Abducted

by Dana Mentink

  Then he set her on her feet and carefully moved back.

  The message was clear. She’d made her choice, he was reminding her, and he’d made his. The distance between them could have been fathoms instead of feet. Jett, what happened to us? she wanted to ask. Instead she made a show of neatening her ponytail and looking through the bars of the cell.

  “I didn’t have time to give her our location,” she said. “I told them I was alive, with you.”

  “They’re detectives. They can find us, right?”

  “They should be able to get a general vicinity by tracing the IP address.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You have been studying, Detective Sarah.”

  She thought there might be a tone of respect under the teasing, but she wasn’t sure. Lifting a careless shoulder, she pretended to search the space for any possible ways out she hadn’t noticed before.

  “You really going to walk away from nursing and try the PI gig?”

  Was it mockery now in his tone? Or admiration? She straightened. “Yes, if I have the courage.” She wanted to be brave, flippant, but instead the truth tumbled out. “I... I have lost confidence in myself since, well, lately. I don’t know why. It happened after the crash and the hospitalization and everything.” She was dismayed to find that her voice caught on the last sentence.

  He reached out to straighten the blanket that had slipped from her shoulders, and his hand lingered there, toying with her hair. “I understand. Better than you know.”

  She turned to him, hoping he would not see the moisture that had crept into her eyes. “What about you? Are you going to try to return to the navy in some other capacity?”

  He sighed, the shutters falling into place, closing the momentary tenderness away. “No. I was medically discharged. Navy doesn’t want damaged goods.”

  “You have a lot to offer the world, Jett, even if it isn’t while wearing a uniform.”

  He stepped away, shaking his head. “This isn’t where you are going to give me the ‘God will use your circumstances for good’ speech, is it?”

  The cynical tone made her cringe. “No, but if I can start a new life, why can’t you?”

  “Because I haven’t accepted the loss of my old one,” he said. Before there would have been anger; now she heard only flat despair.

  “It’s really hard to make peace with something like that,” she said softly.

  “Yeah. It wasn’t fair, and I didn’t deserve to lose my career. I already got the raw deal with my father.”

  “That’s the part you need to overcome, Jett. You’re holding on to the terrible things that happened to you.”

  “And you aren’t?”

  “I’m trying really hard not to. I still struggle every day, and I ask Him to help me.”

  “I’m not going to ask God for anything, Sarah. He’s not a fan of mine.” His tone was brittle with loss, fraught with hurt and betrayal.

  It pained her to know that part of that betrayal lay at her feet. “He doesn’t want you to suffer. He wants to give you peace.”

  For a moment, his face took on a yearning expression.

  He’s the only one who can, she wanted to whisper.

  But he shook his head. “Save it for someone else, Sarah. I don’t need you to minister to me. I’m fine.”

  The connection between them was severed. The cold seemed to intensify, and the darkness grew even more impenetrable. Hurt throbbed inside her. What did you expect? That the current situation would suddenly make him see the truth? He thought she was a naive, misguided do-gooder, blindly following a God who didn’t care. That hadn’t changed at all.

  A muted bang on the ceiling and the sound of running feet drew their attention. “Keep on your toes, and if you can get away, run and hide for as long as you can.”

  “What’s going on?” Sarah murmured, more to herself than him.

  “We’re about to find out,” he said, pushing her behind him as the cellar door was flung open.

  * * *

  Jett’s muscles bunched, tension coiling through him at being caged like sitting ducks for whoever was jogging—no, sprinting—through the cellar toward them. He went to the bars, offering himself as a nice big target in case anyone was looking for one. Maybe they would see Sarah’s cell door open and figure she was somewhere else on the property. The darkness was their only advantage at the moment, and it was a pretty minute one.

  Tom emerged, flashlight in hand. He was moving fast, face grave, breathing hard.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Beretta’s men are here.”

  Jett’s heart sank at the confirmation. Why couldn’t he have been wrong about that? Beretta was not a man to be thwarted any more than Ellsworth. He and Sarah were caught between two lunatics.

  “They cut the power,” Tom said. “They’re going to make a run on the house. We’re barricaded in, but we can’t hold for long with the weaponry they’ve got. Three men is our initial count. Arrived in a fast boat and took out our guy at the docks and one on the property.”

  He unlocked the door and opened it. The hinges swiveled with a squeal of protest. “Cy is taking Ellsworth and Young to the helicopter. There’s not room for everyone.”

  “So what’s going to happen to us?” Sarah said.

  His mouth tightened. “If Beretta’s men find you, they’ll torture you for information on Young and then kill you when they’ve heard enough.”

  Sarah shook her head in disgust. “Torture and violence. And you call yourself men.”

  Jett didn’t doubt it about the torture, but Beretta’s methods would be simpler, more brutal—a baseball bat or a bullet instead of a tactical pen. His ribs were still sore from the beating he’d gotten in Playa del Oro. “Torture seems to be the standard operating practice around here.”

  Tom hustled them away from the cage and toward towering wooden racks that extended into the darkness with an eighteen-inch gap between them. He stopped and gestured them forward to the narrow space between the two.

  “If you go sideways, you can fit. There’s a door about a hundred yards down. You can get out of the mansion. Hide until it’s over.”

  “Now you’re letting us go? I didn’t know you cared.”

  “I don’t. I’m protecting Mr. Ellsworth’s assets. That’s what I’m paid to do.”

  “It’s not just about the money,” Sarah said. “Is it? What did you mean when you said Del Young should have been the one?”

  “No time. Get moving,” he commanded.

  Jett dug in his heels. “Take off my tracking bracelet. Beretta’s men can use it to find me.”

  “We’ve disabled the program on the house computers.” Tom tapped his pocket. “But I can still find you on my mobile phone. Don’t think we’re through with you. This isn’t over until Mr. Ellsworth has The Red Lady back.”

  “And Mary,” Sarah put in.

  A strange look crossed his face. “Yeah. Go now. This is going to be a battle, and the outcome should be decided in a couple of hours. Lie low until then.”

  Jett stared at him incredulously. “Where, exactly, are we supposed to go? This island can’t be more than twenty kilometers from bow to stern. Where do you suggest we hide from a team of murderous thugs?”

  Tom’s smile was cruel. “You’re navy right? What’s your motto—Semper Fortis? Always strong? You’ll think of something.”

  Jett thought about the EODs’ unofficial motto, Initial Success or Total Failure. He’d always been willing to put his own life on the line, but now there was Sarah to think about. But what was the other choice? To leave her here with Tom, who would likely be overpowered and killed by Beretta’s men anyway? Rock and a hard place, Jett, just like always.

  “Call in the police,” Sarah said. “You know there’s no way you can su
rvive this.”

  “I know the island, and we have a few protections in place. I can win.” He pushed them forward. “Go, before I change my mind and leave you caged here for Beretta to find.”

  Jett’s mind whirled with possibilities. They had to get to a boat. Immediately.

  Initial Success or Total Failure.

  He looked at Sarah, who was already shivering in the cold but still standing straight, chin up. Though he could not see it, he hoped there would be that gleam in the green gold of her eyes, that light that meant she would go down swinging. He recalled the time he’d crashed his motorcycle after taking a stupid dare and woken up in the hospital to find her there standing next to his mother. His mom was hysterical, frayed edges showing in the tightly clasped fingers and trembling shoulders. Sarah was praying with her, whispering a plea for healing and God’s presence to invade the room. He didn’t know what he’d felt when he heard that, a rush of something that might have been a profound sense of peace. More likely it was just relief that his father was not there and pleasure at finding the woman who was his heartbeat standing there praying for him as if he were the most important man in the world. Dominic Jett, worthy of prayer, worthy of love. How could she believe that? About him?

  A cold draft whispered along through the passage down which Sarah had already started. She stopped, turned to him and reached out her hand.

  “Jett?”

  He imagined the unspoken questions. Are we delivering ourselves up to Beretta’s men? Will we ever escape this island? Are we going to die here?

  The cold washed over him, at odds with the burning that ribboned through his body. He knew he would do anything, sacrifice anything to get her back home safely to her family. She wasn’t his anymore, but he would still die for her if that’s what it came down to. He wasn’t worthy of prayer, worthy of love, but maybe that was the only way he had left to care for Sarah Gallagher.

  A tremor went through him. What if he couldn’t complete this impossible mission? Like he’d failed at keeping his mom from being beaten? The way he’d lost the career that was more important to him than breathing?

  You lost, time and time again. You lost.

  Sarah’s words came back to him. That’s the part you need to overcome, Jett. You’re holding on to the terrible things that happened to you... He wants to give you peace.

  I don’t need peace, he thought bitterly. I need to win. Just this once. His resolve hardened into granite. With Sarah depending on him, he would overcome. Right here, right now, with only his muscles and his brains to rely on, and God could have a front-row seat.

  “All right,” he said, “let’s do this.”

  THIRTEEN

  Sarah struggled against the sense of unreality as they squeezed through the wooden racks, the moist wood clammy where it brushed her shoulders. Here they were, on the run again, trying to escape like it was some sort of bad movie. At least in a movie, the script was already written. The outcome was far from decided for Sarah and Jett. Things were going from bad to horrendous.

  “God, please help us,” was all she could manage as they shuffled along. She hoped He would hear the rest, a plea for safety for them both and for Del Young. Her senses were slow, dulled with the same thick, stupefying fear that she’d felt when her car plunged over the cliff.

  The silent scream from that awful day still rang in her memory. She remembered him holding onto the door handle with one hand, the other reaching out to her as if he was trying to protect her, even in the very last moments of his life. Her dad, her hero, gone in a moment.

  It could end the same now, her nerves whispered. You could die, you and Jett, just like Dad. The fear twisted tighter around her until she was almost paralyzed with it. It was so cold, so dark, the evil pressing in on all sides.

  Jett seemed to sense something was wrong. He held his hand out and took hers and pressed her knuckles to his mouth for a soft kiss. No words passed between them, but his touch, the warmth of his kiss, gave her just enough strength to keep going, one stumbling foot sliding next to the other.

  In moments, they’d reached a metal door, unlocked it and pushed through. Cold air doused her face and confused her senses after her stint in the cage. She held up an arm against the falling drops that pelted her head. They were at the edge of the back lawn of the estate, rain pattering against the neatly trimmed grass. It was a wide hedged-in area, complete with gravel paths and an ostentatious fountain gurgling away in the middle. Looking up she could see the ledge where Young had jumped rather than endure a confrontation with Ellsworth. Now she understood why.

  She followed Jett’s lead and flattened herself against the wall of the house, staying away from the glow cast by the landscape lighting. A shout came from somewhere close by.

  Jett pointed to a dense patch of shrubbery at the far side of the lawn. “We’ll go there,” he whispered, lips against her temple. “Ready to run?”

  She nodded, prickles teasing her skin. He counted to three, and they sprinted across the turf. From the front of the house came the sound of splintering glass. They increased their speed until she could hardly keep from slipping on the wet grass. Would they be shot in their escape? The skin on the back of her neck crawled, and she felt completely exposed, utterly vulnerable, like a rabbit running across an open field, avoiding the falcon.

  Making it to the far hedge, they squeezed through a gap in the bushes. Panting, they stopped to listen for sounds of pursuit. There was nothing but the wind blowing through the branches of the scrubby pines.

  “Let’s head for the dock,” Jett murmured. “We can take the motorboat and go for help.”

  She hesitated, thinking of Del Young, but he was being bundled off by helicopter, so there was nothing she could do for him now. They hurried down the slope, keeping off the road and under the minimal cover provided by a scattering of oak and pine.

  The island appeared to be carved from one massive black stone tossed up from the ocean. The only flat part, it seemed to Sarah, was the location of Ellsworth’s mansion. Loose rock shifted under their feet, forcing them to slow. A piece broke away and rolled down past her, picking up speed as it went. Her calves complained about the effort, and she suddenly felt the accumulated scrapes and bruises that covered her body.

  “We’re coming up on the peak where we can look down into the cove.”

  “Would Beretta’s men leave the boats unguarded?” she panted.

  “I’m hoping they think everyone left is defending the house now that Ellsworth is taking the chopper.”

  She scanned the dark sky. The moon was veiled in wispy clouds, not a star showing. “I haven’t seen it leave yet.”

  “It hasn’t.” He pointed to a flat cutout on a projection of rock that looked out over the waves. The chopper was barely visible on the landing pad.

  “It must be taking them a while to secure Young and move him there.”

  Or Beretta’s men caught them already, she thought. No doubt the idea had occurred to Jett, as well. She worried her lip between her teeth.

  “They left us to fend for ourselves, Sarah,” he said. “Don’t waste too much pity on them.”

  “Young is a pawn in all this.”

  “He messed up his life. Now he’s messing up ours. I got no sympathy.”

  The steel was back in his eyes, his voice, so unforgiving it made her want to draw back. “Where’s your tender side, Jett?”

  “I was never tender.”

  “I beg to differ. A guy who brought Mrs. Grossman’s old retriever a twenty-pound sack of kibble each month?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you knew that.”

  “Mrs. Grossman can’t keep a secret.”

  He shrugged. “It was no big deal. She couldn’t drive, and the bags were too heavy. That was an exception.”

  “Jett—�
� she traced the wet hair stuck onto his forehead “—you can’t fool me. I know you.”

  “You knew me when I thought I could make things turn out all right.” His hand hovered over hers, trailing over the back of her hand until a new set of prickles danced across her skin. “I’m not that dumb kid anymore.”

  “Maybe you’re turning into the man God wants you to be.”

  For an instant his face was gentle as he considered. “But I’ve lost everything. If He cared about me at all, why would He want me to fail?”

  She weighed her words carefully, sensing the moment was precious. “Because God does His best work with failures.”

  Was there a moment when he turned over the thought in his mind? A brief lowering of the barrier he’d put up between him and God? The seconds lingered, cradled by the wind and waves until they blew away into the night.

  Jett shook his head and turned. “We’ve got to keep going.”

  The way became steep for several hundred yards. Jett took her hand and helped haul her up until they crested the high point of the cliff. Crouching made her sodden clothes cling to her like a second skin as she panted, gazing down into the harbor.

  Jett peered into the darkness. “The motorboat is still there, and the forty footer. No sign of Beretta’s vessel, so they must have secured it elsewhere.”

  He started to speak, and she put a finger across his lips. “Don’t even tell me to stay here while you check it out. Come on.”

  “You...”

  She pressed her finger to keep his mouth closed. “Time is money, navy man. Let’s go.”

  She moved by him, ignoring her squelching shoes, which did nothing for her dignity. He mumbled something and started after her. They ran along the plunging slope toward the dock, stopping to listen every few paces. The motorboat was sitting as it had been, shifting silently in the waves. The quiet made her skin crawl. Beretta’s men were there, somewhere, waiting in the darkness.

  Shoving down the fear, she ran after Jett to the motorboat and climbed aboard.

  Her heart slammed against her ribs. So close to escape. So close. She strained her ears for any sound of the helicopter, but there was still nothing but the sound of the sea.