Shattered Secrets

by Jane M. Choate

  “I had to.”

  Her heart turned over in her chest. “Tell me later. After we’ve stopped Walter.”

  “That’s a promise.”

  Timmons worked the phone, filling in Homeland on where they were going. “Cavalry’s coming.”

  They hiked back to where Sal and Timmons had left Jeppsen. “Stay with him,” Sal said to Timmons. “I’m going for Walter.”

  Timmons started to object, then quieted when Sal shot him a hard look.

  “You owe me.”

  “I guess we do at that.”

  Olivia laid a hand on Sal’s arm, stopping him. “Not without me.”

  He shook his head. “Walter’s desperate. Look at what he tried to do to you.”

  “I have to do this.” She wasn’t giving in. Not on this. She’d been held at knifepoint, shot at, tied up under a pier and drugged. She had to see this through to the end.

  Another hike to Sal’s truck took precious minutes. Sal disregarded every known traffic law and pulled up to the slip where the Easy Day was moored.

  “There he is,” Olivia cried.

  Sal made it to the bow of the boat in three long jumps.

  Sal and Walter squared off. Walter fought like the seasoned warrior he was. He knew every trick in the book. And then some.

  He came at Sal, face twisted in a nasty grin.

  Sal feinted to the left, drew his opponent’s attention, then came in low, kicking out with his leg. His foot struck its mark and hit Walter in the thigh. Such a blow could temporarily cripple a man, but Walter wasn’t stopped.

  “Not bad, Santonni.” He bared his teeth in a feral grin and drew a knife.

  Sal didn’t waste his breath talking. He needed every advantage he could get if he were to take Walter down.

  “What’s the matter, hero? Can’t talk and fight at the same time?” Walter continued the same vein of trash talk.

  Sal ignored it and focused on the goal. He didn’t give an inch, and neither did Walter. They fought with arms and legs, fists and feet. Bending his body backward, Sal used Walter’s own weight as he came at him, taking him to the ground, the knife clattering harmlessly to the deck.

  Knee against his spine, hands clamped behind his back, Sal hunkered over the man who had tried to kill Olivia. Fury whipped through him, sent his blood to boil, his hands itching to wring the life from this piece of scum.

  We’re not like him. Olivia’s words from under the pier where Calvin had held her captive filled Sal’s mind, and he felt the worst of the rage dissolve. He pulled Walter to a kneeling position and looked for something with which he could bind the man’s hands.

  A muffled pop sounded.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Olivia watched the tableau play out, saw the neat hole appear in Walter’s chest. As the life flickered out of him and the acknowledgment that he was about to die appeared in his eyes, she thought she saw a whisper of the boy she had once known.

  Sal grabbed her arm, pushed her down behind him. “The Russians,” he mouthed.

  Sal and Olivia crawled behind the wall of the boat’s cabin. “Get out of here,” he said. “I’ll cover you. You can slip over the side.”

  “No way, soldier.”

  Two men boarded the boat. Sal took out the first one with a single shot but was a few moments too late to take the second. The man fired, his aim true, and Sal fell, a bullet to the chest. Olivia bent over him to shield him from further harm but was yanked up and away.

  “Ms. Hammond, we meet again.” The voice was rough and crude, holding a kind of cruel animal menace that caused gooseflesh to pepper her arms.

  The voice from that first night. “It was you.” Memories of that night, the threatening words, the hateful knife at her throat returned with a vengeance. The man had a white slab of a face, flat cheekbones framing a broad nose, and she recognized him as one of the men who had tried to force her into the van outside the courthouse. But it was the voice that had stuck in her mind.

  “Yes. I have come for what is mine.”

  With a strength born of desperation to help Sal, she pulled away from her tormentor. She tore the tail from her shirt, stanched the blood that spurted from Sal’s chest with terrifying force.

  “Leave him. He is as good as dead.” The callousness of the words sickened her. The man jerked her to her feet once more.

  “You didn’t have to kill Walter.”

  “He took what is mine. The uranium will cause much destruction, take many lives.”

  “You’re a pig.”

  “And you will be dead. Along with your friend. You have interfered from the beginning. I should have killed you that night.”

  Olivia understood that he would make good on his words unless she did something now. “I have the drive with the information on it. I’ll give it to you if you promise not to kill us.” She whimpered, playing the part of the helpless woman to the hilt, and saw that the Russian had relaxed his posture. “I have to reach inside my pocket for it.” As she pretended to do so, she struck out with her foot, catching him in the chest.

  Shock that would have been comical at any other time crossed his face as he staggered, nearly falling. He heaved to a crouch, then propelled himself forward. He would have rammed into her, but, at the last moment, Olivia danced aside, pivoted and slammed the palm of her hand under his nose.

  Blood gushed forth, and the Russian swiped at it with the back of his hand. A string of words exploded from his mouth.

  Pain sang up her arm, but she hardly noticed it. She was too busy fighting for her life. Hers and Sal’s. She dropped to the ground, scythed her legs and knocked his feet out from under him. He crumpled to the deck. Before she could get to her feet, he snagged her ankle, pulled her down to him.

  They wrestled there on the deck of the boat. He outweighed her by at least eighty pounds. She fought with everything she had, writhing and tossing from side to side, but it wasn’t enough.

  Hands, unbelievably strong, clamped around her neck, squeezed.

  Deprived of oxygen, she grew weaker by the moment. She kicked, bucked, brought her fingers to his eyes to gouge them, but she was rapidly losing the battle. Her vision turned red, a mist she recognized as the beginning of the end.

  Have to get up. Have to help Sal.

  The words chanted through her brain. She thought she might have said them aloud. Triumph turned her opponent’s eyes into slits. “Today you will die.”

  The words, delivered in a heavy accent, penetrated the fog of her brain. She drew on the last of her reserves.

  There. The knife just out of reach. She stretched, strained until her fingertips touched it. Another quarter of an inch. The Russian didn’t notice as he was too busy choking the life from her.

  Dear Lord, help me. Her hand closed over the hilt of the knife, and she plunged the blade into his belly. Surprise skidded across his features. The hands around her neck loosened, and she gulped in a lungful of sweet air.

  “No,” she said, voice a hoarse rasp in her seared throat. “Today you die.” With one last burst of strength, she pushed the man off her and crawled to where Sal lay, bleeding and broken.

  “Livvie.”

  “Shh.” She tore the other sleeve from her shirt and replaced the makeshift bandage of the first one, praying all the while. “Help’s on the way.”

  Minutes, though it seemed like hours, later, police, EMTs and federal agents, led by Timmons, swarmed around them.

  She was propped against the side of the cabin. Gentle hands ran over her.

  “Sal.” Her throat was raw, and it hurt to talk. She wet her lips, tried again. “Help Sal.”

  “He’s being seen to.” A young woman in a blue uniform took Olivia’s vitals. “Right now, I need to see to you. Your throat feels like it’s on fire, ri
ght?”

  Olivia was given oxygen, her scrapes and scratches attended to, pain medication administered. She scarcely noticed as she looked about for Sal.

  “Your friend’s on his way to the hospital.” The EMT sent her a kind look. “Where you belong as well.”

  Olivia went to the hospital but refused to be admitted. She found the front desk and explained that she was looking for news about Salvatore Santonni. The receptionist shook her head. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t give out any information even if I had it, which I don’t.”

  Sick with worry, Olivia turned away.

  A voice boomed through the hallways. “Our son. Salvatore Santonni. He is here. We must see him. Now.” A large man, dark hair liberally streaked with white, was being soothed by a tiny woman.

  Sal’s parents?

  A nurse hurried to them. “Sir, ma’am, I’ll take you to the doctor who will be operating on your son.”

  Olivia followed at a discreet distance until the nurse saw her and frowned. “Are you family?”

  “No. I’m...a friend.”

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t go any farther.”

  Fortunately, Nicco Santonni showed up at that moment. “She’s as good as family,” he said and introduced Olivia to his parents.

  “You will come with us,” Sal’s mother said in a quiet but firm voice.

  The nurse lifted her hands. “If it’s okay with the family, then I guess it’s all right.”

  The doctor, a slender woman in blue scrubs, appeared a few moments later. “I won’t lie to you. Your son’s condition is serious.” She gave a rundown of what the surgery would entail. “But he’s young and strong. If he survives the surgery, he should make it. We’ll keep you posted.”

  Knees rubbery, Olivia sank into a green vinyl chair. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Santonni, for allowing me to be here.”

  “It’s Matteo and Rosa,” Sal’s mother said. “You are special to Salvatore. Of course you should be here.”

  Olivia visited the restroom and groaned when she saw herself in the mirror. She washed her face and did her best to smooth her hair. The bloodstained clothes would have to wait. She wasn’t leaving the hospital until she had news about Sal.

  The next hours passed in a blur of bad coffee, murmured voices and worry. Nicco had gone home to get clean clothes for his parents. When the doctor reappeared, Olivia stood, tensed.

  “Your son came through the surgery,” the doctor said, addressing Sal’s parents. “The bullet missed his heart by an inch. You can see him for a few minutes. Only two visitors at a time, please.”

  Matteo and Rosa Santonni went first. When they returned, Rosa gestured for Olivia to go.

  Olivia knew how bad she looked, but she wouldn’t allow feminine vanity to keep her from seeing Sal. She caught her breath at the sight of him hooked up to a dozen wires and tubes. His face, normally rich with color, was alarmingly pale. She reached out and touched his hand.

  He didn’t stir. She contented herself by simply looking her fill.

  His eyes opened briefly. “Olivia. You’re...you’re all right?” The words came haltingly, and she knew he paid a high price to get them out.

  “I’m fine. You’re going to be all right.” Tender mercies, she thought. It could have ended so differently. No need to tell him now that he’d been in surgery for five hours. Nor was there any need to tell him that the doctor had said the bullet had missed his heart by an inch.

  Sal closed his eyes. “Need to tell you...”

  “It can wait.”

  His eyes opened briefly. “No. Can’t wait.”

  A male nurse appeared, motioned that it was time for her to leave.

  Olivia touched her fingertips to Sal’s lips. As she walked back to the waiting room, she said a silent prayer of gratitude. Sal was going to be all right. It would take time for him to recover, but that was all right, too.

  They both needed time.

  * * *

  One week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. Far too long to spend in the hospital for one measly bullet wound.

  Sal tried to sit up on his own and lay back with a groan.

  “You are impatient. Always.” Rosa Santonni fussed over her older son. “Did you not hear the doctor? He said you must rest.”

  He struggled for the patience his mama told him he lacked. At the same time, he chafed at the knowledge that he couldn’t will his body to heal faster.

  Something good had come out of it, though. Haltingly, he’d told his parents about his time as the Hawk.

  “Do you think we love you less?” his mama had demanded, tears gathering in her eyes. “We will never be anything but proud of you, our Salvatore.”

  “You served your country well. You are a hero,” his father added.

  Olivia had said much the same thing as they’d hidden in the cave. Thoughts of her prompted him to push his body into a sitting position, despite his mama’s protests. He needed to tell Olivia something, and he couldn’t do it while he was lying flat on his back. He learned she’d been there every day to see him but always when he was asleep. Had she purposefully timed her visits?

  Over the last couple of years, he’d watched his friends fall in love. The path hadn’t been smooth for any of them, but they’d persevered and found the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the journey in the form of a forever love.

  Sal wanted that for himself. He wanted the happily-ever-after his parents and sisters and friends had found. He wanted the whole thing. He’d realized something else as well: the faith he’d thought he’d lost forever had returned there in the marsh as he’d prayed to the Lord to protect Olivia.

  His parents, sisters and Nicco had visited, along with a parade of friends, including Shelley and Caleb Judd and Jake and Dani Rabb. Shelley told him that Homeland had found the HEU on Walter’s boat and had put an end to the terrorists’ plans.

  Even Timmons and Jeppsen had stopped by, Jeppsen with his arm in a sling.

  “The Russian survived and is singing his heart out,” Timmons said. “Turns out he prefers to spend the rest of his life in a prison cell here in the good ’ol US of A rather than facing his terrorist buddies back in Russia.”

  “You came through for us, Santonni,” Jeppsen added. “Thanks.”

  At any other time, Sal would have been gratified with the news. Right now, all he could think of was Olivia.

  When his mama fussed with his pillow, he almost growled at her. “I need to see Olivia. I have to talk with her.”

  “You will see her when it is right. Now you must rest.”

  * * *

  Olivia had been to the hospital every day, making certain that her visits coincided with Sal’s sleeping schedule. She’d talked with his parents, brother and sisters, but she had yet to talk with Sal since the day of his surgery. She doubted he even remembered what they’d said.

  So, okay, she was a coward.

  She knew her heart, but she didn’t know his. He’d rejected her love but had still come after her when Walter had taken her. He hadn’t given up his need to protect her, which meant he still cared. Didn’t it?

  It was time to act like the responsible adult she was and face him. If he told her once again that there was nothing for them, she’d accept that and move on. Her heart would break all over again, but she’d deal with it.

  In between trips to the hospital, she’d paid a visit to Bryan at jail, found him subdued but grateful that he’d been cleared of the kidnapping and murder charges.

  “Thanks for doing what you did,” he said, surprising her. “You didn’t have to.”

  She prayed that Bryan would get the help he needed for his problems and maybe even make something of his life when he had served his time.

  The partners at Chantry & Hammond had pooled their re
sources and decided to keep the firm going. As it was deemed unseemly to keep the name Chantry in the title, a debate was even now being waged as to which partner’s name should go first in the firm’s new letterhead. It didn’t matter to Olivia. She planned to strike out on her own and do the kind of work her father had started out to do.

  One week after Sal’s surgery, she shored up her courage and made the now familiar trip to the hospital. Voice deliberately bright, she filled the room with chatter, not giving him the opportunity to speak.

  “Sal. You’re looking better. That’s good. Really good. We won the court case. The parents will get a settlement. It won’t be enough—how could it be? But we set a precedent for other such cases.”

  Sal waited until she paused for a breath. “I never doubted you.”

  “Your family is wonderful. I’ve gotten to know them—”

  He held up a hand, cutting her off. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  “We saved each other.”

  “There’s more. That night in the cave, you made me look at myself and what I did and why I did it.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “I’ll never regret serving my country. That’s truth. I’m a different man than I was then. That’s also truth.”

  “Truth matters. And here’s another: you would never be anything other than honorable.”

  “That’s what my parents said. I told them about my role as the Hawk. You were right about them.”

  “I’m glad. For you and for them.” She let her gaze move over him, felt the familiar lift and squeeze of her heart.

  He took her hand in his. “I was running scared from my faith. It turned out I’d never stopped believing, I’d just forgotten how.” The breath he drew was shaky. “That’s not the only thing I was running from. I was afraid to admit that I loved you. You are everything I want, everything I need. You make me more than I am.”

  Unbearably touched, she looked at this man who had found his way into her heart and knew that she would love him forever.

  “I want it all,” he said, voice hoarse. “A wife. A family. A dog who drools. Bicycles in the driveway. Skateboards on the porch.”