by Dana Mentink
“Yeah. I did, and I’m very sorry about that.” His tone dropped. “I was hurt, angry that you broke up with me, and I acted like a child.” He sighed. “But secretly, I thought you had grit to keep planting those roses.”
Grit. She hadn’t known of his admiration, only his ridicule. Her cheeks warmed. “That was right before you got into that last brawl on campus.”
“Short fuse. No excuse.”
“And after we...after I broke up with you, you dropped out, without a word to me or anyone else. Why didn’t you talk to a counselor or social worker or someone?”
In the dim light, she could see him rest his forehead against the metal that caged him. “I didn’t trust anyone after you were gone.”
No, she thought. It went deeper than that. Did she have the courage to say it now? To air the painful inkling that she’d buried down deep the past nine years? What had she to lose, except maybe to ruin the intimacy they’d achieved through their ordeal? It was time to drum up the confidence to say aloud what her heart had whispered for so long. She took a deep breath. “Before that, Jett. You didn’t trust me fully even before that.”
His head jerked up. “I trusted you, Sarah, more than anyone.”
“You shared the good stuff with me. You were the fun guy, the happy-go-lucky Dominic Jett, the cool kid always looking for a laugh. But you didn’t trust me with your pain. I had hints about your father, but you never talked openly about him or the abuse.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I thought if you saw what my life was like, you wouldn’t want me anymore.”
“How could you believe that?”
His fingers closed around the bars. “You had this perfect family and you talked about God all the time. Why would someone like you want to be with a guy from my messed-up world?”
She’d thought the hurt of losing Jett had died, but just then it surged back, as intense as it ever had been. “I wanted to be with you because I loved you. Loving means taking the bad stuff, too.”
From somewhere in the cellar came the drip of water, slow and regular, marking the moments of their captivity in meticulous measure.
“I thought if you knew, I’d lose you. Ironic, because I lost you anyway.”
She clutched the blanket tighter. “I called, I wrote, message after message. When you saw me in town, you’d walk the other way.” Her voice trembled. “Like I was something disgusting for you to look at.”
“Sarah...” His voice broke. “If I made you feel like that, I’m lower than pond scum. I didn’t see how I was hurting you.” He banged his hand against the bars. “That’s not honest. Yes, I did see, and I wanted it. I wanted to hurt you, to punish you for dumping me. I was about to explode with all the anger inside me. My dad went to jail around then. It’s probably the only reason I didn’t completely self-destruct.”
“Your mother finally pressed charges?”
He laughed, soft and bitter. “No. My mother never pressed charges against my father, even when he broke her arm. It was always her fault, she’d say—she’d done something wrong, provoked him. It drove me completely crazy.”
“So what happened?”
“That time, the time he broke her arm, I called the police and she denied he hurt her, giving them some story about falling on the patio. When they left, my dad tried to punish me for calling the cops, only he got out his handgun that time.”
Her breath shallowed out. “Oh, Jett.”
“Fortunately, he shot me instead of her. Took a piece out of my shoulder, but it was enough to arrest him. He’s in jail for fifteen years. My mother moved in with her sister in Laguna Beach, but I refused to go, and I was eighteen so she couldn’t force me. I hope she stays there. My aunt is good for her.”
She could hardly push out the words. “Jett, why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped—listened, at least, and prayed for you.”
For an instant, his expression was that of a stricken teen again. “How could I go back to school, to you, and face that? Tough kid like me is not gonna return to classes and admit to everyone his dad’s in jail for shooting him and his mom’s moved away. I was living in my truck, sneaking into the corner gym at night to shower and eating the free samples at the grocery store for food. No way I could let everyone find out.”
“Jett,” she whispered, eyes damp thinking about his misery, his shame.
He cleared his throat. “That’s how Marco came into my life. He realized the situation that I didn’t want anyone to see.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “That I didn’t want you to see.”
She stood, fingers clutching the bars, allowing his pain to wash over her. What could she say? Nothing. There were no words to ease over the disastrous past. All she could do was listen now, as she hadn’t been able to do then. “It would have been okay—to show me, I mean. To tell me what you were going through.”
He was quiet for a long time, and she knew he was reliving that dark time, the shock, the betrayal he’d experienced when she walked away. How lonely he must have felt. Marco had been, and still was, she suspected, his lifeline.
Jett’s voice sounded faint and hollow, as if he was a very long way away. “You always talked about God, how He was your protector and savior, and I wondered why He didn’t protect and save me. I figured He only helped people like you, and that made me angry, too.”
Each word cut like a scalpel. If only they had had this conversation then, how different things might have been for Jett. At that moment, she understood she’d been the only person allowed into Jett’s heart and how very badly she’d scarred him by leaving.
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Sarah.”
“I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry that I came across as that girl from the perfect family who couldn’t understand. I should have listened more. I liked the fun Dominic Jett. The cool kid that everyone respected. Maybe I didn’t work hard enough to fully know you because I didn’t want to see the difficult things.” She knew it was true as she spoke the words. God, forgive me.
“You did your best under the circumstances. Anyway, that was a long time ago. I grew up, found a career and lost it.” The water continued to drip, marking the seconds of silence. “I’ll get it together now. Settle down.”
She tried a smile. “White-picket-fence kind of settle down?”
He laughed. “Nah. I’m not marriage material.” He paused. “But I hope you find someone great, because you deserve it.”
You are great, Jett.
With what he’d learned and experienced these last few days, he was different, as if he’d finally been given permission to put down an impossible burden. She loved the Jett she had lost, and she rejoiced about the man he’d become. God was doing something special in Dominic Jett, and she was sad that she would not be around to see how he would blossom if they survived Ellsworth and Beretta. They could never be together.
They’d hurt each other too much.
Her heart was still flayed wide from her father’s death.
And Jett didn’t want a second chance with her, either—that much was clear as he stepped back and sat down on his cot.
Grief and joy mixed together in her heart, and she marveled again that the two feelings could live side by side. The gulf between her and Jett remained, but at least he now understood that he mattered to God, that he’d mattered all along.
From somewhere above them, a door slammed. At any moment, she knew, they would be summoned. Beretta would not hesitate to kill them when they were no longer useful.
Death and life, she thought. How close together they are.
She folded her hands and prayed.
* * *
Jett allowed himself to doze, partially to renew his depleted energy and partly to escape the bombardment of memories and past pain. What if he’d opened up to Sarah about his shame when they were back in high school
?
He likely never would have hit bottom and then felt God’s push propelling him up toward the surface again, allowing him his first deep breath of peace. No, the pain had been worth it. Sarah was a part of his troubled past and twined around his promise of a better future. Yesterday and tomorrow, there would always be a piece of his heart that belonged to her. She deserved a long and brilliant life, and he prayed she would get it.
Let me get her out of here, Lord. Show me the way to save her.
It seemed he had just drifted off when the door squeaked open and Alex and Miguel pushed Tom into the room.
“Let them out,” Miguel demanded.
Tom unlocked the cells. His expression told Jett the situation. This was it. They had no more options. The muscles deep in his stomach tightened the way they did when he would approach an explosive device. The remaining moments of their safety were ticking away in triple time. He wanted to reach for Sarah’s hand, but Alex moved her forward and Miguel took position behind Jett and Tom.
They were taken to another bedroom, and this time Young was tied to the bedposts.
“This isn’t necessary,” Sarah protested. “He’s injured. He doesn’t need to be bound.”
“We have no time for him to jump out any more windows,” Alex said. “We heard he is prone to such desperate acts.”
Not anymore, Jett thought. Young appeared to have reached his physical limits.
Beretta entered, still smoking.
“Put that out,” Sarah demanded.
He laughed. “Are you worried the smoke will make him sick?”
Miguel and Alex joined in the laughter.
“Don’t you have any human decency?” she snapped.
Beretta waved the cigarette at Young. “Talk to him, Nurse. Make him tell you.”
“I told you, my name is Sarah.”
Beretta gave her a steely look. “I grow weary of your attitude. Do as you’re told.”
Cheeks flaming, Sarah moved to Young and did a quick exam. Jett knew enough to suspect that her diagnosis would not be encouraging. He wasn’t surprised when she finished and turned to face Beretta with a dire expression. “He’s short of breath and there’s abdominal swelling. He could be bleeding internally. He’s been lying here without medical attention for hours.”
“Make him talk,” Beretta repeated.
Her eyes were wide with exasperation. “He’s been in a helicopter crash. He can’t talk.”
“Yes, he can. He’s been babbling for an hour. Tom’s been writing down everything he said.” Beretta gestured to Tom, who handed over a paper. Beretta waved it in front of her. “Something about lookout and a vacation. It means nothing. I need more and I won’t wait any longer. Ask him.”
Sarah’s face was taut with emotion. Jett yearned to do something to help her.
She bent over Young and took his hand. “Mr. Young? Can you hear me?”
He wriggled a little as if to find a more comfortable position, but his forehead was lined with pain, beads of sweat on his cheeks. His skin was milk pale. Jett had the sinking feeling he was looking at a man standing on the brink of death.
“He needs a hospital,” Sarah snapped at Beretta.
“He needs to talk,” Beretta replied. “Now.”
“I won’t force him.”
“You will, or I will have Miguel persuade him.”
Her mouth tightened, and she turned to her patient again. “Mr. Young, can you hear me?” Sarah said.
Young’s eyes opened. He looked dazed, disoriented.
“It’s Sarah Gallagher,” she said, stroking his hand. “I’ve been trying to help you.”
“Sarah?” he whispered. “The detective?”
She smiled. “I’ve been your nurse, mostly.”
Young’s other hand grasped hers in a white-knuckle grip. “I loved her. I was never good enough for her.”
“Who?”
“Mary.”
Jett saw Tom tense.
“Where is Mary, Mr. Young? We’re trying to find her.”
“Ask about The Red Lady,” Beretta demanded, “or I’ll ask him myself.”
Tears began to leak down Young’s face. “I’m sorry. It never should have happened.”
“Where?” Sarah pressed. “Where is she? We need to go find her and help her.”
“Where is The Red Lady?” Beretta said, pushing his way to the bed.
Young shrank back as far as he could against the blankets and started to cry.
Sarah shot Beretta a look that would have melted steel in a less ruthless man. “You’re upsetting him. Let me ask the questions, why don’t you?”
Beretta clenched his jaw.
“Mr. Young,” she said again in a gentle tone, “can you tell me where you hid Mary and the painting?”
“Got to find her,” he groaned, thrashing on the bed.
“It’s okay,” she said, trying to soothe him. She looked at Beretta. “Please let me get him to the hospital. I’m begging you. He’s in pain.”
“Ask him,” Beretta roared.
Sarah jumped, breathing hard. Jett moved toward her, but Miguel pointed the pistol at him.
She looked at Beretta for a long moment, and then she looked at Jett. She’d come to some sort of decision. Whatever it is, he tried to tell her with a slight nod, whatever you need to do, I will back you up.
Forever, his heart finished, even though he knew she no longer belonged to him.
Sarah turned back to Young and leaned close, using a damp cloth to sponge away the sweat from his forehead. He relaxed against the sheets.
“Mr. Young,” she said, stroking his face. “Do you know that God loves you?”
Jett’s breath hitched.
“No,” Beretta snarled, “that is not what you’re talking about.”
Sarah ignored him.
Young looked at her intently, his eyes clearing for a moment. “I have been a bad person.”
She leaned closer. “God forgives, and He loves you. He has overcome the world and He is stronger than death.”
In that moment, he knew he’d never see a more magnificent gesture as Sarah looked away from the precarious present and tried to point a fallen man toward the comfort of eternity.
Beretta reached past Sarah and grabbed Young by the shoulders. “Enough,” he yelled, shaking him. “You will tell me what I want to know.”
Sarah tried to pull Beretta off, and Miguel reached for her, but Jett knocked him out of the way, sending Miguel’s pistol flying. Recovering, Miguel and Alex dived on Jett, attempting to pin him to the floor. Jett struggled with everything in him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tom wrench a cell phone from Miguel’s back pocket and sprint for the door.
“Alex, get Tom,” Beretta shouted. “He’s going for Ellsworth.”
Alex sprang to his feet and headed off in pursuit.
Miguel and Jett continued to wrestle. Miguel was strong, but Jett was fueled by a ferocious desire for victory. Ignoring the buzzing in his ears and the agony in his muscles, Jett finally forced Miguel facedown on the floor, his knee between the man’s shoulders. He was pulling off Miguel’s belt to fasten his hands behind his back when a shot exploded through the room.
Beretta stood with his pistol aimed upward, bits of plaster drifting down from where his bullet had plowed into the ceiling. “Stop,” he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.
Jett stepped back, breathing hard, and Miguel rose. He snapped out a punch at Jett that connected with his cheekbone, making him see sparks and almost sending him to the floor. Miguel was going to follow up with another blow when Beretta stopped him.
“If I don’t get what I want,” he hissed, “I will shoot you all dead where you stand.”
Sarah looked up from the
bed, tears streaming down her face. “Then I guess you better start shooting, because Mr. Young is dead.”
EIGHTEEN
Sarah gently pulled the sheet over Del Young’s face and whispered a final prayer for him. Anguish washed through her insides at what the man had endured. At least he’d felt God’s comfort in his final moments. Beretta was pacing the room like a caged tiger, but she did not give him the satisfaction of her attention. The coward, the greedy, brutal coward.
She should be afraid, she knew, but instead she was seething. Beretta had no reason to keep them alive now and murder was surely on his mind, but she felt only rage that Beretta and Ellsworth had let Del Young suffer in his final hours instead of getting him the medical help he needed.
“Nurse,” Beretta called.
Sarah felt her self-control snap like a rubber band. “Stop calling me that. My name is Sarah Gallagher and this man—” she gestured to Del Young “—this man had a name, too.”
“This man,” Beretta said, face twisted with disgust, “stole from me. He was a thief.”
“And you are in no position to judge him,” she said. “You intimidate people and traffic in the drug trade. You are a criminal and a thug, far worse than Del Young ever was.”
Beretta sent the small tray with medical supplies crashing to the floor. Sarah flinched. Jett tried to step between Beretta and Sarah, but Miguel held him tight.
“You are nothing, Nurse. Your opinion means nothing. I have done great things for my community, my villagers. To them I am a hero.”
“They don’t respect you,” Jett put in. “They fear you.”
“I am their benefactor.”
Sarah shook her head. “No, a benefactor loves the people he helps. You only love yourself.”
Beretta spat, the saliva splatting onto the floor at her feet. It was all she could do to stand her ground.
“And you are a worthless woman who has learned to speak too much.”
Sarah raised her chin and looked him right in the face. “You let this man die in agony when you could have shown compassion. That tells me all I need to know about you.”
Beretta’s chest was heaving, mouth contorted. She thought he was going to strike out at her. Jett must have thought so, too, because he strained against Miguel’s hold. Whatever the drug lord had been about to do, he was interrupted when Alex returned to murmur in his ear. The report sent him into a tirade of angry Spanish as Sarah listened in.