by Dana Mentink
He stroked her back, holding her close, and she was not completely sure, but she thought she felt the warmth of his tears on her neck. If they could stay there, reveling in that moment forever, she would not complain.
A sharp wave of rain against the window roused them. Reluctantly, she released him.
“Storm’s worsening. I wonder how many hours until sunrise,” she said.
“Not enough. Sky’s already lightening. We should get to the boat.”
“Okay. Eat some chocolate first.”
“Yes, Nurse Sarah,” he said, popping a few squares into his mouth and shoving the rest in his pocket. He pointed to a hook on the door. “Looks like they left us some rain slickers to use. Finally we’ll be dressed right for the weather.”
They pulled on the yellow slickers and grabbed the flashlight. A sizzle of lightning shone through the window, and the following thunder sounded like a bomb deploying.
He got to his feet with only a slight wobble, closing his eyes for a moment.
“Are you okay?”
“’Course,” he said. “I live for this stuff.”
“Right.” She stayed close anyway in case his body could not live up to his mouth.
He reached for the door handle. “Ready?”
She gave herself only a second to consider what had transpired. She’d believed him dead, anguished at his loss, rejoiced at his return and shared in his acceptance of God. How was it all possible?
It was more than possible with God, she thought.
She gave him a nod. “I’m ready.”
He yanked the door open.
Standing outside, an evil grin on his face and Tom’s phone in his hand, was Beretta’s goon, Miguel.
“Hola, American,” he said. “Good to see you again.”
SIXTEEN
Miguel, Beretta’s sadistic right-hand man, was dressed for the elements in a waterproof camo outfit and heavy boots. This time he had a knife fastened to his belt and a pistol instead of the baseball bat. He clipped Jett on the shoulder with the butt of his gun, sending rivers of pain along Jett’s side. Apparently, the guy still held a grudge.
“Get going, American,” he jeered. “I’d love the excuse to kill you right now.”
Jett was no longer dizzy, but his body still felt the accumulated effects of nearly drowning and hypothermia. Yet there remained an inexplicable warmth in his system. What had passed between him and Sarah in the shed was something precious, he knew. He’d shared the most wondrous thing that had ever happened to him with her, the woman who had both loved and hurt him. Now they were about to be marched off to meet Beretta’s men and face a new set of horrors, but whatever happened, he knew he would treasure that sliver of time that had changed his life and his afterlife forever.
Miguel jerked him from his thoughts by shoving them both into the front of a golf cart parked under a fringe of Torrey pines.
“You drive, American,” Miguel said, pressing his gun hard into Jett’s neck. “It’s time to go meet Senor Beretta.”
“Great,” Jett said. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”
“So has he,” Miguel said with a hard laugh.
Sarah sat beside him, head held high, though he knew she must be disappointed to the point of defeat. He wanted to reach for her hand, but he was afraid Miguel would strike out and hurt Sarah.
The sun was rising, cutting through the heavy cloud cover. Morning. They’d made it to morning, somehow.
One hour at a time, Sarah. Just hang on a little while longer. Every moment they stayed alive was a victory, he told himself as he guided the cart to the rear of the house. All they had to do was survive until Marco and the Gallaghers could convince the cops to get a search warrant.
There was no outward damage to the structure that Jett could see. If he hadn’t known what had gone on the past few hours, he would have seen no evidence of it from the exterior. Miguel ordered them through the back door and into the same formal dining room where they had recently been taken by Ellsworth. Tom was there, hands bound behind his back, and Mr. Ellsworth—who appeared perfectly calm in a fresh suit and loafers—sat at the table, hands free. He looked as though he was completely in charge of the situation.
“Mr. Ellsworth,” Sarah said without preamble, voice vibrating with outrage, “you left us to die.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I needed to return to the mansion. It was very cold.”
Cold? Jett and Sarah locked eyes. There was something hideously wrong with Ezra Ellsworth, and whether he knew it or not, he was no longer anywhere near in control of the situation.
“Where is Del Young?” she demanded.
“He’s alive,” Tom said. “He’s like a cat. Always ends up on his feet.”
A dark-haired man with a barrel chest, wearing khaki cargo pants and a rain slicker, stood next to the gas fireplace, smoking a cigarette with one arm thrown carelessly over the mantel. Antonio Beretta’s close-cropped beard was neatly trimmed, glasses accentuating his deep-set eyes.
Through a wisp of cigarette smoke, Beretta looked them over, glancing at Sarah and studying Jett with more attention.
“You fight well,” he said in perfect English.
“I’m flattered.”
“Our visit here in the States will be short. We do not wish to attract attention.”
“Then it was probably a mistake to shoot down the helicopter,” Jett suggested. “Not exactly subtle.”
Beretta waved a weary hand. “Miguel is too exuberant.”
“Miguel is stupid.”
Miguel took a step toward Jett, mouth twisted in rage, but Beretta stopped him and chuckled. “Perhaps, but Alex tells me the wreck is now completely submerged, and the storm, well, it will also help to help conceal the accident, so no harm done.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Sarah said, “and there was great harm done. Miguel murdered the pilot and nearly killed the rest of us.”
Beretta ignored her. “I wish to have my painting returned. This man—” he pointed to Ellsworth “—hired Del Young to steal it from me, but Young has double-crossed him and hidden the painting.”
“The security on your compound needs improvement,” Jett said.
“It has been improved.” Beretta’s eyes glittered. “Those guards are no longer alive.” He looked at Sarah. “I had my man search Young’s apartment in Los Angeles. The Red Lady was not there, but he did run into your people.”
Sarah’s head jerked up. “My people?”
“Your sisters and a man.”
Jett saw the hope flare up in her face and knew it matched his own. Marco and the Gallaghers were searching for them—they’d figured out the Del Young connection.
“You’d better let us go then, before the police arrive to arrest you,” she said.
“There is not enough of a trail to lead them to me,” Beretta said. “I will be gone before there are any further complications.”
“Maybe not,” Tom said. “The cops called here already, asking to speak to Mr. Ellsworth.”
Beretta lifted a careless shoulder. “Did Young disclose to you where he hid my painting, Nurse?”
“My name is Sarah, and no, he didn’t. He said he could not remember.”
“A lie, perhaps?”
“It could be the truth, since your people caused him a grievous head injury.” She shot a contemptuous look at Miguel.
“As I said, overexuberant. They were meant to capture him and make him talk, but he is not a strong man.” The derision in Beretta’s tone was clear. “He is in the upstairs hospital room. We will find out the answer from him after you wake him.”
“What if I can’t?”
The look he gave her was so cold that Jett wanted to step in between them.
“You will wa
ke him,” he said softly. “Or you both will die.”
While Ellsworth maintained the facade of a gentleman, Beretta did not even try. He was a killer, plain and simple, and he pretended nothing else. Jett knew their time was running out.
Miguel was gesturing with his gun for Sarah and Jett to head upstairs when Alex appeared, jacket wet from the rain. He whispered something in Beretta’s ear. The drug lord’s eyes narrowed, giving him a reptilian look.
“We have attracted attention after all,” he said. “The harbor patrol is here to ask some questions, even though they were told that Ellsworth was not at home when they called earlier.”
Jett’s heart leaped. Finally. It was probably Marco’s doing. “They know something is going on here. Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do, Beretta.”
Beretta’s smile did not reassure Jett.
“I will explain nothing,” he said, turning to Alex and Miguel. “Take them.”
* * *
There wasn’t time to return Jett and Sarah to their cells before the harbor patrol officer began to hammer on the door. Sarah tried to scream, but Alex fastened a hand firmly across her lips.
Alex and Miguel dragged them into a room halfway down the hall and secured their mouths with duct tape. It was a small library with floor-to-ceiling shelves of books and a grouping of leather chairs.
“No noise,” Alex cautioned, leaving the door cracked so he could hear the situation developing below. They were close enough to catch the conversation drifting up from the front foyer. Sarah scanned the room for something with which she could make noise, attract attention. Jett was doing the same, she guessed. Her nerves were tingling with excitement. She recognized the voice of one of the cops, Officer Ridley from her own town of Coronado. Marco and her sisters had been pulling strings.
Tom spoke in a cool, friendly tone. They’d no doubt ordered him to get rid of the cops as quickly as possible.
“Mr. Ellsworth is not in residence. He’s at his home in Brussels. I can give you the number, if you’d like, but he very rarely communicates by phone. I am the only employee on the property right now. We sent the others home early this morning due to the storm.”
“We are looking for two people, Sarah Gallagher and Dominic Jett. They were abducted from a clinic in Mexico four days ago,” Ridley said. “Ms. Gallagher’s family operates a detective agency, and they believe the two were transported here from Mexico.”
Sarah’s heart beat faster. They knew. Finally, things were starting to go their way.
“I’m sorry to hear about the abduction, but I don’t see how it could possibly connect to Mr. Ellsworth.”
“Sarah Gallagher sent a message to her sister from this area.”
They’d gotten her email. She could hardly breathe.
“Are you saying it was sent from this house?”
Tom was a cool customer. There was just the right note of incredulity in his voice.
“We can’t say that specifically,” the cop said, “but it originated in the Santa Barbara region. Do you mind if we check your computers?”
Proof. They would be found now and rescued. She forced herself to take a breath through her nose as the seconds ticked by.
“Actually yes, Officers, I do mind. Mr. Ellsworth is a particularly private man. A person of his resources has to be careful with information.” He paused. “Feel free to return with a warrant, if you’d like to pursue this line of questioning, but it’s a waste of your time, I’m afraid.”
Her stomach bunched in agony. No, she wanted to scream. We’re right here. She eyed a small table, home to a porcelain vase. Miguel and Alex were listening intently to the conversation. She edged closer to the table. A flicker of understanding crossed Jett’s face as he intuited her intent.
“Do you know of a man named Del Young?” the cops continued.
Tom paused. “I don’t believe so.”
“Marco Quidel, who works with the Gallaghers, interviewed a mechanic who worked on your Jet Skis, and he said Young was staying here on the island.”
Try to lie your way out of that one. Sarah eased forward another inch.
“Oh, now I remember. Yes, he was here on and off as a guest of Mary Ellsworth. I haven’t seen him for about three months, I’d say. Do you suspect him of being involved with the two missing people?”
The officers answered, but Sarah was too focused on her plan to pay attention. She was almost close enough to kick out and send the table and vase crashing to the ground.
“All right,” Officer Ridley was saying. “We’ll call you if we have any further questions, and we’ll be contacting your boss in Brussels. Thank you for your time.”
She could hear them moving toward the door. It was now or never.
“Thank you for coming by, gentlemen,” Tom was saying.
Sarah kicked out, striking the table and sending it over. The vase tumbled exactly as she’d hoped, heading for a hard landing on the ceramic tile floor.
Alex lunged forward to catch it, but Jett stepped in his way, hooking an ankle and causing Alex to stumble. It was the few seconds they needed.
The vase hit the floor, fracturing into pieces, sending bits of porcelain skittering across the tile. Alex and Miguel each grabbed a prisoner, yanking them close and pulling their pistols.
Her heart thudded. They had heard. How could they not? They would come. Surely Miguel and Alex would not risk shooting them dead with officers right outside. Rescue. It was so close she could taste it.
“What was that?” Ridley asked. “I thought you were the only employee here.”
The seconds seemed to tick by in slow motion. “It’s the cat, I’m afraid. She’s been trouble since the day Mr. Ellsworth purchased her, but he has a soft spot for the animal.”
“A cat?”
“Yes.” Another pause. “You can see her water bowl and food dish there in the foyer. More trouble than she’s worth, that’s for sure.”
No, no, no, Sarah’s mind screamed. She strained in Alex’s grip, but his fingers bit into her wrists. She could picture Tom’s smug smile. The cops could not search the house unless they had reason to believe lives were in danger.
We’re here, she screamed behind the duct tape.
Alex shook her so hard her head snapped back. “Quiet,” he hissed.
“All right. Thank you for your time,” came the voices from downstairs. There was a shuffle of feet, the click of the latch.
No, don’t leave, she pleaded silently. Don’t leave us here.
And then the door closed on their hope of escape.
SEVENTEEN
Sarah felt limp and as wrung out as an old dishrag. They’d been within inches of their rescuers, but in a blink they were forced back in their cages in the wine cellar, waiting for their captors to bring them to the ailing Del Young.
The hours stretched on and on, interrupted by the howl of the storm. She felt like howling, too, the disappointment almost too heavy to bear. Jett tried to comfort her, but she was too depleted to do anything but flop onto the cot and roll herself in the thin blanket.
She eventually drifted to sleep, dozing in fits and starts, awakening disoriented. Her prison was silent, and for a terrifying moment she imagined Jett was gone, that they’d taken him while she slept, or that he had not been strong enough to endure the cold and lack of food after his near drowning. “Jett?” she whispered.
“Right here,” he said, calming her.
“What time is it?”
“Not sure exactly. Sometime in the wee hours of Sunday morning.”
She sank back onto her cot, the emotions circling and biting at her like ravenous sharks. Another day, still caged like an animal with little hope of rescue. The futility of it all crushed her. Hiding her face in the blankets, she tried not to cry.
The words almost loosened a flood of crying, but she bit it back. “It’s just that we were so close and I’m tired, Jett. Everything we attempt comes to nothing. We’ve been tied up, threatened and almost killed by a falling helicopter. I mean, who has that happen to them?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s one for the books, all right.”
“I just want it to be over.”
“If the police came here thinking Ellsworth is hiding something, Marco knows, too, and he’s not going to stop until he finds us.”
She clung to his words. “My sisters won’t, either.”
“Are they good detectives?”
“Yes, and they’re even better sisters.”
“That much I knew. They were pretty protective of you—the ones I met anyway.”
“Yes, but we’re running out of time. I don’t know how much longer I can keep hoping.”
He paused. “Remember when you decided the high school needed a rose garden? It was right before we split up.”
She groaned. “Oh, yeah. I planted a half dozen rosebushes, Mr. Lincolns. They were gorgeous hybrid tea roses, and vandals promptly dug them up and stole them.”
“Three times.”
“Uh-huh. Took all my money to keep replacing them, even with the discount the man at the garden store gave me because he felt so sorry for me. It was a stupid thing to do, because the groundskeepers eventually dug out the roses anyway to expand the gym. I bought eighteen Mr. Lincolns and there’s still not one rose anywhere on that campus.”
“But the thing is, you kept planting—that’s the important part, and the third time, the vandals gave up.”
She looked at him, heart aching at the memory. “You laughed at me back then, Jett. You and your buddies.” How his guffaws had cut right to her heart, made her feel foolish, small and worthless.