by Dana Mentink
She sat up, his arm supporting her back. “He made it. He was running off the property grounds after he jumped.”
“There’s nowhere for him to go.” Jett grabbed a roll of tape and gauze off the medical cart. Kneeling beside her, he pushed up the leg of her jeans. “Sit still.”
Shouting echoed down the hallway through the open door.
Jett cocked his head. “Tom and his colleague mounting a search detail.”
“They left without locking us up.”
“Didn’t have time. Their first priority is Young. It won’t take long before they find him.”
“We have to help Young before he gets himself killed.”
“No, we have to treat this cut.”
She looked down to find a ribbon of blood on her shin, which had begun to throb. “I’m okay, Jett. Please, let’s go find Young before he gets into worse trouble.”
He yanked off the piece of tape and unwrapped a sterile gauze pad. “We’re not going to get him out of the hole he’s dug for himself. We can’t save him.”
“We can try.”
“Don’t you get it?” His eyes flashed dark fire. “We’re in this mess because of him. He doesn’t deserve our help. We’ve been abducted and imprisoned because of this joker you feel so sorry for.”
“Jett...”
“No, Sarah. This isn’t one of your missionary cases. He’s a criminal.”
“He’s scared and he needs help.”
“You’re not thinking straight. Take off your rose-colored glasses, because our situation is anything but safe right now.”
His anger was palpable, a wave that hit her full force. She sucked in a breath and tried to reach for the tape. “I can do that.”
He kept it out of her reach. “Try to be the patient, would you? Young’s a lost cause. Take off your missionary hat for one red second.”
She winced as the bandage chafed against the laceration. “You didn’t used to mind my idealism.”
He stopped for a minute before he eased her pant leg back down. “This is a different situation.”
“We can help him.”
“You can’t save them all,” he said.
She smiled and could not resist tracing a finger over the angry line of his brow. “But I can try.”
He caught her palm and brought it against his cheek. “Don’t you ever get tired of championing lost causes? Why would you want to keep trying, Sarah Gal?” he said softly.
“God made me that way.”
Something shimmered across his face—anger, hurt, disappointment, and maybe deep down a tiny glimmer of hope. He wanted peace, he wanted to experience love and forgiveness, but he was too proud to accept the terms. God loves you, she wanted to say. Let Him give you what you need, even if you don’t want it. He’s the only way to lose all that anger.
Jett set the tape and gauze aside and got to his feet, offering her a hand. She rose, blinking against a wave of dizziness. For a moment, she leaned against him and he clasped her around the waist while she rested her head on his shoulder. He laid his cheek on the top of her head. “Oh, Sarah. What am I going to do with you?”
She sighed as the dizziness subsided. The small office they’d seen that was the most logical place to find a phone was locked, so they made their way downstairs.
“The second guard is probably already en route to intercept now that my tracking bracelet indicates I’m moving.”
The front door was open, banging due to the wafts of cold air drifting in.
Lights clicked on upstairs, a golden pool illuminating the landing.
“Go search for a phone,” he whispered. “If you find one, call for help and hide.”
“Where are you going?”
He sighed. “To find your lost sheep.”
Her mouth opened in surprise. “Why?”
“Because if I don’t, you will.”
Her heart danced just a little, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Dominic Jett, you are a good man.”
He rested his cheek on her head, mumbling into her hair. “No, I’m not, Sarah. And we both know it.”
Before she could answer, he’d pulled loose from her arms and sprinted out the door.
* * *
Jett headed for the motor noise. Tom gunned a golf cart to life, yelling at his number-two guy.
“He’s going for the dock, Cy. Cut him off from the other side. Radio me if he heads for the cliffs.”
Cy hopped in another cart, and they took off in different directions.
He wondered if Del Young knew how to handle a boat. The wind had picked up, the clouds covering the rising moon. The smell of rain hung heavy in the starless night. It was only ten miles or so off the coast of Santa Barbara, and if Young could make it to the mainland, he could quickly lose Ellsworth’s goons, but it was treacherous going even for a seasoned sailor.
Jett ran along the side of the small gravel road Tom had taken. It felt good to be moving fast and hard, the cold air enveloping him, energizing him. The tracking bracelet was no doubt relaying his coordinates.
That’s right, he thought. Come on after me and leave Sarah alone. It couldn’t take too long for her to find a phone. There had to be one in the kitchen, or the art gallery he’d seen on the ground floor, or the small office. Hurry, Sarah.
Tom had a head start, but Jett had the advantage of being able to stray from the gravel road, so he took off, sprinting over the most direct route across the black rock. He kept a good pace, slowing only when the rocks moved under his feet and threatened him with a turned ankle. After a hard ten-minute run, he crested a peak in the rocks that overlooked a slice of cove and the dock.
They’d been brought to the island on a forty-foot boat, which he saw moored in a slip below.
He heard Tom’s golf cart approaching and saw the lights from the one the guy named Cy was driving. Jett scrambled down from his rocky perch, peering through the darkness for any sign of Young. What exactly was he supposed to do with the guy when he found him, anyway? Jett figured he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.
With a ping of gravel, Tom screeched into view and slammed to a halt. In seconds he was out, running for the dock toward the big boat. It was well secured, tied to the dock cleats at the bow and stern as well as the spring line in between. It would take several minutes to free it and another to fire the engine to life, provided the ignition key had been left aboard. Tied at the far end of the dock was a motorboat, and Jett guessed that would be Young’s choice.
Ducking low, he raced along, the wooden planks slick under his feet. Young was there, all right. He’d just pulled the choke out and twisted the throttle.
“Stop,” Jett said. The creep intended to save himself and leave Jett and Sarah to whatever fate Ellsworth would come up with. It made his blood boil.
Young’s eyes were so wide they seemed to start from the sockets. Jett was five feet away now and closing fast. Young twisted the throttle again.
“I said stop,” Jett shouted, adrenaline roaring through his veins.
Young pulled the cord, and the motor sputtered to life. He cast off the line.
Three feet.
The boat pulled free.
Another foot to go.
The propeller churned in the water. Young did not look back, shoulders hunched as if he was willing the boat to go faster.
Jett neared the end of the dock. Decision time. Stop and hope Tom could catch him in the larger boat.
Or go.
For Jett, it was go time. He accelerated, launched himself into the air and jumped.
He slammed against the corner of the stern, inches away from the thrumming motor. The vessel was picking up speed, the vibrations threatening to shake him loose. He clamped his fingers around a cleat and hung
on.
Young was not an accomplished boater, and their path was erratic as he headed out into the open sea.
Muscles bunched, Jett got a leg over the gunwale and heaved himself aboard.
The action surprised Young, who yelped, grabbing an oar and swinging it toward Jett’s head. He deflected with his forearm, letting Young’s momentum carry him forward until he fell on his knees on the deck.
Jett was on him then, knees on his back, securing his arms behind him and reaching to turn off the motor with the other.
“We can get away,” Young panted, cheek mashed against the deck.
“And leave Sarah behind? When she’s done nothing but try to keep you alive? You’re a real hero, huh?” Jett shook the water out of his face.
“I never wanted to be a hero. I just wanted to have enough to get along in the world, you know? A piece of what everyone else has.”
“You can’t get your piece at someone else’s expense. It doesn’t work that way. It’s too late. We’re going back.”
Young shook his head, tears glinting in his eyes. “He’s crazy. Sure, the whole thing started out as a con, a way to get close to Ellsworth’s art, but things changed. I loved Mary, loved her so much, and for some reason she loved me, too. I didn’t deserve it.”
Young’s words sank into Jett’s heart. I didn’t deserve it. How much worry he’d put Sarah through with every fight he’d gotten entangled in, every time he’d chosen to drink and party in a desperate attempt to belong. He clamped down on any sympathetic feelings. Now wasn’t the time or the place to hear Del Young’s side of the story. He was the reason they were in this mess in the first place. “You got a funny way of showing love, conning her father.”
“Ellsworth is crazy. Certifiable. That’s why we can’t go back.”
“I’m not going to leave Sarah,” he blazed at Young.
“Okay,” he snapped back. “Then you’re sentencing her to die. Think about it. Right now, we can get to the mainland. Call for help,” Young pleaded. “It’s our only chance and we’re likely not going to get another one. If you go back, you’ll die and so will she.”
A worm of indecision began to wriggle through his thoughts. What if Young was right? What if heading for the mainland was the only way to get help? But if Jett took Young away, what reason would there be for Ellsworth to keep Sarah alive? And if he took Young back, was he throwing away their only chance at escape? The seconds fizzed away like a fuse burning toward detonation.
His mind whirled until he settled upon the only solution he could think of, the only sure way toward rescue. He’d take the boat out into the channel, hail the nearest vessel and radio for help, then return to the island as quickly as he could. Sarah could stay hidden. The Channel Islands had nighttime fishing excursions, and the harbor patrol was on duty 24/7. Their office was located on the east side of the channel, and there was a coast guard station there, as well. They could contact someone quickly. Ellsworth might be filthy rich, but he wasn’t going to beat the US Coast Guard.
Jett yanked the motor to life again and took the throttle. His gut was tight. If he was a praying man, he’d be pleading with God to keep Sarah safe until he got help. But his prayers had never made his father sober up, given his mother the strength to leave or restored Jett’s health so he could resume his EOD duties. No answered prayers, just heartbreak, and he’d had enough of that. He was about to direct the craft toward the open sea.
“Jett.” A voice came over the sound of churning water. “Listen to me.” It was Tom, broadcasting over the radio from the docked vessel. “Turn the boat around right now and head back.”
Yeah, right. Jett accelerated. Because you’re going to keep us safe and cozy in your nice island accommodations.
“Return immediately, or we’ll kill her.”
His hand froze on the throttle, muscles taut as wire.
“They’re bluffing,” Young said. “Keep going. It’s her only chance.”
He was probably right. Tom hadn’t left the dock, and the search was focused on finding Young. They would not have siphoned off the guards to hunt for Sarah. He throttled up until he heard what came next.
“Jett.” It was Sarah’s voice on the radio. The cold seeped in and around him. He blinked back a sudden blurring in his vision.
“Keep going,” Young urged. “We’ve got to get away.”
He listened, frozen.
“Jett, I’m here, with Tom,” she continued, voice tinny over the radio. He almost didn’t hear the last part over the crawling waves. “I’m sorry.”
ELEVEN
Sarah was left in the charge of a man she’d heard Tom call Cy. The other man who’d caught her in the house had gone to assist Tom. She was shivering in the cold island air, something like a lump of ice settling in her stomach.
Cy hustled her out toward the dock, where Tom waited, hands on hips. Jett tied up the boat and climbed up to join them. With Cy covering both Sarah and Jett with his gun, Tom was free to retrieve Young.
He hauled him from the boat and shoved him against a piling with such force that Young cried out. Sarah could see blood trickling down Tom’s shoulder from where Young’s shot had grazed him, but he seemed oblivious.
Tom grabbed Young by the hair and ground his face to the rough wood. “Made a full recovery, huh? Well enough to steal a boat? You’re not going to be well for long. You’re gonna be dead, like you deserve.”
The hatred that electrified his eyes froze Sarah in midstep. This was not a man simply acting on his boss’s orders. Tom despised Del Young.
“What did he do to you?” Sarah said.
Tom didn’t look at her.
“He did something to you, and you want revenge. What happened?”
He turned a deadly glare on her. “It’s none of your business. Stay out of it.” Tom grunted again in Young’s ear. “No more stalling. It’s time to meet with Mr. Ellsworth.” He yanked Young away from the piling and frog-marched him back toward the golf cart. “Take them to the house and get him some dry clothes,” Tom ordered his partner. “Mr. Ellsworth isn’t going to want him dripping all over the rugs.”
“We can’t have damage to the Persian rugs, now can we?” Jett said, garnering himself a shove to the back from Cy that almost sent him to his knees.
Cy gestured for Sarah to fall in behind Jett, and he moved them toward the second parked cart. Jett’s skin was prickled in goose bumps, water coursing off his sodden clothing. The water temperature couldn’t be above sixty degrees, and there was a frigid wind blowing in on the front of what appeared to be a significant storm. Jett had to be freezing.
“I’m sorry,” she said again as she came alongside. “The guard caught me in the downstairs hallway.”
He shook his head. “Your ninja-detective skills need work, Sarah Gallagher.”
She laughed. “I guess you’re right.”
They walked on in silence.
“What—” She pushed her wind-tossed hair behind her ears and found herself asking the question she could not get out of her mind. “I mean, what were you planning? I...it looked like you were setting a course toward open water.”
He cocked his head, water snaking down from his temple to his strong chin. “I was figuring we would hail the nearest ship and then I’d return to get you.”
She nodded. “That’s what I thought,” she said, hoping he did not hear relief in her voice.
“Sarah?” His eyes were riveted on hers now. “Did you think I was abandoning you?”
“No, of course not.” Had she? Wasn’t that exactly why her stomach had been in knots, though her mind knew better?
Tiny droplets of water spangled his thick lashes. She expected a joke or a cynical remark. Instead he sighed, a sound sadder than the low moan of the biting wind gusting up over the black rocks. “I
wasn’t the one who left, remember?”
She did. She would likely never forget the smallest detail of their anguished conversation right after he was suspended for fighting, halfway through their senior year. His behavior had become increasingly wild as his unemployed father’s drinking and abuse escalated. And still, to the bitter end, he’d refused to talk to anyone about it, not her, not a counselor, not even Marco.
She knew Jett had wanted to leave town, but he’d feared what would happen to his mother. And, it grieved her to admit, he hadn’t wanted to move away from her. She’d desperately wanted him to stay. Selfish, considering the price he’d had to pay. What did it cost a proud man like Jett to endure his father’s abuse? To take beatings he knew would be visited on his mother otherwise?
Jett, I love you, I’ll always love you, but I can’t be with you anymore.
The guy threw the first punch, Sarah. What was I supposed to do? Walk away?
Yes, Jett. You were supposed to walk away, but you won’t. And I can’t stand to watch you self-destruct.
She remembered the way the light went out of his eyes then, like an extinguished candle. How could she let him go? But how could she not, when he was headed for catastrophe?
I thought love was supposed to be a forever thing, he’d said on that brilliant January morning.
She’d watched helplessly as he walked away, her heart cracking into a million tiny pieces. Why had she felt the same way watching him pilot the motorboat out of the cove? Surely she trusted him not to abandon her, even though there was no love between them. But since her father’s death, she found it hard to trust her own emotions and decisions. “I didn’t mean to imply that...” she called.
But he was not looking at her anymore, striding to the cart, tall and unyielding against the rain-washed night.
In that moment, she felt the heavy weight of defeat, and her heart cried out.