by Diana Palmer
He thought of Isabel, still under the gun, along with Merrie and Mandy, as long as Morris was on the loose. It unsettled him, thinking that Isabel could die. He’d gone through hell when he left Darwin Grayling’s employ years before. He’d almost gone off the deep end, remembering Isabel’s soft arms clinging to him, her mouth answering his in a hunger that easily equaled his own. She didn’t know, but he’d tried to hire back on two miserable weeks later. Darwin Grayling had been polite and friendly, but he’d already replaced Paul and there were no other positions. He was sorry, but surely Paul would be happier closer to his wife and child, Darwin had said. Paul had had to agree. The lie had carried him too far already to turn back. He just hadn’t known it.
He’d agonized at the thought of Grayling telling Isabel about his wife and child. Lucy and Marie were long gone, of course, but nobody in Jacobsville knew that. It must have been devastating for Isabel, thinking he’d cheated on his wife with her. He hated the pain he must have caused her. He’d known nothing, of course, about what Darwin Grayling had done to his daughters after Paul’s confession. He’d hired back on with the Bureau with the help of a former colleague now in high office. His beautiful, painful dreams of Isabel had slowly faded into memories. He’d had to let go or lose his mind.
Now here he was again. Same song, second chorus. He was going to lose her all over again, and for the same damned stupid reason: money.
Another man might have gone ahead and said to hell with pride. But Paul couldn’t. He was the only member of his family who’d managed to go straight and stay honest. It mattered to him, what people thought. It mattered too much, perhaps.
He’d pretended that it was easy to leave. Isabel obviously thought that he had no real emotion invested in their relationship, that he could just walk away without looking back.
It wasn’t like that at all. He wanted her to the point of obsession. If they’d been equals, nothing short of death would ever have pried him from her side. But all that damned money. He drew in a long, sad breath. It was just too much to contend with.
Maybe they’d like him for the HRT. He knew the cutoff age. He was getting very close to it. There were older men on the team, of course, but they were agents who’d been with HRT for a long time. He’d be the FNG. The blankety-blank new guy. He’d run the gauntlet while he tried to endure the training. Later, if he managed to make the cut, he’d be assigned either to an assault team or a sniper team. The former was where all the real action was. Assault went in headfirst. Snipers could lie around in a ghillie suit in some forsaken forest or jungle for days, dodging mosquitoes and poisonous snakes while some guy in a suit in DC decided whether or not they were going to see any action at all. You had no choice about which unit you joined. That was decided by higher-ups.
Assault was better suited to young guys, he conceded. Snipers could line up shots, take their time, be on their own. There were benefits to each group. The greatest thing about HRT was the comradeship, the sense of belonging, of family. Those guys were thick. During training, they learned to depend on each other and trust their comrades in close-quarter shoot-outs. They stood up for one another. Well, as best they could. If an inquiry followed an action, an agent was required to provide truthful information when asked for it in an administrative process, and everything he said would be discoverable to civil litigators if lawsuits ensued. It was part of the job.
He went back to work with his heart dragging on the floor. If he was chosen to go through the training—and if he didn’t wash out, as many very physically fit guys did—it would mean moving to another place, somewhere without Isabel. He felt sick at the thought of never seeing her again. If he could stay in San Antonio, at least he could keep in touch with Mandy. He could make sure Isabel was safe, even if he was only saving her for some other man.
He hated the thought of Isabel marrying someone else. She said she didn’t want marriage or kids, but he knew that was a lie. She loved kids. He ground his teeth together. He had to stop thinking about her or he was going to go crazy! Principles, he thought to himself, were unbearable sometimes.
* * *
Isabel was walking on the beach on one of the outer islands when the wind suddenly picked up and black clouds surrounded the small island.
“It’s a hurricane!” one of the elderly guests gasped. She held up her cell phone. “It’s all over the news!”
“What are we going to do?” another guest asked the tour guide.
“We must not panic, that is the first thing,” the guide replied in a crisp British accent. “We must get to cover. Please come with me. And hurry!”
He got them all into the big motorboat they’d arrived on, turned on the ignition and steered toward the main island as fast as he could go.
“We’re not going to make it,” a soft Southern-accented voice said beside Isabel. Pale blue eyes gazed wistfully. “It’s too far, and the storm is too close.”
“We’ll make it,” Isabel assured her. “Look!”
Sure enough, there was sudden calm and quiet. They were in the eye of the storm.
“With any luck, we can get to New Providence before it hits again!” the tour guide called from the front.
“With luck,” Isabel echoed.
She was thinking of Paul. If they didn’t make it, she’d never see him again. She lost herself in sweet memories of the brief time they’d had together before her inheritance ruined everything. If she died, she would carry those memories into the darkness with her. Even as the thought entered her mind, the black clouds began to catch up to the boat, looming over it like sudden death.
* * *
Paul was watching the news after a long and grueling shift trying to help the local PD run down a bank robber. They’d caught him, but it had taken time. He had his feet up and a beer in one hand while he listened to the day’s events.
The robbery was in the news. There he was on the six o’clock news. Well, there was his back, with the big white FBI letters on it. The bank robber in handcuffs filled the screen. There was a voice-over telling viewers about the chase. He took a sip of beer. He hadn’t listened to the news in three days. It wasn’t really a priority, except because of the arrest today. He listened without much real interest as the news switched to a hurricane that had hit somewhere near New Providence, in the Bahamas, the day before. He paid no attention to it. Weather somewhere else wasn’t his concern. He flipped off the television and went to riffle through the small freezer compartment of the fridge, looking for some sort of frozen meal he could nuke for supper. He didn’t taste what he was eating, anyway. He missed Isabel too much. He was just going through the motions of living. It was an empty life.
The phone rang just as he put his hand on a beef Stroganoff dinner. He put it back in the freezer and picked up his cell phone from the coffee table. He frowned. Why would Mandy be calling him?
“What’s up, beautiful?” he teased.
“Have you seen the news, about the hurricane in the Bahamas?” she asked, choked up.
“Sure. Why?” he added, with a sense of premonition.
“Sari’s down there,” she said.
He felt his heart seize up. “Isabel’s in the Bahamas?” he exclaimed. “Why?”
“Her boss thought she needed a vacation. She was so upset over you…well, never mind. Anyway, I’ve tried to call her, over and over, and I can’t get through to her.” Her voice broke. “They say it hit the outer islands. That’s where she was, on a tour. I spoke to her just before she left Nassau yesterday.” She swallowed down the fear. “Communications were affected and the airport was closed down because of the storm. It took a day to get communications restored, they said, and to get the airport reopened. News crews are just now being allowed in, along with rescue people…”
He sat down. His whole life passed before his eyes. He’d walked away from Isabel. She’d been so upset
that her boss had sent her on a vacation. She’d pretended that it didn’t matter that he didn’t want her, because she was going to be rich again. But she cared about him. Of course she cared about him. She loved him. And he’d tossed her away, because she was rich and he wasn’t. He closed his eyes on a groan.
“Paul?” Mandy prompted.
“Sorry,” he said huskily. “I was just thrashing myself mentally. Listen, get them to fuel the baby jet, drag a pilot and copilot out of bed, and pack an overnight bag. I’ll meet you at the Jacobsville airport after I try to explain to Jon Blackhawk why I’m going AWOL.”
“He won’t mind,” Mandy said with a sigh of relief. “Thanks. I was so worried!”
“They still haven’t caught Morris. You’ll be safe enough with me, but Merrie should stay there. We can call her as soon as we know something. The bodyguards will look out for her.”
“I already told her that,” Mandy said. “I’ll get packed and have the limo drop me at the airport.”
“See you there.”
He hung up and dialed Jon Blackhawk’s unlisted number. A small voice came on the line.
“Do you want to talk to my daddy?” the small voice said.
“Yes, please,” he said gently.
“Okay. He’s not busy. He’s just kissing my mommy. Daddy!” he called. “There’s a man who wants to talk to you!”
Paul was chuckling when his boss came on. “He’s already got a great phone personality,” Paul said.
Jon laughed. “That’s my boy. What’s up?” he added.
“Isabel’s in the Bahamas, on the outer islands that just got hit by a hurricane,” he said in a tight voice, from which he was trying to purge emotion.
“And you’ve got the Grayling jet fueled and waiting at the airport with Mandy,” came the soft reply.
“Yeah. Sorry…”
“If it was Joceline, I’d already be in the air,” Jon said quietly. “Go get her.”
“Thanks. I… They said the hurricane hit, where she was,” he added heavily.
“Miracles happen when you least expect them. Go get on that jet.”
“Thanks, boss. I’ll make up my time.”
“That’s the last thing I’m worried about. I hope things go well, Paul. Let me know how it goes.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”
Paul hung up. He was momentarily diverted, when he thought how easily Isabel could have died. He might not be in time. He’d sent her running…
He turned and went into his bedroom to pack.
It didn’t take long. He was at the airport in scant minutes. Mandy was standing there, by the main desk, small overnight bag in hand. She was in jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair put up haphazardly, no makeup. She looked as haggard as he felt.
“Let’s get moving,” he said.
She fought tears as she smiled. “Thanks for coming along.”
“We’ll find her, honey. Okay?”
She swallowed down the fear. “Okay.”
* * *
It took time to get to New Providence. The storm had subsided by the time they arrived, although there was some damage in Nassau. The brunt of the storm, however, had hit the outer islands. Paul cut through red tape by finding a special agent in Nassau who was kind enough to help him with inquiries about the tour group.
But that took time, too. Eventually, they had a general location. The agent wasn’t forthcoming.
“The storm took out communications on Newport,” he told Paul, naming the small island that the group had gone to. “All I could find out was that there were casualties. I’m so sorry.”
Paul held on to his nerve. “Thanks. I’ll get out there and see what I can find out.”
“Tell them aid’s on the way,” the agent added. “Relief agencies are gearing up right now.”
“I will.”
Paul hung up and turned to a pale Mandy. “I’m going out there…”
“Don’t bother trying to keep me here,” she said simply. “My baby’s there. I’m going, too.”
He didn’t try to argue with her. They hired a boat and started for Newport.
Mandy had the family credit card, backed by some of Isabel’s fortune, and it made the process easier. Paul was amazed at how just the name Grayling opened doors, even here. The old man owned a lot of real estate in the islands. Whether or not the money he got from it was legal was something Justice would have to sort out. At the moment, Paul was just happy that Grayling’s reputation cut through some of the red tape while they searched for Isabel.
The rumor that Newport had refugees was a false one, as so many rumors following disasters were. Even as they parked the boat at what was left of the marina, they saw white sheets covering three bodies.
“You stay here,” Paul told Mandy firmly.
“I want to see…”
He caught her before she could run in that direction and held her close. “Mandy, I’ve seen drowning victims. You don’t want your last memory of Isabel to be this one, if she’s there.”
She sobbed helplessly, but she gave in with a long, shuddering sigh. She stepped back and wiped at tears.
Her sad face lifted to his. “Poor Paul,” she said, her voice breaking on his name. “Your last memory of her shouldn’t be this one, either, if she’s there.”
He swallowed. His face was ashen. “I’ll take my licks. She wouldn’t have come here in the first place if I hadn’t been such a fool. I let her think I didn’t care.” His eyes closed. “Damn money, Mandy. Damn all the money in the world! I should have said to hell with what people might think…!”
She touched his arm lightly. She forced a smile. “Go see,” she said, nudging him forward. “We might get a miracle. God loves people who care about each other.”
“Does He?” He let out a hollow laugh. “He and I haven’t been on speaking terms for a while. I blamed Him. But it was me, all along. Me and my damned pride, that caused the two biggest tragedies of my whole life.”
He turned and walked toward the sheets, flashing his credentials at a policeman who was overseeing the recovery operation.
“Any of them redheads?” Paul asked the man with assumed carelessness. He didn’t want to give away that he had only a personal reason for being here, or he might get himself sent back to Nassau.
The man looked at him with a taut, drawn face. It hurt people to have to look at dead bodies, even tough cops. He nodded. “A woman. There,” he said, indicating a sheet.
Paul had to steel himself to go toward it. His nerves were standing on edge. If she was there, he’d… God, he didn’t know what he’d do! He’d go nuts!
He knelt beside the body, which was beginning to swell from the heat. With just two fingers, he lifted the sheet where the face was. He’d seen terrible things all during his career in law enforcement, but this was beyond most experiences. The body had obviously been in the water for a day, in the heat, and sea creatures had been at it. The face was ringed by soft, waving red hair.
He put the sheet back quickly. He had to fight not to throw up, to scream, to cry like a whipped child. Tears stung his eyes. He couldn’t even get up.
“You know that one, yes?” the policeman said in a soft, gentle tone.
Paul got to his feet. “It’s Miss Grayling,” he said in a dead voice. “Isabel Grayling. She was down here on holiday. I’ll have to…make arrangements…” His voice broke.
The policeman, a family man with children, pulled the FBI agent into his strong arms and rocked him like a child. “It’s all right, sir,” he said softly. “It’s all right. I’m so sorry.”
Mandy, looking on, was devastated. There was only one reason Paul would break down like that. She’d never seen him even shed a tear in all the years he worked for Mr. Darwin. Tears erupted
from her own eyes, and she thought with horror that they’d have to tell Merrie. How could they do that on the phone? It would have to wait.
There would have to be an air evacuation of Isabel, and then a funeral would have to be planned.
She was openly sobbing when Paul pulled her against him and rocked her as she cried, giving back the comfort that the kind policeman had given him.
“They’ll bring them over to New Providence shortly. We’ll…make arrangements to have her flown home.” He bit his lip to keep from breaking down all over again.
“There, there,” Mandy said softly, reaching up to stroke his black hair. “We’ll get through this, Mr. Paul.”
“I never should have left,” he choked out. “Not the first time, not a few days ago. I never should have left, Mandy. What the hell does money matter? I never even got to tell her…that I loved her!”
She hugged him, letting her own tears fall. There, in the clearing of the clouds, with the sun low on the horizon, they made a black silhouette against the sky.
* * *
It was a sad trip back to New Providence. The boat bearing the bodies would be along in another hour or so. Paul steeled himself to do what he had to. The pilot and copilot would have to be notified, there would be formalities and papers to sign before the body could be released. They wouldn’t be able to go right home, under the best of circumstances.
Isabel was dead. She was gone. He’d never have a chance to make up for all the heartache he’d caused her. Deep down, he knew her feelings were as deep as his own. She’d been pretending, just pretending. The trip to the Bahamas was proof that she was mourning him, as he’d mourned her. As he’d mourn her now for the rest of his life, because he was a fool. Because he thought his pride was more important than she was. Because of money.
“You have to stop beating yourself up, Mr. Paul,” Mandy said when they got in to the marina. “It won’t help.”
“She wouldn’t have been here, but for me,” he said quietly. “How do I live with that, Mandy? How do I…?”
They became aware of a noisy group nearby. Some people were just getting off a sailboat. They were wet and disheveled. Refugees, he thought, watching them disembark. They were a wretched-looking lot. Several men, two elderly women… and a red-haired woman.