Second-Chance Hero

by Justine Davis

  Draven paused and looked back, and his eyes met hers. The slight nod and even slighter smile he gave her felt as if he’d saluted. In a way she supposed he had.

  He checked the truck first, but that didn’t take long. She hadn’t thought it would move on its own, not with the engine twisted sideways as it was. Then he went to the white sedan. He spent more time there, and it took her a few glances—all she would risk while guarding this subhuman—to realize he was searching it. Then he popped the trunk open—one of the few unbent areas on the car—looked inside, then walked back toward them.

  “Neither one is drivable,” he said.

  “Now what?” Grace asked. “That poor child needs to be checked, and her parents contacted. She’s terrified.”

  Draven didn’t take long to think about it. “Are you all right with Marly staying with Nick until you get back?”

  “Fine,” she said, only realizing then that it was actually over.

  He pulled out his cell, called Buckley and told him to leave Marly with Nick and meet them here ASAP. Then he called Sergeant Espinoza, told him where they were and to come and take custody of Remington. Then he walked over to the man and yanked him up on his feet. He propelled him toward the back of the car, and to Grace’s surprise pushed him into the trunk.

  Remington started to scream.

  “I suggest you save some of that wind to let Sergeant Espinoza know you’re in there when he gets here,” Draven suggested mildly.

  “Or not,” Grace said.

  Draven looked at her. “Feeling a bit bloodthirsty?”

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  One corner of his mouth shot upward in a lopsided grin that made her pulse jam into overdrive. She hated that she couldn’t control her response to him, even when she was so angry about what he’d done.

  And now that the reason he’d come here was past, she didn’t know what was going to happen.

  He slammed the trunk closed.

  “Now we can go tell Chuck he’s alive again,” Draven said.

  The plan she had helped carry out had worked.

  Grace sat in a chair in the small waiting area of the clinic, looking shell-shocked and a little green. The doctor had confirmed their worst fears: the twelve-year-old girl they had rescued had already been molested. She had no permanent physical injuries, but Draven doubted she would ever be completely normal again. St. John had managed to track down her family over on mainland Belize, and a Redstone escort would have them here before the end of the day.

  He wasn’t sure he’d be welcome, but he found he couldn’t simply stand here and watch her shiver. He went over and crouched beside her chair.

  “Grace,” he began.

  She looked up. “I went to his house. I took Marly to his house. I thought he was nice, for spending so much time with her, talking to her.”

  “You had no way of knowing.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I suspected him because he was so insistent it had to be el mercader. Wouldn’t listen to any other possibility.”

  She looked thoughtful and then, as if remembering, she nodded slowly. “El mercader,” she muttered, avoiding his eyes, and he knew he was still in trouble.

  “He’s the one who found out about the girls. He’d known Remington was up to something, but wasn’t sure what. He—” Draven stopped as the clinic door opened and a man walked in. “He’s here,” he ended with a sigh, thinking there was no way this could be good for him.

  Grace’s head snapped up, and she stared at the tall, graceful man who walked toward them. He came to a halt beside Draven, nodded, and then looked at Grace.

  “Ms. O’Conner,” he said, inclining his head.

  She stood up, and faced el mercader straight on. “I’m afraid I’m not comfortable talking to people who hide behind nicknames.”

  Draven blinked as she said almost exactly what he had. El mercader’s glance flicked from her to Draven and back, apparent amusement gleaming in his eyes.

  “Oh?”

  “You did the right thing on this,” she admitted, “and for that I’m thankful.”

  “But on everything else I’m out in the cold,” el mercader said.

  “Your choice,” she said, her voice stiff and formal.

  “Not really,” he said, an unmistakable tone of irony in his voice. He looked at Draven. “The girl?”

  “She’ll be all right. Physically.”

  “Are you certain you don’t want me to take care of our illustrious mayor?”

  Draven grimaced. “No,” he said honestly. “But it’s Redstone policy to turn criminals over to authorities.”

  “Too bad,” el mercader said. He glanced at Grace again. “A pleasure, Ms. O’Conner. For one of us, anyway.”

  He turned as if to go.

  “Don’t forget our agreement,” Draven said.

  El mercader turned back. “I’m not likely to. I’ve done some investigating, and I’m fully aware of your reputation.”

  Draven nodded, and el mercader started for the door. His hand on the handle, he looked back over his shoulder.

  “Ms. O’Conner?”

  She looked at him.

  “Quinn Pedragon,” he said.

  She blinked in surprise at the soft pronouncement of the name. Draven was a little surprised himself.

  “If you take the opportunity to go straight,” he said, “contact me.”

  The man at the door looked startled, then he chuckled. “If that should happen, I will.”

  And then he was gone.

  Slowly she turned to look at Draven. He braced himself inwardly, wondering how he’d let himself get to the point that this woman had such power that she could make him bleed just by disapproving.

  “What agreement?”

  It was pointless to dissemble, he thought. She couldn’t get any angrier with him than she already was.

  “That by the time Redstone finishes building the resort, he and his operation will be gone.”

  “Oh.” She glanced at the door again. “Do you think he will keep his word?”

  “I do now, yes.”

  She looked back at him. “Why now?”

  “Because now I know his name. And he knows it.”

  “You don’t think it was an alias.”

  “No.”

  Not the way he looked at you, he added silently, trying to quash the way that had made him feel. At first he hadn’t recognized the feeling that had flashed up in him at el mercader’s—Quinn Pedragon’s—frank appreciation. When he did realize it was jealousy, he had to admit for the first time just how much trouble he was in. And hearing her speak to him in that cool, detached tone was somehow worse than any physical pain he’d ever felt.

  There was only one thing he could think of to do. And all the way back to the site he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that that one thing was to run.

  Chapter 22

  Grace found it nearly impossible to let go of her daughter, and did so only when the girl finally protested that she couldn’t breathe.

  It had taken Grace a while to think beyond the horror that innocent child, the child they’d returned to weeping, grateful parents yesterday, had gone through. To think beyond that victim to others. The only thing that had made it bearable was the knowledge of those that had been saved, those children Remington would never get his hands on.

  Then she had finally had to face the grim reality that Marly could have been one of them.

  And it was then that she belatedly understood Draven’s talk of priorities. The thought of her daughter as a target of such a sick, twisted mind made her shiver with a combination of fear and outrage and fury that had her shaking every time she thought of it. And she knew that she would have done far worse than deal with a man like Quinn Pedragon to get her back.

  She owed Draven an apology. A long and sincere one. She stood up, and slipped on the one shoe she’d shed for coolness when she’d gotten back to the motor home.

  “Where are yo
u going?” Marly asked, in a tone that nearly echoed Grace’s own concerned one. Marly had been more upset than she’d let on about the explosion, and seemed to have finally realized how close she had come to being motherless.

  “I need to find…Mr. Draven,” Grace said. John. Johnny, she thought. “I have to tell him something.”

  Marly drew back, her brows furrowed. “But he’s gone.”

  “What?”

  “He left. This morning, early. One of the Nunez brothers picked him up.”

  “He left?” Grace was stunned. “Without even saying goodbye?”

  “He said goodbye to me,” Marly said, watching her mother so closely Grace wondered what had been said during that goodbye.

  “I see.” Despite her efforts, the hurt she was feeling seeped into her voice.

  “Mom,” Marly said, sounding for all the world like a parent pointing out something obvious to a child, “what did you expect? You were so mad at him we could all see it. Why would he hang around?”

  Grace stared at her child, wondering at the vivid flash of adult perception.

  “Face it, Mom,” Marly said. “You blew it.”

  Grace blinked. “Blew…what?”

  “Come on,” Marly said with teenaged disgust. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know you were hot for each other.” Grace gaped at the girl, who rolled her eyes. “Puh-leeze,” she said. “Even Kieren noticed.”

  Recovering slightly, Grace swallowed and asked, “And if that was true, how would you feel about it?”

  “You mean if you like, got married or something?” She shrugged one shoulder in an almost eerie imitation of Draven’s habit. “It’d be cool, I think. We could get along, mostly. I could tell my friends I’ve got a real tough guy for a stepdad.”

  “You’d like it?” Grace was so stunned she couldn’t quite take in what she was hearing.

  Marly shrugged again, and then lowered her eyes. With a visible amount of embarrassment she said, “I know I messed things up for you. I heard him tell you he couldn’t…deal with me. But I changed, didn’t I? I paid back old Mr. Ayuso, and I worked hard, and—”

  “Yes, you did.” Grace was even more shocked to hear that this was at least part of the reason for Marly’s turnaround. For a moment she just sat there, trying to process everything. But there was just too much, between these revelations, what had happened, and on top of it all the realization that she had let go the first man she’d really felt anything for in years.

  Felt anything? Face it, you love him. You love him, and you drove him away.

  Her first instinct was to go after him. She could call, say he’d forgotten something and ask where he’d gone. Or she could—

  A knock on the door sent her heart hammering again. He’d come back!

  When she yanked open the door to see Nick standing there, it was a great effort not to let her disappointment show in her face.

  “Sorry,” Nick said, “but there’s a problem. The roller we rented broke down, and the rental outfit says they can’t get here for two days.”

  “I’ll handle it,” she said automatically.

  “And there’s some environmental guy here, wants to know when we’re going to get the native plants back in place.”

  Grace sighed. There was just too much to do right now, she couldn’t afford to leave. She wouldn’t do that to Josh, or to Redstone.

  “I’ll see him.”

  Wearily she pulled on her shoe and went back to work.

  Grace knew she was probably exhausted, but she was too numb to feel it. In a final, hard push they’d finished the airstrip two days ago. Shortly after she filed that report, Redstone headquarters sent word to expect Josh himself to take a look.

  She put the crew to work finishing the terminal, now obviously behind schedule because of the explosion. She’d gotten a copy of the Redstone report on the incident, that explained about bomb materials found in the garage of Remington’s home, and that he’d paid a local who’d been making a delivery to the site to plant it, just as he had with the other incidents.

  She also saw the report that the late-night prowler that had tripped the alarm was in fact one of Pedragon’s men, starting his own investigation because of the increasing heat suspicion was casting on them.

  The fact that all the reports were signed “John Draven,” in a bold, compact hand, was something she tried to ignore. Unsuccessfully, as a sick feeling rose in her, bringing her near to desperation.

  She was sitting in the shade of the motor home’s awning, trying futilely to think about something else, anything else, when the sound of a jet engine from above dragged her out of her wallow of misery. She looked up and saw the familiar colors of red and slate gray. Josh Redstone had obviously arrived.

  Grateful for the distraction, Grace got up as the sleek little jet banked on approach. She wondered if Tess Machado was at the controls; she hadn’t seen Tess in a while, and she always enjoyed talking to her.

  She realized suddenly she was still wearing the grubby clothes she’d had on when she’d done her final inspection of the charred debris that had been cleared from the explosion site. Josh didn’t expect anybody to dress up for him, but she thought the least she could do was be clean. Josh would likely stop to talk to the crew anyway, that was his way. So she had a few minutes.

  She dashed inside and washed her face and hands, changed into clean khakis and a light blue shirt, put on clean socks and her cleanest sneakers, and ran a brush through her wind-tousled hair. Then she started toward the airfield.

  When she arrived she was startled to see Josh in apparently deep conversation, not with the crew but with Marly. Josh saw her coming, smiled and waved. But Marly reacted very strangely, almost guiltily jumping back and avoiding looking at her mother.

  Josh enveloped Grace in a hug, his usual greeting for the people who’d been with him any length of time.

  “Looks great,” he said.

  She smiled up at the lean, gray-eyed man. “Well, except for the terminal.”

  He waved a hand as if the delay meant nothing. “You’ll have more help here in another day or so. It’ll get done.”

  She hadn’t asked for help, but she wasn’t about to turn it down. She had a record of bringing projects in on time, and she didn’t want to blow it on this first one after the earthquake.

  “The strip is as smooth as a quarter horse’s coat in the summertime.” Josh’s drawl was exaggerated, like it usually was when he tossed out one of those down-home homilies. She wondered how many people had been lured into thinking he was stupid or slow because of that drawl.

  And then left in shock when they found out just how quick and sharp the mind behind that lazy drawl was, Grace thought with pride.

  “Should I go pack?” Marly asked.

  “Good idea,” Josh said.

  Grace frowned. “Pack? For what?”

  “We’re going home,” Marly said, sounding excited.

  Grace thought in that moment that if she got hit with one more jolt she was going to crawl into a hole.

  “Just for a visit,” Marly said. “We’ll be back in a week, but I’ll get to see my friends.”

  So that’s what they were plotting, Grace thought.

  She had thought the girl had gotten to liking it here—especially after Kieren’s arrival—but apparently she was still missing home. Grace didn’t like the thought that Marly might have manipulated her boss into offering this ride, but she was so excited Grace couldn’t bring herself to deny her. Besides, she doubted anyone successfully manipulated Josh Redstone into anything he wasn’t already willing to do.

  She didn’t want to be gone from the project, but she could hardly let Marly go alone. She supposed she could call Aunt Charlotte, but she’d been ill, and it was a bit much to—

  “It’s all right, Grace,” Josh said. “Nick can keep things going for a week.”

  She smiled ruefully. “Am I that transparent?”

  “’Fraid so,” Josh said with a grin. “Go pack som
e things. I want to take off ASAP.”

  Grace knew an order when she heard one. After returning to the motor home and putting some things in a bag, Grace walked back to the strip with Marly at her heels.

  “You didn’t come all the way here just for this, did you?” she asked Josh.

  “Nah. I wanted some hours at the controls,” he said, indicating the sleek plane on the strip, his own Hawk IV.

  “It’s cool looking,” Marly said.

  Josh looked at the girl. “I need a copilot. Interested?”

  Marly’s eyes got bigger than Grace had ever seen them. “I don’t know how to fly!”

  “Then it’s time you learned,” Josh said.

  Marly turned stunned but excited eyes on Grace. “Mom?”

  “No one better to learn from,” she said.

  “Wow!”

  The girl darted up the steps into the plane. “Right seat!” Josh called out after her. Bare seconds later Grace saw her daughter through the cockpit window.

  Josh took her bag for her, and she started up the steps. Josh walked up behind her, and when they stepped into the plane he turned and hit the button that brought up the steps and closed the door. Once the brilliant tropical sun was blocked, Grace could see the inside of the Redstone jet. She’d been flown here on a Hawk III, and had thought it incredible. This was even more so, with polished woods, gleaming fixtures and the rich upholstery on the seating, more like a living room than a plane.

  That was all she saw. Because at the far end of the passenger compartment, sitting at a polished, light burl wood table beside a window, was a man.

  Draven.

  “Work it out,” Josh ordered before turning to vanish into the cockpit.

  For a long, strained moment Grace simply looked at him. Then she heard the jets fire as Josh started them.

  “You’d better sit down and strap in,” Draven said.

  He nodded at the seat across from him. For a moment she considered taking a seat at the opposite end of the cabin, but realized it would be childish. So she sucked in a breath and sat down opposite him.