they had been traveling north. A town in Tijuana, perhaps?

  But why bring them here? Surely a missionary nurse and a dive boat captain would be of little interest or value to anyone. Del Young—he was another story. His sly wink reminded her that he was not the innocent victim he seemed to be. Certainly Antonio Beretta had gone to great lengths to get his hands on Young, and now it appeared there was another interested party.

  They pulled to a stop in front of a rusted warehouse. A scarred sign on the front identified it as an import-export business. The man in the backseat got out and rolled up a metal door, the groan of steel loud in the stillness. Her heart pounded as the Jeep pulled forward into the dark interior. The smell of rust and sawdust permeated the air. Rows of stacked pallets crowded the periphery of the otherwise empty warehouse. A nice, quiet, isolated spot in which to murder three Americans. Her breathing hitched. But they could easily have done their killing back in the woods...unless they wanted the bodies to remain undiscovered for a while. The other truck crowded in behind them.