by Dana Mentink
Unable to look at him one more moment, she scoured the water, praying, pleading with God that she would see a dark head surfacing, that roguish smile chiding her for her worry, ribbing her for doubting, mocking her for praying.
The seconds ticked by in slow motion.
No Jett.
“We need to go,” Ellsworth said, gripping her wrist.
She wrenched free. “I’m not leaving him.”
“I have to contact Tom. It is very urgent.”
She turned away, no longer listening.
“Would you risk your life for someone who is probably already dead?” he said.
For Jett? She already knew the answer. Her mind filled with a tidal wave of fear, she dived over the side.
FIFTEEN
Jett felt his consciousness slipping away, and he was powerless to stop it. He sank slowly toward the wreck, vision blurred, his ears roaring. His muscles, bones and other systems had shut off, as if a plug had been pulled. He knew he should feel cold, scared, but he was numb in both mind and body. Was he in the water or floating through space? Try as he might, his senses would not come back online.
So it was going to come to this. The thought floated up from some corner of his brain that was still functioning. It would be the ocean that took his life, the sea that he’d loved since he was old enough to walk. The mad, crashing waves had always meant freedom, an escape from the disappointments found on terra firma, the people there that had let him down.
He’d thought maybe it would be an IED that got him one day, as he went about his navy duties. Or perhaps a motorcycle wreck—one minute he’d be jazzed about the speed, pumped by adrenaline as he drove along the incomparable California coast, and the next he’d be gone. And that would be that. The end. Mission over.
All the struggle, the anguish he’d known at the hands of a father who was supposed to nurture him, a mother whose job it was to protect him, twirled through his consciousness in a trail of thudding misery. Why had everything gone wrong? What was it about Dominic Jett that invited punishment instead of love? The little boy heart inside him cried out to his father. Why didn’t you love me more than the alcohol? Wasn’t I worth it?
He thought of Sarah, the woman who had rejected him because he had not been able to bury his anguish deep enough. Did she wonder if she wasn’t worth it? Had Sarah believed he could have changed his own self-destructive ways if only she’d been important enough to him? Worthy enough? I’m sorry, Sarah. He brimmed with grief that she would never hear him utter the words. Had his own father said he was sorry, in some silent moment as he watched his boy cry? Did he ever wish things had been different? Craved a life that was not dispensed by the bottle? Now as he floated helplessly, there was no anger left, only puzzlement. So many walls he had been unable to climb in his twenty-six years, unable to overcome with determination and grit. What had it meant, his life? A failed career, a messed-up family, a body that was about to let him down one last time. And then nothing.
How long would it take him to drown? Already he knew he would have to inhale soon, to let in the vast ocean that pressed at his closed mouth.
He thought about a verse Sarah had read aloud to him after he’d been suspended from high school the first time for drinking.
These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.
He’d tried all his life to be an overcomer, but now the word that resonated in his soul was peace. The idea twirled through his mind like a warm sunbeam, piercing the cold that pressed in on every side. How tantalizing to imagine his spirit floating in a state of peace instead of despair.
I have overcome the world.
The world, and everything in it, his soul whispered to him. Every sin, every disappointment, each failing, every pain. To overcome it all would take a very big God, the kind that Sarah served.
...in me ye might have peace.
Peace. How he craved it then, more than he’d ever desired anything. More than love, more than forgiveness, more than victory.
“God,” he said as the darkness started to close in. “I want Your peace.”
And then he closed his eyes.
* * *
Sarah ignored the terror that enveloped her as she saw Jett floating below the waves with his arms flung wide, his body moving at the mercy of the tide. She clamped her arms around him and kicked for the surface.
Oh, God, please, she silently screamed. She prayed with everything in her in that endless journey to the surface. They broke the waterline, and she heaved in a breath, desperately hoping that Jett’s body would respond to the sweet gift of air and do the same. Instead, he was limp and still.
“Jett,” she yelled in his face, fingers scrambling for a pulse in his neck. Was there a heartbeat? Movement? Her fingers were shaking so bad she couldn’t tell, her cheek so cold she could not feel his breath on her face.
“Help me,” she screamed to Ellsworth, spinning around to locate the motorboat.
Only it wasn’t there. The vessel was making steady progress toward the channel with Ellsworth at the throttle.
It took her a moment for reality to penetrate her shock. He’d left them. After Jett had saved his life. He had pulled up the anchor and abandoned them.
Anger burned hot and bright inside her as she grabbed Jett and shook him hard.
“Dominic Anthony Jett, you wake up right this minute, do you hear me?”
His head fell sideways. She shook him again, harder. “You don’t want me to tell Marco that you went and died on me, do you? He’ll have your ears. He’ll say you were a quitter. Is that what you are, Jett?”
Tears started down her face as she desperately tried to rouse him. He didn’t stir and she looked frantically around for someone, for any kind of help. There was nothing but dark waves and the hiss of the helicopter wreckage disappearing under the rising water. She’d never felt so completely alone in her life. Terror stripped away at her courage until she could barely move for the heavy weight of fear.
“Come on, Sarah. Do something.”
She had to get to land so she could attempt CPR. She crooked her arm under his chin and began straining toward shore against the waves that seemed determined to yank them out to open water. She made only a few feet of progress before she had to stop and rest.
“Jett,” she yelled again, hardly able to breathe through the unshed tears clogging her throat. “Jett, don’t leave me.” She could not even feel the tears that blurred her vision and spilled down her face. Again, she tried to swim for shore, and again, she did not have the strength to fight the waves.
She cradled him to her, wrapping her arms around his back and pressing her face to his, treading water to keep them both barely afloat. Stroking his wet face, she gave in to the anguish. Her lips to his mouth, she kissed him, crying, speaking meaningless words of grief. She had never stopped thinking about him, that broken teen, that scarred adult, and now he was lost to her forever.
No. She would not allow her fears to become fact.
When she felt them drifting farther away from shore, she tried again, towing Jett along until every muscle in her body screamed its displeasure, kicking at the water with furious chops, her arms clawing ahead, fighting against a vast enemy of sucking salt water.
A desperate animal cry escaped her lips as her efforts were rendered useless. The shore remained as far away as ever, and Jett was still and silent as the grave. There was only dark and cold and the endless rasping waves.
The clouded sky offered no comfort as she tried again to rest and reconnoiter. It was a massive effort to both tread water and hold Jett steady, to keep him from being pulled from her grip and whirled away. Her fingers were knotted, cramped and painful. The water temperature was slowly rendering her numb
.
She tried one last time to make headway against the violent surge.
“God help me,” she tried to yell, but it came out no louder than a broken whisper.
Something shifted, and suddenly her movement became easier. For one terrified moment she thought she had lost her grip on Jett and he’d floated free of her grasp, but when she turned, she encountered his dark eyes, open and alert, his arms paddling weakly in the water in an effort to help them move.
“Jett!” she screamed, swallowing a mouthful of water that left her coughing.
He gave her a wan smile. “Hey, Sarah Gal. Don’t drink the salt water.”
“I thought...I...I...” And then she began to cry for all she was worth until he wrapped her in an embrace. She was dreaming—she’d wanted him to wake up so badly that her senses were lying to her, cruelly tricking her. But his arms were there, she could feel them, keeping her close, anchoring her to him against the waters that would tear them apart.
“Are you real?” she whispered, her fingers seeking his cold face.
He gave her a tender smile and kissed her forehead. “Yes, ma’am, as far as I can tell.”
When she got control of her shuddering body, she looked again at him, putting her hands on his temples, stroking her fingers over his cheeks and chin to reassure herself that he was really alive. He let her explore, treading water to keep them afloat.
There was an unidentifiable expression on his face, but she could not make out quite what in the darkness. “You wouldn’t wake up,” she sniffed, voice breaking again.
“Better late than never.” His voice was weak. “I thought I was a goner, but then my eyes opened up again. God’s not done with me, I guess.”
She laughed, which sounded slightly hysterical to her own ears. “Ellsworth took the boat. He knew you were down there and he just left. Can you believe that?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“We’ve got to get to shore. Can you swim?”
“Since I was three,” he bragged.
The bravado reassured her but only a little. He was weak and cold and probably near to becoming hypothermic, as she might be also. They struck out for shore. It was a pathetic tag-team effort. He pulled her when she could not go one stroke farther, and she anchored them in place as best she could when he had to stop and rest. By the grace of God they made it, hauling each other, gasping and exhausted, onto the rocky beach.
They lay on their backs for what seemed like an eternity, their whole bodies focused on the precious act of breathing. Cast up like driftwood on the beach, exhaustion rendered them heedless of the waves that broke at their feet and the rocks that poked into their hips and shoulders. She rolled over and tucked herself next to him. He turned to curl her in the circle of his body, and though there was no warmth, she felt exquisite pleasure knowing they had both survived. Overhead the clouds were thicker than before, another spate of rain beginning to spatter down on them. She knew she’d never before seen and would never again see such a beautiful sky as this.
A rumble of thunder cracked the night, and Sarah sat up, her mind recovered enough to turn to practical matters, though her limbs were still half-dead from the swim and every muscle in her arms ached. Shelter.
Jett could not stay out here at the mercy of the elements, waiting for Beretta’s men to show up. Racking her brains, she considered their options. They could not return to the house, of course, and the motorboat was gone wherever Ellsworth had taken it. The larger boat would provide shelter, but the moment she powered it up, they would give away their location, and she did not know how to operate such a large vessel by herself anyway. In Jett’s exhausted condition, he might not be of much help. Maybe the boat’s radio? Could they send a message? She wasn’t sure, but Jett was shivering now, though he was trying not to, his teeth chattering.
At the far end of the dock was a small wooden shed, a storehouse or an office perhaps. It would have to do, at least for a while.
“Come on,” she said, helping Jett to his feet. “We’re going to that shed.” He wobbled and almost fell, and her own legs weren’t much better, but she got a shoulder under him and they staggered to the little structure.
The door was locked. Jett braced himself against the wall, but she could tell his knees were shaking as she tore a corner from a plastic no-trespassing sign and ripped off a piece. Sliding it into the vertical crack between the door and the jamb, she jimmied the lock open.
Jett was grinning widely at her. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“Nursing school.”
“Didn’t know they covered breaking and entering.”
“They don’t, officially, but sometimes the door to the break room would accidentally lock, so it was a handy skill. We all learned how to break in when we needed to.”
He laughed softly as she helped him inside.
The interior could not have been more than ten by ten, cluttered with a file drawer, a messy desk and rolling office chair. But it was safe for the moment and dry, and to her it could not have felt more palatial. Easing him to the floor was a relief to both of them. She did not dare to flip on the lights, but she found a flashlight in the top desk drawer. Keeping the beam low so it would not be detected through the window, she shone it around the cluttered space.
“Aha,” she cried out in triumph.
“What? Did you find a phone?”
“No,” she said, beaming. “But it’s almost as good. It’s a space heater.” She put the little machine on full blast and aimed it right at Jett. Though she wanted nothing more than to sit down next to him and soak in the feeble warmth, she continued her prowling, coming up with two sets of oil-stained blue coveralls. She helped Jett strip off his sodden T-shirt and turned her back while he pulled on the coveralls and she did the same. The garment was made for a big man, so the material almost swallowed her up. It smelled of sweat, but at least it was dry.
Jett looked better, and his shivering had slowed. Still she insisted he remain next to the heater while she poked through every nook and cranny in the office. There were files crammed with papers, a few office supplies, but no radio of any kind and no landline.
Jett seemed lost in thought. “I was wondering what’s going on at the house.” He pointed to his ankle. “This thing could still be working. They’re designed to be waterproof. If Tom has been able to hold out against Beretta’s men, he can still track my whereabouts. We should split up.”
“No.”
“You go to the boat,” Jett said, his voice a little stronger. “There will be a radio aboard. Call for help and lock yourself in until it arrives.”
“We’re staying together.”
“Sarah,” he said catching her hand, his face intense. “I don’t want you to die because of me.”
“Jett, I left you once, a long time ago, and I’m not doing it again.” Those dark eyes searched hers, and she held the gaze until it hurt too much and she looked away. There in the deep water she’d realized her feelings for him still burned far down in her heart, but she’d let him go all those years ago and he was not coming back to her. They were not the same people, not the naive teens they had been, and that youthful love was just a memory shot to the surface when she’d thought he was dead. “Not until the mission is over,” she added quietly. “We stick together until we escape.”
He let out a low sigh. “All right. Both of us will go to the boat, then.”
“As soon as you’re warmed up.” To escape the sadness that still circled around her stomach, she yanked open the lower desk drawer. “Look,” she crowed, holding up two chocolate bars. “They left us some candy.”
His silence worried her, so she unwrapped one and handed it to him.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, staring at it.
“They’re not mine. Thank the office guy.”
�
�I meant thank you for saving me from drowning,” he said.
She waited, sensing he had something more to add.
“And for trying to help me see the truth.”
“About what?”
He swallowed. “About God.”
Her breath grew shallow, and she stared at him. “Jett?”
“All those things I said, making fun of your faith. I apologize for that.” He looked around the room without seeming to be aware of his surroundings.
“It’s all right. We don’t have to talk about that now.”
“Yes, we do. I finally understood something when I was down there underwater.”
Afraid to stop the flow of words, she got on her knees next to him. “Can you tell me about it?”
Water sparkled in his still wet hair. “I’m not sure. I don’t understand much right now. I don’t have the right words for it.”
“Then tell me what you feel.”
“I feel—” he paused “—like I’ve been released from a prison I didn’t know I was in. I feel like God did that, just now, under the water.” He raised his eyes to hers. “Is that possible for someone like me to feel something like that?”
She reached for his hands and squeezed them, almost unable to speak. “Yes.” Tears crowded her vision. “Yes, it is more than possible.”
“I understand now what you were trying to tell me.”
“I’m so glad, Jett.”
“And I’m sorry.” He looked at her hand in his. “For the ways I put you down about what you believe. I ridiculed you because I didn’t understand, and I felt like I was on the outside looking in.”
“It’s okay.”
“Do you think...” He let out another sigh.
“What?”
His brow was furrowed. “I’ve spent so many years running away from God and mocking people who believe. Do you think He can forgive that?”
She could hardly talk for the lump in her throat. “Yes, Jett,” she choked out. “He can and He does.” She embraced him and cried tears of joy. God had overcome Jett’s resistance, his pain, and out of the near disaster, there had come the amazing gift of grace. What a triumph. What a God.