Книга - Abducted

Abducted
Dana Mentink


On the RunWhen the high school sweetheart she never expected to see again bursts through the door of her medical mission clinic, nurse Sarah Gallagher can't hold back her shock. But Dominic Jett isn't there to catch up. He's trying to save a life, and the thugs on his tail will stop at nothing to catch him. Now abducted and imprisoned on a remote island, Sarah and Jett become pawns in a tug-of-war between a powerful drug lord and a devious madman. And their only chance for survival is working together to find the valuable painting the dangerous men are searching for. But with someone trying to kill them at every turn, can they locate it in time to keep their reunion from turning fatal?







ON THE RUN

When the high school sweetheart she never expected to see again bursts through the door of her medical mission clinic, nurse Sarah Gallagher can’t hold back her shock. But Dominic Jett isn’t there to catch up. He’s trying to save a life, and the thugs on his tail will stop at nothing to catch him. Now abducted and imprisoned on a remote island, Sarah and Jett become pawns in a tug-of-war between a powerful drug lord and a devious madman. And their only chance for survival is working together to find the valuable painting the dangerous men are searching for. But with someone trying to kill them at every turn, can they locate it in time to keep their reunion from turning fatal?


“Who is out there?” Sarah whispered.

“I can make out two men. Three maybe.”

“The police?” Her heart leaped as she sawed away at the bands around his ankle. “Rodriguez must have figured out what happened and sent help.”

Jett stared into the sunlight. “Uh-uh.”

Sarah worked frantically with the blade, freeing his ankles. “Jett, what are you thinking? Who are those men?”

“EODs have a motto,” he said slowly. “Always prepare for the worst.”

“How could this situation get any worse?”

Jett put his bound hands on her shoulder and held on, as if he could somehow anchor her there away from the danger. She reached for his hands to try to release them from the zip tie. “Jett?” she asked frantically. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve got that feeling.”

“What feeling?”

“The kind of feeling I get right before something blows up.”


DANA MENTINK is an award-winning author of Christian fiction. Her novel Betrayal in the Badlands won a 2010 RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award, and she was pleased to win the 2013 Carol Award for Lost Legacy. She has authored more than a dozen Love Inspired Suspense novels. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her via her website at danamentink.com (http://www.danamentink.com).


Abducted

Dana Mentink






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.

—John 16:33


To Laurie, Shelley and Lindsay, those darling three that have my back and fill my life with the kind of love that only sisters can give.


Contents

Cover (#u21306276-914f-51aa-ac86-97d8d1e8e751)

Back Cover Text (#u7fd1e609-b28f-5376-a8c3-455bbd9be752)

Introduction (#u6631ea2c-b1a2-533a-bfff-a7ac3a5963e1)

About the Author (#u2b7b7e88-4011-5a87-9e06-3a089d232aae)

Title Page (#u39aeb06f-f153-5bac-9f33-a291e93bcbd4)

Bible Verse (#u50a05c94-a4be-55c3-8e45-d10979c5e7ac)

Dedication (#u3840a398-a536-5963-a6c4-6c83129142cc)

ONE (#uf0bfc768-67ba-5b6a-b2a0-22ededf6c614)

TWO (#uda13323c-ce58-534a-81de-6ab25c5ced48)

THREE (#ua421116c-07dd-5494-8bce-1b9b8003f86b)

FOUR (#u7a9846bf-048a-5eb2-981c-3d33d8359653)

FIVE (#ubce0246c-69a1-57dd-9489-319a3ab25d59)

SIX (#uec8b4a7a-d4d7-5e65-8552-2960a7c7d0d6)

SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

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THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


ONE (#uf30e1309-c5cd-5bdf-a0ae-6c050322df36)

Sarah Gallagher stood frozen in shock as Dominic Jett lurched through the clinic door, a limp body draped over his shoulder. The hot Mexican sun etched his bleeding face in golden fire. Why was he here in her clinic? She must be seeing things.

Peering at Sarah through swollen eyes, Jett sighed. “I really hate hospitals.” His legs buckled and he dropped to his knees, letting his burden slide to the floor. His collapse finally jerked Sarah from her frozen shock.

She ran to the men, Juanita two steps behind her. Juanita called for their teenage helper to summon her father, the doctor, from the next village. Somehow she and Juanita wrestled the two men onto cots. It was a harder job with Jett, who was six feet five inches of ornery muscle and bone. He might not be in the navy anymore, but he kept his fighting trim. Sarah examined him, pleased to see his eyelids flicker open, revealing the chocolate-brown eyes that haunted her dreams, now hazed with pain. As they slowly opened, she recalled being lost in those eyes, her high school sweetheart, her everything. She blinked away the memory. “Can you tell me your name?” she asked.

“George Washington,” he said, pushing her hands away. “I’m okay. Stop poking me.”

Typical. He was the same stubborn, reckless man she’d known since they’d gone steady nine years before, except...different, as if the soul inside him had hardened into granite. She’d heard a rumor that he was working on a dive boat near the health clinic where she was completing her last medical mission, but she hadn’t believed it. “Just hold still and let me check your pupils at least. What happened? Did you say the wrong thing to the wrong guy again?”

“For your information, I saved that scrawny dude over there from the three men trying to beat him senseless. I was trying to be a do-gooder, like you.” His tone dripped with sarcasm. “See where that got me?”

She would not rise to take the bait, not now. Instead she pressed a wad of cotton to the cut on his forehead, her fingers grazing the strong bones of his cheek. He winced.

“Sorry,” she said, her stomach tightening at the intensity in his eyes. “Hold this while I get some disinfectant,” she commanded, pressing his fingers to the cotton, trying not to let the feel of his hand distract her. “Did you get hit on the head?” A blow on top of the injury she knew he’d sustained in his navy service could prove deadly.

His eyes narrowed, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Just help him. I’m okay.”

“Jett...”

He sat up, wincing again. “I said I’m okay. Go minister to someone else.”

He was pushing her away like she’d done to him so many years ago. The lump in her throat surprised her. “Jett...”

An engine noise drew her to the door. She peeked out, heart dropping into her shoes at the sight of three men getting out of their truck. If she had any doubts about their intent, one look at what they carried told her the truth—one held a machete and the others baseball bats.

The tallest of them looked up, gave her a lazy smile. She slammed the door and dropped the bar across it. At least there were already stout beams in place covering most of the windows, an effort to keep away thieves.

Jett sat up. “What?”

“Three men,” was all she could get past her terrified lips. Jett dived off the table and started to drag a heavy file cabinet in front of the door. She went to help him, pulse thundering.

“I got this,” he snapped. “Go check the back.”

Though she knew the back door was locked and secure, she raced to the rear of the small clinic, where there was a single window covered with shutters instead of barred to allow for ventilation. As she watched, the shutters were ripped aside and a man’s arm plunged through the gap where the window had been raised a few inches. She skidded to a stop, shoes squeaking on the tile. While she looked desperately around to find something to use to fight him off, he cranked the window frame up and stuck his head inside. His eyes were red rimmed, wild, as if he was under the influence of drugs or alcohol or just plain hatred. There was an ugly purple bruise darkening his cheekbone—probably courtesy of Dominic Jett, she surmised.

She grabbed a teakettle from the stove and swung it as hard as she could. The man grunted, protecting his head with his crooked arm. His thin lips contorted in anger. He grabbed at her, catching her by the wrist and twisting until she dropped the kettle, gasping in pain. She could feel his hot breath on her face as he pulled her close, struggling to both get in the window and hold onto her.

If he managed to make it inside, they would all be dead, she had no doubt. His grip was so hard she felt her fingers start to go numb. With his other hand, he reached inside to grab for her hair.

She struggled to pull away, jostling a pitcher of disinfecting fluid with two pairs of surgical scissors soaking inside. The pitcher was inches from her grasp, and she strained to reach it. Muscles pulled tight and her neck aching with the effort, she finally grasped the handle. She heaved it sideways at the man, dousing him with the contents. Eyes stinging, he pulled back just enough for her to slam the window and lock it.

She expected him to grab the nearest rock and use it to smash the glass to pieces. Her mouth fell open in surprise as she saw him run away. Panting, trying valiantly to make her lungs start to work properly again, she returned on wobbly legs to the front room.

Juanita turned frightened eyes on her. “They’ve left, for now.”

“Why?” she managed, the terror making her tongue slow and unwieldy.

She soon saw for herself what had discouraged them as Jett let in a uniformed police officer. Don Rodriguez, Sarah knew, the commandant of the tiny Mexican village. She offered a relieved greeting, which he returned politely. Rodriguez stood, hands clasped behind his back, heavy brows twitching as he took in every detail of Jett and the unconscious stranger.

“There were men outside,” Sarah said between gasps. “They attacked Jett and they were about to break in here when you arrived.”

He shot a disdainful look at Jett. “It seems you have found trouble. Again.”

Jett wiped the sweat off his forehead. “This time, it found me. I was returning from picking up a fuel filter a couple miles down the road and I came upon three guys beating on this one.” He jutted his chin at the unconscious man. “They were trying to force him into their truck.”

“Does he have any identification?” the officer asked.

Juanita handed him a wallet she’d taken out of the victim’s pocket. “It says his name is Del Young.”

Sarah thought the officer’s mouth tightened at the name, but perhaps it was her imagination. Her nerves were still firing too erratically to trust her judgment. “Do you know him?”

“No. He is a stranger to me.” He looked at Jett. “And the men beating him? They showed up here?”

Jett confirmed with a nod.

“What do you know of them?”

“Three guys, short, stocky, plenty strong. One was missing part of his pinky finger.”

Now there was no mistaking the nervous look that stole over Rodriguez’s face. “I will look into this matter. Best to let this man go.”

“Go?” Sarah gaped. “He’s unconscious. He needs to be flown to a hospital before those thugs return to kill him.”

Rodriguez cocked his head, weighing his reply. “These men, the ones you fought,” he said to Jett, “they work for Antonio Beretta.”

Sarah felt her stomach flip over.

“Yeah? Who’s that?” Jett said.

Sarah gaped. “How could you have lived here for a month and run a dive business and not know Antonio Beretta?”

Jett pulled the bloody cotton from his forehead and tossed it in the trash can. “I’m not the neighborhood busybody. I try to mind my own business.” He gave her a sly smile. “But it’s nice to know you’ve been keeping track of my life. I didn’t know you’d paid attention to when I’d arrived.”

She rolled her eyes. “Beretta’s a very wealthy, very powerful man,” she said. “We treated one of his victims just before you arrived.”

“Victims?”

“Someone who crossed him.” And would never cross him again, she thought with a shiver. “Beretta runs drugs.”

“Rumors,” Rodriguez said.

“More than rumors.” Sarah looked at her patient. “You think we should leave this man because Beretta is after him for some reason?”

“This is a local concern. You should not be involved.”

“I’m a medical missionary, and he’s injured. I’m already involved.”

Rodriguez stared at her. “You have done good things for the people in my town, so I am telling you this out of gratitude. If you are in Beretta’s way, he will kill you and everyone with you, and no one, not even God Himself, will be able to save you.”

Her chin went up. “God brought me here for a reason, and I’m not going to leave my patient to die,” she snapped.

Rodriguez shrugged. “If Beretta is involved, he is already a dead man. Take him back where you found him and leave him there.”

Sarah stared him right in the face. “I’m not going to do that.”

“As you wish. It is no matter to me.”

“Well, aren’t you going to investigate?” Her cheeks flushed hot. “We need some protection, at least.”

“I have other matters to attend to.”

“You’re not even going to do your job?” she demanded.

He pointed a finger at her. “Please do not tell me about my job. You have no right to direct affairs here.”

“I am a part of this community.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t it true that you are due to leave next week, Senorita Gallagher?”

She didn’t answer.

“It is fact, is it not? Your mission in Playa del Oro—” his tone dripped with derision “—is nearly complete, and then you will fly away to your comfortable life in America and our lives here will continue on.”

“That doesn’t mean—” she started.

“You are an outsider, in case you have forgotten,” Rodriguez said, “and now you are on your own.” He whirled on his heel and exited the clinic.

Sarah walked to the door and watched him drive away. “He’s not going to do a thing,” she said. “Unbelievable.”

“But understandable,” Jett said, “if Beretta is such a bad dude.”

She stared outside, wondering when the men would return. “No, it isn’t, not to me.”

“Ah, Sarah, always the idealist,” Jett said, and she thought there was a tinge of longing in the words under the sarcasm. It confused her, and she turned back toward her patient.

The man on the other cot lay completely still. He was probably in his mid-thirties, thin, with blond hair that hung in sweat-soaked clumps almost down to his chin. Her heart went out to him. A stranger to Playa del Oro finds himself the victim of a violent attack. Not so unusual anymore in a town that struggled with a flourishing drug trade, poverty, gang violence and corruption. She’d grown to love the town and the people here in her last two medical missions. But Rodriguez was right, she was scheduled to leave, and this time she would not return, since she was starting down a new path, retiring from nursing to join the family private investigation business.

Young’s cheeks were swollen and bruised. She wondered who he was, if his family was worrying about him, if he had a wife somewhere standing by, waiting for the phone to ring. Was he a father? Her heart squeezed. She knew how huge a hole a father’s death could leave in a family.

Juanita’s face was grave. “He’s got a serious head injury. There’s a laceration on his arm and cheek that need stitches.”

And they had no CAT scan machine, not here in the Playa del Oro mission clinic. “We’re going to need to move him to Puerto Rosado as soon as we can stabilize him. The hospital there can handle this.”

Jett was sitting up now. “I can take him up the coast in my boat. We have to get him and you out of here before the Three Stooges return.”

She bit her lip. “We’ll find someone to fly us. It will be faster.”

“No, it won’t. The airport is an hour away, and you’re going to have to pay a king’s ransom for a pilot, not to mention they’ll soak you for fuel.”

He was right, of course, but she wasn’t ready to admit that to him. “For now we’ll monitor his vitals, stitch him up and wait for the doctor to check him out. We’ll keep the doors and windows locked.”

“That is a ridiculous plan,” he snapped.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“I’m offering it, free of charge. You can’t stay here and...” Jett’s head jerked up. He made for the front door again and looked out. “Too late,” he said. “They’re back, and this time they’re not going to leave until they finish the job.”

There was a sound of shattering terra cotta, a baseball bat decimating the pots of bougainvillea on the porch. Then they began to batter down the door.

* * *

The bat struck so hard the walls shook.

In spite of the urgency, Jett admired the fire in Sarah’s hazel eyes, the firm tilt of her delicate chin as she’d tried to figure out how to save her patient. He attempted to shake off the ringing in his ears that had roared to life again when he’d taken on the thugs. Great. He’d finally overcome the seizures, leftovers from the grievous injury that had ruined his navy career and reduced him to being the dive master on a rinky-dink boat in Tijuana. Now the ringing was back.

He ground his teeth together. You’ll overcome this, too.

The next crack of the bat against the door sounded like cannon fire. Both women jumped.

Jett tried for what he figured was a reasonable tone. “We’ve got to get him out of here.”

“It’s not safe to move him. He might be bleeding internally,” Sarah said.

“He’s going to be bleeding externally, too, if we don’t move, and so will the rest of us.” Another pot shattered outside.

She trembled, the crown of her blond head barely brushing his chin as they hauled the kitchen table over to join the file cabinet. “Just because Marco sicced you on me doesn’t mean I have to take orders from you,” she fired off.

He tensed. “Marco didn’t sic me on you. He asked me to make sure you were okay during your missionary stint, and since I was in Tijuana, it was easy for me to make my way to this part of the coast for a while.” A partial truth. Even if his bank account hadn’t been down to his last hundred bucks, he still wouldn’t have taken the job so close to Sarah if Marco Quidel, his mentor and a protector to the Gallagher sisters, hadn’t asked him to. He wouldn’t let Marco down for anything. You’re a sap, Jett, for all your tough-guy moves.

One of the men was shouting now, whacking his baseball bat against the walls of the clinic as he looked for windows or unlocked doors.

Sarah went pale. “Will anyone come to help us?”

Jett braced himself against the next blow as boots began to smash against the flimsy door.

“Sorry, Sarah Gal. We’re on our own.”


TWO (#uf30e1309-c5cd-5bdf-a0ae-6c050322df36)

Jett saw Sarah flinch, her slight frame tensing as if an electric current had passed through it. “The same men?” she whispered.

“Beretta’s guys, all right.” His gaze slid to the unconscious man on the table. Like the cop said, they’d come back to finish the job.

One of the tiny windows set high up in the walls shattered, and a rock clunked onto the floor along with a shower of glass. “Get back,” he yelled. Fortunately, the tiny opening was too small for the thugs to get through, but their message was clear.

Coming for you.

It was just a matter of moments now.

Sarah raced to the back, only to return seconds later. “There’s a guy out there again, too. He’s almost gotten through. I wedged a chair under the handle, but it won’t hold for long.”

“Any other exits?”

Sarah looked at Juanita who nodded. “There’s an underground exit off the cellar, but we’ve never had to use it before.”

“No time like the present,” Jett said.

“What if it’s boarded up?”

“Then we kick it open. Take Young down there and get out. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.” Their blows were already causing the heavy wood to shudder.

“I can’t just leave you here,” Sarah said, mouth twisted.

“I’ll be right behind you. Get moving.”

“But...”

One booted foot punched through the wood and slammed against the metal file drawers, the impact vibrating his spine. It was probably the time for calm reasoning and diplomacy, but he had none to offer. Besides, in his experience the best way to combat fear was a commanding officer barking orders at you. “Now, Sarah,” he thundered. “Go now.”

Sarah and Juanita threw a bag of supplies together and loaded Young onto a stretcher, strapping him onto the canvas frame. Juanita heaved open the trapdoor in the floor and crawled down first, guiding the stretcher into a near vertical position with Sarah on the other end.

“Jett...” Sarah said, green-gold eyes wide with fear. He could see now that her hands were shaking. Badly.

“Go on,” he said, trying for a gentler tone that was still persuasive. He wasn’t sure how hard he should push her, how strong she was after being in the hospital so long after the accident that killed her father, but there wasn’t much choice at the moment. She’d always been a strong person, and he had to hope that was still the case. “I’ll be right behind you.”

He could see her jaw muscles tighten. She flashed him a determined, almost defiant look—which he loved—before she climbed into the hole with her end of the stretcher. It couldn’t have been easy, but she managed the thing. Sarah Gallagher, you still got your spunk.

He shoved his back against the file cabinet to make the inevitable breach take as long as possible. The metal slammed against his shoulder blades, nearly taking him off his feet. As much as he longed for a rematch, he was not going to win another fight against these three, not now, when he was still bruised and sore from their last encounter. The thought rankled him. He was going to lose. Again. He detested losing, always had.

Fine, he thought. If he was going down, at least he’d buy time for the women to get out with their patient. He looked around for something, anything useful. No weapons, no tools. What he wouldn’t give for a baseball bat or a shovel.

The jug of hand sanitizer. He smiled. Alcohol based, classified as class I flammable liquid substance with a flash point of less than one hundred degrees. Not as satisfying as disposing of small arms ammo with copious amounts of gasoline and thermite, but it might gain them a few minutes. Of course, Sarah would never condone the damage it would cause, but lives were more important than property and beggars couldn’t be choosers.

He seized the jug and a handful of towels. Throwing the towels down on the center of the floor, he dumped on the gel, two gallons of it. Then he grabbed a box of matches and lit it. It took a few seconds for the alcohol in the gel to catch. When it flamed to life, he dumped on a pile of paper towels, just for some extra oomph, and soon the smoke filled the small building, tickling his nose and stinging his eyes. Excellent.

He heard the creak of metal as their boots finally crashed through the door and started to work on shoving the file cabinet aside. In the back the sound of splintering wood indicated Sarah’s barricade was near failing. One more minute and Beretta’s men would walk right into the wall of smoke. His nerves were dancing with adrenaline. Fire, smoke, danger, risk. Good times.

Enjoy the campfire, gentlemen. With one last smile, he raced to the trapdoor and let himself down into the darkness, closing it firmly behind him.

* * *

Sarah felt like her lungs would explode in her chest as she and Juanita bumped through the damp earthen basement with their stricken patient. They tried their best to sync their steps to avoid jostling him too much.

Please, God, don’t let the exit be blocked.

She strained to hear the sound of running feet above her. Fear coiled like a live snake in her stomach. Jett was battered, alone with three men, and he had the same superhero attitude he’d had all his life. It was the same attitude that caused him to take a dare one stormy evening to jump a riverbed on his motorcycle. That hadn’t ended well. She still remembered her fear at seeing him there in the hospital bed, still and unresponsive. What had she been thinking leaving him in the clinic by himself? But how could she abandon her patient?

“Juanita, I can’t hold the stretcher much longer,” she panted.

“Here’s the door.” Sweating and gasping, they eased past stacks of boxes. Juanita heaved a heavy wooden bar aside and swung the door open. Brilliant June sunlight nearly blinded them, wrapping them in the sizzling heat of a Mexican afternoon.

They stepped out to find themselves in the weed-filled space that doubled as a parking lot for those few who were fortunate enough to have a vehicle. Incredibly, the doctor’s old, battered truck was there. He’d opted to walk to the nearby village to save the cost of the fuel. Sarah almost cried with relief.

“Quick,” she said. “We’ll load him in. Then I’m going back to help Jett.”

“No,” Juanita said, frightened eyes opened wide.

Sarah did not listen. Instead she helped Juanita ease Young into the bed of the truck. Juanita got behind the wheel and fingered the visor where her father always left the keys.

“Start it up,” Sarah commanded. “Drive a mile down the road and wait. If we don’t come in ten minutes, take him to your father.”

Juanita’s lips pinched with fear. “Beretta’s men will kill you both.”

Sarah steeled her spine against the wild fear. “I’m not going to leave Jett. He’s our patient, too.”

Juanita clung to her hand until Sarah pulled away. Juanita started the engine, and Sarah prayed the attackers would not hear the noise.

She raced back to basement, noting the smell of smoke in the air.

She wanted to yell for Jett, but she was afraid of attracting any attention, so she crept on, stopping every few feet to listen. The tang of smoke was stronger now, which hastened her pace toward the ladder. They wouldn’t dare burn down the clinic, would they? In the back of her mind, she still could not believe someone was intent on murdering Del Young.

So naive, Sarah. Your father was murdered. Why not Del? Why not you? It had been a mere six months since the car she was driving was forced off the road and her detective father was killed. It had required a full four weeks in the hospital for her body to recover from the injuries she’d sustained in the accident. Justice had been served, thanks to Marco and her sisters and it had given her a desire to earn her detective license while she lay in the hospital recovering. But she’d insisted on fulfilling her promise to do her final missionary service in Playa del Oro. Would she pay for that decision with her life? Forcing herself to move beyond the paralyzing terror, she’d just put her hand on the first rung when a calloused palm sealed off her mouth. She thrashed her arms and tried to clamp her teeth on her assailant.

“Stop biting and don’t scream,” Jett breathed, holding her tightly. “Or they’ll be down here in two seconds.”

Relief made her knees go weak.

He eased his hand away, and she could not help wrapping him in a tight hug. His hands went reflexively around her waist, and he chuckled softly. “You won’t think I deserve a hug when you find out about my little diversion,” he whispered, lips grazing her ear. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

Her good sense returned, and she shoved him away. “I was just...relieved that you weren’t dead.”

“You and me both,” he said, taking her hand and urging her back toward the exit. “That would have ruined my whole day. Keep moving. We don’t have much of a head start. Where’s your helper?”

Sarah told her the plan she’d concocted.

“That was savvy,” he said.

“You sound surprised.”

“Didn’t think you had the street smarts to come up with a plan like that.”

“Just because I’m not a tough guy like you doesn’t mean I can’t think on my feet.”

“Yeah, you were thinking just fine when you dumped me in high school.”

Heat seared her cheeks as she yanked her hand away. “Maybe this isn’t the greatest time to go into our past relationship failures.”

“Your failure, not mine. I wasn’t the one who walked away. You broke up with me, remember?”

She ground her teeth together to keep from firing off an angry retort. The light traced the exit door just ahead of them. They burst through the sultry air into the sunlight. Darting a look back, she saw drifts of smoke coming from the clinic. In the distance came the shouts of the men inside and a clamor of Spanish as the townspeople came running with buckets to put out the fire.

He grabbed her hand again and tugged her into action.

Keeping their heads down, they ran along the road, kicking up pockets of dust, heading for the cluster of palm trees where Juanita must be waiting.

“Just how big a diversion did you create?” Sarah panted, turning to look back again at the smoking clinic.

“It’s still standing, isn’t it?” Jett said. “There she is.” They ran to the idling truck and leaped in the back next to the patient. Juanita sat ramrod straight behind the wheel, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

“Drive to the dock,” Jett commanded.

“They’ll find you there,” Juanita said. “Come with me until it’s dark. I have a place we can hide that Beretta’s men don’t know about. My father will treat Mr. Young there. You can sneak out after sunset.”

“But the police...” Sarah said.

Juanita put the truck in gear. “They are of no help.”

“She’s right,” Jett said. “The cops aren’t going to keep this guy safe from Beretta—Rodriguez told you as much. We have to get out of here, head for US waters. The coast guard will intercept us, and we can tell them the whole story.”

Sarah shook her head. “We can’t just run away. We have to tell the doctor, arrange to have another nurse assigned, talk to the chief of police...”

“I will do all that,” Juanita said quietly.

“No,” Sarah said. “Not alone. You won’t be safe.”

“This village is my home,” Juanita said. “I’m not leaving. My father and I will keep the clinic open and talk to the police, even though it will do no good.”

“I can’t...”

“Yes,” she said, catching Sarah’s eye in the rearview mirror. “You must.”

Sarah had worked with Juanita for the three months she’d been at the clinic, and the woman had always been quiet, even tempered. The iron in her voice was new, or perhaps Sarah had not taken the time to recognize it before.

“Okay,” she finally said. “We’ll escape after dark.” As they sped out of town toward Juanita’s house, Sarah prayed darkness would come quickly.


THREE (#uf30e1309-c5cd-5bdf-a0ae-6c050322df36)

It was nearly four when they arrived with their ailing patient at a small brick building with a crooked front door and a corrugated metal roof. Jett figured it had been a little café at one time, but now the windows were shuttered and the front step sagged. Like the town itself, it seemed to be sinking under the crushing weight of the poverty all around it.

He climbed from the truck and tried to stretch out some of the stiffness in his back, but the pain from his bruised body put an end to that. You’re not an eighteen-year-old kid anymore, he thought. There’s a price to be paid now for putting your body on the line. Didn’t matter. He’d pay it anyway, regardless of the consequences. He’d never hesitated to take the savage blows intended for his mother.

Why don’t you hit me? he’d taunted his father countless times when dear old Dad had come home stinking of whiskey. Leave her alone, he’d shouted, like a lion tamer luring a beast with an offering of fresh meat. He shook the thought away, wondering if he’d ever be able to rid himself of those memories.

A one-eared dog trotted up, sniffing the group as they unloaded Young from the truck, offering a tentative yip. Another hungry soul, scrounging anywhere for anything. Jett stooped to give the bony head a pat. “Sorry I don’t have any food for you, boy.”

The dog wagged its tail anyway as Juanita hurried to open the door. “Inside, quickly,” she said.

The interior was molten, warmer even than the air outside. Immediately they were bathed in sweat. Jett and Sarah carried Young inside and laid his stretcher on a long wooden table. Sarah loosened his straps, and he moaned. His eyes flickered open, but he was clearly out of it, forehead lined with pain and eyes sunken, skin waxy.

“He needs IV fluids,” Sarah said, rummaging in her bag.

Juanita nodded. “While you administer them, I will go get us some food and water.”

“Want me to go with you?” Jett said. “What if Beretta’s men followed us?”

Juanita flashed a quick smile. “Then I will be quick, and on the lookout like Detective Sarah.”

Sarah laughed, a sound that was at odds with their dire circumstances, like the peal of cheerful music in a dungeon. “I left my magnifying glass back in Coronado. Right now, I’m Nurse Sarah.”

“Probably a more helpful occupation for the circumstances.” Juanita frowned at the patient and sped out the door, closing it behind her.

Jett watched Sarah fuss over Young. “So how exactly are you going to be both a nurse and a detective?”

Her attention was fixed on her work. “I’ve decided to give up nursing after this mission and help full-time with the detective agency.”

That surprised him. She’d always been passionate about her occupation. “Yeah? Why did you decide on that?”

“Because I guess I’ve had enough of death,” she said.

The expression, that sadness in her voice, made him want to fold her in his arms. The experience of losing her father had changed her, taking some of the brilliance away from her smile. But, hey, he thought uncharitably, she had her God. Wasn’t He supposed to protect people like her? Still, it grieved him that she should be touched by tragedy of that magnitude. Some people deserved the bitter stuff that life dished out to them. Sarah did not.

As he puzzled over what to say, he made himself useful by holding the plastic tubing and handing Sarah the materials as she gloved up, applied the tourniquet, disinfected Young’s arm with a small wipe and started the IV. He held up the bag of fluids as she released the tourniquet. A nail protruding from the wall served as a good place to hang it. Jett envied the liquid being pumped into Young. His own mouth was so dry he could hardly manage a swallow.

As she snapped off her gloves, she talked soothingly to Young, stroking his hand and wiping his brow with a clean cloth. Her patter was meant to be comforting, he supposed, but for Jett, it brought back too many memories, too many consoling platitudes that were intended to encourage him after the vehicle accident that left him with a serious head injury.

“Can I pray for you?” Sarah asked her patient.

Pray? The word made Jett bristle inside. She was living in a fantasy world, praying to a God who didn’t listen or just didn’t care, a fact he’d thought she would have learned after her accident. Either way, it sickened him. Let’s pray for your recovery, the hospital chaplain had said to Jett a year ago. Ask God to take away your pain. He’d done neither, and what was more, He’d taken away Jett’s career, the only light in Jett’s life.

God wasn’t some fairy-tale father who granted wishes. He created humans and left them to drown in their own misery, which wasn’t any better than Jett’s worthless earthly parent, currently serving time in prison. How could a smart girl like Sarah not see that for herself? He felt her gaze on him, and he looked away.

As Young’s eyelids fluttered open again, he moaned, whispering something.

She bent closer to hear, her dark blond hair brushing the table. Young grasped her wrist, his mouth moving sporadically before he got the words out. “You’re a detective?” he croaked.

“I’ve got a detective license,” she said. “But don’t worry. Right now, I’m your nurse. You’re going to get some fluids, which will help you feel more comfortable, and we’ll get you to a proper hospital.”

“You’ve got to go find her,” he murmured.

She shot Jett a look, and he moved closer. “What did you say, Mr. Young?”

He squeezed her wrist as a spasm of pain crossed his face and he struggled to sit up against Sarah’s restraining hands.

“Find who?” Jett said.

Young’s eyes suddenly rolled back in his head, and he collapsed back on the table.

Sarah checked his pulse and breathing. “He’s hanging on by a thread. If we don’t get him to a doctor soon, he’s not going to make it.” She pushed the sweat-soaked hair from his face and fanned him with a notepad from her bag. “What do you think he means by ‘go find her’?”

Jett shrugged. “You’re the detective. Your family’s making quite a name for themselves in the investigation business.”

“Marco’s been filling you in?”

“He told me your sister recently cracked a case in Cobalt Cove.”

She smiled. “How sweet that you stay up-to-date on Gallagher family business.”

“I don’t,” he said, more severely than he’d meant to. “But seeing as how you and your sisters run an investigation firm, do your thing. Solve this guy’s mystery.”

“How am I supposed to do that under the present circumstances?”

“Don’t look at me—I’m just a diver. But it sounds like you just got yourself a case, Detective.”

* * *

Jett was clearly mocking her, so she ignored the remark. “Mr. Young? Can you hear me?” But he was unconscious. Go find whom? Was whoever he was looking for the reason he’d been beaten? The cause of Beretta’s relentless attention?

There was no sense in talking it over with Jett. He’d gone to the back window to wrench loose one of the boards, allowing a breeze to waft in. Delicious, she thought, lifting the hair off her neck and tying it into a ponytail with a piece of gauze. If she’d had a moment more to pack, she’d have been much better prepared, but as it was, she’d only tossed in basic medical supplies, her passport and one granola bar. At the bottom of the bag were two precious bottles of water. Thirst clawed at her. As much as she wanted to rip off the cap and guzzle some of the water, she was uncertain about their upcoming journey and she thought it best to save it. Maybe she should offer a bottle to Jett.

He’d stepped out into the back, which was nothing more than a scruff of weed-covered ground, dry and parched. He knelt to play with the one-eared dog who was so skinny she could see his ribs. Jett stroked his big hands tenderly over the dog’s delicate frame. Those same hands had caressed her face with a featherlight touch.

She was transported back in time to their first date, a trip to the ice cream parlor and a walk on the beach. He’d found a shell for her in the sand, a delicate white scallop tinged with the fiery glow of a sunrise on the inside. Shyly, he’d offered it to her.

It’s perfect, he’d said. Like you.

She remembered his arms embracing her, a bittersweet reminder. So much anger and so much heart wrapped up in one maddening man, she thought.

“Here,” she said, handing him a bottle of water.

“Thanks.” He twisted the cap and poured a small amount into his hand. The dog lapped it up eagerly. Jett lifted the bottle to his lips, eyeing her before he put it to his mouth. “Hang on. Did you get some?”

“I’m okay.”

He shook his head and handed it back to her. “You drink half.”

“I don’t need any.”

“Fine. Then I don’t, either.”

She folded her arms. “You’re a patient. Patients before nurses.”

“You’re a woman,” he snapped. “Women before men.”

He folded his arms to match hers, and she knew he wasn’t going to give in. “You’re infuriating, you know that?” she said, snatching the bottle.

“Funny how many people tell me that.”

She gulped, restraining herself from downing it all. Even though it was warm, the water tasted delectable. Then she handed it to him, and he drained the rest. They stood in the yard, trying to find some relief from the stifling heat, until Juanita called from inside. She’d returned with a bag of savory-smelling food and a clay jug. Sarah’s mouth watered.

“My cousin makes excellent chilaquiles. There is no meat today, but it is still good, I think.”

“It smells divine,” Sarah said.

She handed them plastic forks, metal plates covered with foil and two paper cups, which she filled with water. Jett raised his to his mouth, drinking it in two swallows.

Sarah set the plate aside and folded her hands to pray. Juanita did the same. Jett, she noticed, stepped away, arms crossed over his broad chest, until they were done.

Under the foil were quarters of fried corn tortilla covered with a green salsa and topped with slices of raw onion. A humble dish, generously shared by people who had little to give. There could be no greater blessing than that, Sarah thought.

There was a period of quiet while they devoured the luscious meal and drained the jug to the dregs. Jett offered one of his tortillas to the dog, who happily gobbled it up.

“Did you get word to your father?” Sarah said.

Juanita frowned. “Yes. He will meet us here.”

“How will he avoid Beretta’s men?” Jett said. “They’re probably swarming the town right about now.”

“He will be all right,” she said, turning away to gather up the remnants of the meal. Sarah helped her wipe out the dishes as best they could and pack them up to be returned to Juanita’s cousin.

“You have been very kind, Juanita,” Sarah said. “I know this is going above and beyond. You’ve been so brave.”

Juanita turned to face her. “No,” she said, voice cracking. “I haven’t. Oh, please forgive me, Sarah.”

The stricken look on her face started alarm bells ringing in Sarah’s brain. “Forgive you for what?”

Her lips trembled. “I...”

Jett drew close. “What did you do?”

The door swung open. On the threshold stood the men from the clinic, dark haired, sweating through their T-shirts, two holding bats.

The taller one smiled and turned to his partner as he looked at Young.

“Good thing for you he’s still alive. I told you not to hit him on the head—you might have killed him.” Then he jutted his chin in Juanita’s direction. “Go. Your father is safe. He will be released now that you have done your part.”

Sarah looked at Juanita in horror.

“You sold us out?” Jett said.

“I’m sorry.” Tears sprang up in her eyes, and she wrung her hands. “My father called my cell phone while I was waiting in the truck. They will kill him if I do not do as they ask. I could not sacrifice his life for yours.”

Jett shook his head in disgust, but Sarah gripped Juanita’s hand. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“Forgive me,” Juanita murmured.

Sarah nodded. “You did what you had to do. It’s okay.”

“Go,” said one of the men to Juanita. “And speak to no one of this.” She hurried out, a hand pressed to her mouth, stifling her sobs.

The taller man bobbed a chin at Young. “It is fortunate for us that we did not kill him before. Senor Beretta would be most unhappy. Thank you, Senorita Gallagher, for keeping him alive.”

She stuck up her chin and glared at him. “He needs a hospital.”

“He will get plenty of medical attention until his usefulness is over. As for you two...” He shook his head. “You were clever to escape the clinic.”

Jett smiled. “And you were stupid to fall for it.”

The taller man lashed out so quickly Sarah almost didn’t see it. His bat connected with Jett’s stomach, sending him sprawling backward.

She screamed and dropped to her knees next to him.

“Home-run hit, Miguel,” the leader said.

Jett sucked in a breath and groaned. She pressed her hands to his broad chest. “Please don’t antagonize him,” she whispered. “Please.”

Jett quirked a grin. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

She helped him to his feet, determined to take action before Jett could say another word.

“Listen to me.” She kept her voice calm, businesslike. “If Mr. Young is important to Senor Beretta, then he would want you to help get him to the hospital. We can get to the airport, fly him to Puerto Rosado. He needs a brain scan.”

The man considered. “That is not for us to decide. We’re taking him, and we no longer need your assistance.”

Jett stepped forward, one hand clutched to his stomach. “Let her go,” he grunted. “She’s well-loved here in the village. You don’t want to mess with her or there may be trouble. Release her, and she won’t tell anyone about you.”

Sarah could only gape. Since when was Jett her spokesman?

“I don’t think so,” the tall man said.

“You’re making a mistake,” Jett snapped.

This made both men laugh heartily. “Our only mistake was not bashing your brains in earlier.”

Jett didn’t flinch, but Sarah’s whole body prickled in fear.

The man with the bat shifted. “So what are we going to do with them?”

“Kill them,” the leader said with a smile. “Kill them both.”


FOUR (#uf30e1309-c5cd-5bdf-a0ae-6c050322df36)

The terrible command hung in the heated air.

Sarah’s face went pale as sea foam, and she clenched her hands into fists.

Jett stared down the men. If they expected him to be intimidated, they would be disappointed. He shook his head with an exaggerated sigh. “I see intelligence doesn’t rank high on the list of Senor Beretta’s job requirements.”

Miguel started forward again with the bat. “We should kill him now, Alex. Enough talk. Beat him until he begs for mercy.”

Jett felt Sarah’s hand clutching the back of his shirt.

It doesn’t matter what they do to me, he wanted to tell her. No one is ever going to see me beg. He’d seen enough of that in his mother, and it left a vile taste in his mouth. Her pleading for his father to stop, to quit drinking, to stop the beatings, to leave off the behavior that turned their home into a war zone. None of her begging had made the slightest difference.

He refocused, ignoring the burning in his stomach from the bat blow. Sarah was the important one right now. Marco had charged him with her safety, so it was time to bluff. Big-time. “Young is on death’s door, in case you haven’t noticed. If you serve up a fresh corpse to your boss, he’s not going to take that well, is he?”

“The coward’s just talking to try to save himself.” Miguel spat on the floor.

“A little testy, Miguel? Upset that I gave you that black eye earlier today? You shouldn’t drop your left hand. I was trained by a navy boxing champion, so I’m afraid I had a big advantage.” Marco had earned that championship honestly. The guy was a genius in the ring. He’d taught Jett plenty about fighting and life. Besides, it was a pleasure to rub salt in Miguel’s wounded pride, even though he could feel the dread rolling off Sarah at his goading.

Miguel glowered. “I will crush your skull.”

“Try,” Jett said. “It will be a moment you’ll never forget.” Big talk, since Jett’s head was pounding from the earlier fight and the bat strike had left him unable to draw a full breath. Still, there was enough anger burning through him that would fuel his muscles into delivering what his mouth had promised.

Miguel’s face pinched with rage. “You will die slowly, American.”

“And you will eat those words,” Jett said, enunciating each and every syllable so there was no mistake. They were six inches from each other now. He could read the hatred simmering in Miguel’s eyes. He hoped Miguel could see the same in his.

Alex held up a hand. “Un momento. Let me hear what this arrogant American says before we finish this.”

Sarah sucked in a breath, and Miguel grudgingly eased back a pace.

“Young is going to die without Sarah’s help—it’s that simple,” Jett said.

Alex shrugged. “We will get him medical assistance.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“We do have hospitals here in our country, in case you were not aware.” Alex’s tone dripped with sarcasm.

“I am aware, and the closest one with an MRI machine is Puerto Rosado. There will be a lot of people there asking questions, forms to fill out, the victim being an American and all.” Jett was guessing about Young’s citizenship, but he saw in Alex’s face that he’d hit the mark.

“The village doctor,” the third man said. “We will make him do the treatments.”

“He can’t help,” Sarah chimed in. “Young needs a brain scan. We don’t have the equipment here to do that.”

Jett saw Alex thinking it over. He made a show of looking at Young, who groaned softly. “Sounds pretty bad. He might even die before you get him to your truck, unless Sarah keeps up with the IVs and monitors his heart.”

“I can’t do it myself,” she said quickly. “I need an assistant, since you sent Juanita away.”

Alex waved at Miguel and his other companion. “We are not lacking for manpower.”

“Jett’s had navy medical training,” Sarah cut in. “He knows what to do if Mr. Young has a seizure or goes into cardiac arrest, and he can administer an IV if necessary.”

That much was true, but was it enough to convince Alex? The seconds ticked by in agonizing slow motion. Jett clenched his teeth. They had to let Sarah go with Young. It was the only way to keep her alive, at least until another escape avenue could present itself. He burned to go with her—she was too naive, too delicate to survive with these criminals—but if it was a choice between the two of them, he wanted her to live. The ferocity of his emotions surprised him, but then, he’d always longed for justice that never seemed to materialize. And Sarah—oh, how he’d longed for her.

It was not right for Sarah Gallagher to die here. She was good, and she deserved a happy life. She’d certainly deserved better than a rebel like him. She’d been smart to cut him loose during their senior year in high school, though he’d never admit it. Nor would he confess how the pain of that breakup hurt worse than any physical wound he’d ever experienced.

I love you, Jett, but you’re destroying yourself, and I just can’t bear to watch.

He shut down the feelings. Just a mission. He owed Marco, and Marco loved Sarah like a sister. Get the job done and get her home safely. That was all.

Young began to cough violently at that moment, and Sarah hastened over. “Jett, help me roll him.”

She could have performed the action fine by herself, but in order to make it look convincing, he eased Young onto his side, and the coughing turned to heavy gasps. Sarah looked helplessly at Alex. “His health is failing. Can’t you see that?”

Alex considered. “It’s a three-hour ride by truck from here to our destination.”

Which is...? Jett wondered. Where did this Beretta station himself? Not in a poor village like Playa del Oro, certainly. Somewhere isolated enough to give the criminal his privacy and accommodations worthy of his drug lord status. “Has Beretta got a little compound in the mountains?” Jett guessed. No reaction from the goons. “Going to be rough terrain, huh? Did you guys get hold of an ambulance so we can get Young there without worsening his head injury? Or were you planning to throw a gravely injured man in the back of a truck and hope he survives?”

Again, no reaction except for a slight shifting from the third guy.

“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought.”

Alex came to a decision. “We will keep the nurse alive until we reach Senor Beretta.”

“And the man?” Miguel said. “Surely we can help the nurse if she needs it. It is too dangerous to let him live.”

Jett stared them down full-on. If they were expecting fear as they pronounced his sentence, they wouldn’t get it.

There was a long pause. Sarah blanched, hazel eyes like gemstones, startling against her pale skin. Jett continued to assess. If they decided to kill him, he would take down as many as he could until he fell. It might give Sarah a chance to run, hide somewhere.

Alex considered, eyes shifting from Sarah to Jett. “Act in haste, repent in leisure. Isn’t that the saying? Bind his hands and feet after they load Young into the truck. We’ll take all three with us.”

“But...” Miguel said.

Alex smiled. “I did not say you had to treat him gently, Miguel. Take some comfort in that, just don’t disable him completely. Now!” Alex snapped. “You two carry Young to the truck, quickly. We do not wish to attract any more attention than we already have.”

Jett let out a cautious breath. They’d scored a victory, even though it was only delaying the inevitable end. In his job as a navy explosive ordnance disposal technician, he’d learned how precious moments could be—seconds could mean the difference between a safe detonation and a catastrophe, going home to the woman who loved you or your life ending in a fine pink mist, according to the dark humor of the EODs.

They’d bought some moments. It would do for now.

He endured the blow Miguel gave him between the shoulder blades and helped Sarah gather up her supplies. Young moaned once more.

“It’s okay, Mr. Young. We’re going to take you somewhere now,” Sarah said, her voice as cheerful as he figured she could make it. There was no response.

Jett wondered if they were taking Young out of the frying pan and dropping him straight into the flames. It was a mercy that the guy was too out of it to realize what was happening.

As Jett readied himself to lift the stricken man onto the stretcher, he was thunderstruck as Young gave Sarah a slow wink before he closed his eyes again.

* * *

Sarah struggled hard to keep her fear in check as they carried Young to the back of a delivery truck and climbed up after him. She knew she was going to be delivered into the hands of a murderous man who ruled by intimidation. It was dark inside, hot as a furnace, but a small amount of light shone through a slatted ventilation panel in the roof. She did not take her gaze off Young for a moment, but he made no further signs of consciousness. Had she imagined the wink? But the quickly concealed surprise on Jett’s face indicated he’d witnessed the same thing. What if Young was not the helpless victim he appeared to be? Yet he was certainly not faking his injuries. The man was in dire medical straits, no question, but his last “fit” had been well timed and kept them both alive, at least for the next uncertain stretch of time.

Miguel sat on a wooden box lashed to the floor, a silent warden as the truck lurched away from the house where Juanita had made a deadly bargain for her father’s life. Though Sarah knew Jett wouldn’t see it the same way, the girl had not had a choice. What bargain would she have struck to save the lives of her family members? It was the kind of question that remained best unanswered.

Sarah tried to steady the stretcher against the heaving of the truck. On his knees, Jett attempted to help, though they’d tied his hands together in front of him with a plastic cord and done the same to his ankles. Helpless—all three of their fates were controlled by violent men with evil intentions.

She felt the tide of anger and darkness rise up inside her, fresh as it had been the moment when their car had been rammed by another six months prior, ending the life of her hero, her father. It was as if she could still feel the shards of glass flying around her, see her father’s arm braced on the dash, his other holding protectively to her shoulder as they’d skidded out of control. The terrible shriek of metal still rang in her ears when she let it. Pain, darkness, medicines and surgeries, and then she’d woken to find the horror was not a dream. Her father was dead.

It was unjust, unfair, unacceptable. Her hands balled into tight fists. Wasn’t her father’s death enough for her to endure? And her sister Angela’s recent encounter with a killer? How much was Sarah Gallagher expected to take? How much, God?

When it became too much, she forced a breath in and out, recalling the painful lesson she’d been learning since her father’s death. How many hours had she lain in the hospital with a broken pelvis and a punctured lung wrestling with God? It’s not about what you do or don’t deserve, Sarah Gallagher, it’s about seeking Him. Hard-won wisdom, excruciating to learn, difficult to hang onto. If it weren’t for the rock-solid love and faith of her three sisters and her mother, she might never have made it.

She wondered if her sisters even knew she and Jett had been snatched. They might not, if Juanita had been coerced into silence. And the police would not report her gone if it meant crossing Beretta. There might be no one looking for them at all.

She kept her eyes closed speaking silently to God, who she knew was there, even in the present terrifying circumstances. When she opened her eyes again, Jett was watching her, one eyebrow quirked.

“Still thinking God’s listening, huh?”

“He is.”

A quick flash of anger distorted his features. “Yeah? Then maybe you should ask Him why we’re in a truck with a half-dead guy on our way to visit a drug lord.”

“Silencio,” Miguel shouted, banging his bat on the metal floor.

Sarah jumped, and Jett leaned against the wall of the truck, bound feet and bound hands.

Bound heart, she found herself thinking, looking at his handsome face, so quick to flash the arrogant smile against the hurt she knew was inside him, a hurt rooted deep in his past. Those brown eyes, the tint of coffee, had sparkled with tears when she’d broken up with him. It was the only time she’d ever seen him close to crying. He’d proudly told her he never cried, even when his father, fueled by alcohol, would get out his wooden stick. No tears from Jett, but she’d cried oceans for him.

His lips were dry, she noticed, and she wanted to ask Miguel for some water, but she knew he wouldn’t provide any and Jett wouldn’t drink it anyway.

Again she closed her eyes, let the anger and fear settle as best she could, and resumed her prayers. The truck interior was stifling, but the jostling eased off half an hour into the journey. She gathered from the angle of the floor and the grinding of the truck gears that they were headed up a slope, ostensibly toward Beretta’s mountain compound.

Facts about Antonio Beretta were mixed with the local storytelling. Depending on the storyteller, he was either the son of a deposed Mexican president or perhaps a farmworker who had taken on the mantle of a drug lord by murdering anyone who got in his way. He provided gifts and favors to certain people, and he also arranged for the abduction and murder of his rivals and their family members. What was the truth? Sarah and Jett were about to find out. She swallowed, a painful motion against her parched throat.

A sudden lurch made her bang the back of her head on the truck’s metal siding. She grabbed hold of Young’s stretcher to hold it steady as the vehicle bucked and shimmied.

“Flat tire?” Jett suggested to Miguel. “You guys know how to change one? I can show you, if you don’t.”

She beamed Jett a hard look, which he returned with a lazy smile. She wished he would not antagonize the man with the baseball bat who craved an excuse to beat him senseless.

Miguel said nothing, and the truck rolled to a stop. He marched to the back, reaching for the handle when the door was suddenly rolled up from the outside. Sunlight streamed in, blinding them. Trying to shade her eyes, Sarah caught a glimpse of a gloved hand snatching Miguel out of the truck.

Jett struggled to his knees and crawled to Sarah.

“What’s happening?” she breathed.

There was a sound of shouting.

“Don’t know. Can you cut me loose?”

She searched her medical bag. “They took my scissors.”

“Use something else. Anything sharp. Fast.”

She pawed through her bag until a gunshot split the air. Then another.

Jett tensed, leaning close to her. She could feel the warmth emanating from his body, but it brought her no comfort.

Outside, the noises died away until all Sarah could hear was the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears.

“Who is out there?” she whispered, still searching for something to cut his restraints. She found a small blade in a plastic case. With fumbling fingers, she freed it.

“I can make out two men. Three, maybe.”

“The police?” Her heart leaped as she sawed away at the bands around his ankle. “Rodriguez must have figured out what happened and sent help.”

Jett stared into the sunlight. “Uh-uh.”

Sarah worked frantically with the blade, freeing his ankles. “Jett, what are you thinking? Who are those men?”

“EODs have a motto,” he said slowly. “Always Prepare for the Worst.”

“How could this situation get any worse?”

Jett put his bound hands on her shoulder and held on, as if he could somehow anchor her there away from the danger. She reached for his hands to try and release them from the zip tie. “Jett?” she asked urgently. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve got that feeling.”

“What feeling?”

“The kind of feeling I get right before something blows up.”


FIVE (#uf30e1309-c5cd-5bdf-a0ae-6c050322df36)

Jett waited until his eyes adjusted to the light pouring through the back of the delivery truck.

“Come out,” said a figure silhouetted by the sun. The voice spoke in unaccented English—an American as far as he could tell. That was a good sign. Wasn’t it? Jett’s legs were now freed, but Sarah had not had time to cut loose his wrists.

“Stay behind me,” he said to her as he climbed out of the truck. She followed, and he offered his bound hands to help her.

They were on a remote stretch of dusty road, hemmed in on all sides by immense trees, thick as living walls. The shadows and the incendiary temperature indicated it was late afternoon. Jett exhaled in deep satisfaction as he took in the sight of Miguel lying on his stomach, hands bound behind him. A man wearing fatigues kept Alex at gunpoint while another forced him to his knees and tied his hands, as well. Alex’s other man was not visible, but presumably had been dealt with, too. Out of the frying pan...

“My name is Tom,” said the man who was clearly in charge. Jett could see now that he had crew-cut blond hair. He was shorter than Jett by a good six inches, but strong, tough, with a military bearing. Jett figured him to be in his late forties. “Are you hurt?” Tom inquired, his tone polite, cold.

Sarah shook her head. “But there’s a man inside the truck. His name is Del Young. He’s gravely injured and he needs to be taken to a hospital right away.”

“We are aware, ma’am.” In fact, one of their rescuers had already hopped into the back of the truck and was checking Young’s pulse.

“Who sent you?” Jett said.

Tom didn’t answer. Instead he spoke into a radio unclipped from his belt. “Ready.”

Was he radioing another vehicle?

Sarah hugged herself. “Thank you for rescuing us. They were taking us to Antonio Beretta’s compound. He is desperate to get his hands on Mr. Young.”

“We are aware of that, too.”

Sarah blinked in surprise. “How did you know that?”

Tom did not reply.

“So you’re well informed,” Jett said, “but I didn’t get an answer to the question. Who sent you?”

“Does it matter?” Tom said, flat blue eyes fixed on Jett. “You would have been executed shortly when Beretta got what he wanted.”

“I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

Tom kept his gaze on Jett and Sarah as he bent to listen to a whispered report from the man who had been tending to Del Young.

Sarah tucked her fingers against the small of Jett’s back, thumb through the belt loop of his jeans. The gesture touched him. It was the way she’d kept him close when they’d been in crowds in the long-ago days when she’d loved him.

Don’t you know I’d never let you get lost? he’d said. And he wouldn’t. At the tender age of eighteen, he would have sacrificed anything to keep her from harm. Back then, he hadn’t known that love could end so abruptly, like an exploding mortar. He saw her body had relaxed; she leaned her head against his arm, sagging in relief. He wished he could feel the same.

“I can’t believe they found us in time.”

“Yeah.”

She caught the tone, raising her eyes to his. “What’s wrong? They’re friendly, aren’t they?” she whispered.

He stared at Tom. Friendly? There was no flicker in the blue eyes, no sign of tension in the muscled frame, only complete focus on his mission.

Understandable. Jett was the same when he’d been active duty. The mission came first. Time for chitchat later. A wise strategy when your job was detonating bombs. Still, there was something, a piece that did not fit. One thing he’d learned as an EOD was to trust his instincts.

Tom spoke into the radio, and two vehicles approached from somewhere down the road, where they must have been idling. The first was a battered Jeep. Behind that was a pickup with the back covered by a camper shell. “Please take a seat in the Jeep,” Tom said.

Sarah eyed the small vehicle. “What about Mr. Young?”

“He will be transported in the truck.” Tom’s mouth crimped in a humorless smile. “Don’t worry. It’s a short drive, and you will all arrive at the same location.”

“Which is?” Jett demanded.

Tom didn’t answer at first. “You don’t trust me?”

“I can count the number of people I trust on two fingers. You’re not one of them.”

Sarah stood stiffly before Tom. “I demand to be taken to the nearest police station,” Sarah said. “We need to contact the American embassy immediately.”

“Of course,” Tom said. “Please get into the Jeep and we’ll depart.”

Sarah hesitated, her troubled gaze shifting from Tom to Jett.

Tom held up a palm. “The longer we stay here, the more likely Beretta will send others.”

Sarah did not look completely convinced, but she walked to the Jeep and Jett followed behind.

“What about Alex and his men?” Sarah pointed. “What will happen to them?”

“They will be delivered to the police.”

“Beretta will kill you,” Alex shouted. “He will not let this betrayal go unpunished. You won’t live through the night.”

Tom did not look at them, but a slight gesture sent his men into motion, taping Alex’s mouth and loading him and Miguel into the truck.

“Where’s the third one?” Jett asked.

Tom’s mouth tightened. “He was able to escape, in spite of his gunshot wound. It’s another excellent reason for us to move quickly, in case he survives long enough to inform Beretta.”

The driver directed Jett to sit in the front. Sarah was ordered into the back next to another of Tom’s men.

“As a precaution,” Tom said. “In case Beretta has more of his people on the road. Mr. Jett can keep a lookout from the front seat.”

“I’d be more help without my hands bound,” Jett said, holding up his wrists.

A moment passed between them, and in that couple of seconds Jett knew.

Jett kept his features composed as Tom removed a knife from a sheath on his belt and considered. Tom lingered there a moment, the blade gleaming in the failing sunlight. He flicked it ever so subtly in Sarah’s direction. It was a movement so small only Jett saw it, but he deciphered the unspoken message.

“Be careful, Mr. Jett,” Tom said softly as he sliced through the ties. “Dangerous territory ahead.”

Tension crackled through his nerves. Dicey situations didn’t bother him. Forcing Sarah into a dangerous path was another thing entirely. He knew without question that Tom had an agenda entirely apart from merely rescuing three Americans.

Patience, he told himself. For now, you and Sarah are safe.

The Jeep rolled smoothly into a neat U-turn before the driver took off in the direction from which he had come.

Jett caught Sarah in the rearview mirror. She was scared, he knew, but outwardly composed. The glimmer in her iridescent eyes told the story. She also had gleaned the truth.

This was not a rescue. It was another abduction.

* * *

Sarah’s back ached from the endless drive over dozens of potholes. She’d learned to live with a low level of chronic pain after her car accident, but the rough Mexican roads made every nerve along her spine complain. It seemed to her they were driving in circles, though she was no longer certain even what town they were passing. The sun was setting when they reached an unfamiliar industrial area. They passed a few ramshackle buildings with rusted equipment parked outside and what looked to be an abandoned car. Not one person was visible anywhere, not a single employee or foreman. It was too late for the afternoon siesta. Closed up for the day?

She tried to force normal breathing, but her body was on high alert. These so-called rescuers had their own goals, and she knew it did not bode well for the three of them. Think, Sarah, she told herself. How can you help? Her medical bag was presumably still in the truck, but she’d stowed the blade that she’d used to cut Jett’s ankle restraints in her pocket. It was probably of no use whatsoever, but at least it might give her a chance to help them later on. The guard next to her was not disposed to letting his attention wander, so the tiny knife would have to stay hidden for the moment. Think like a detective, why don’t you? Figure out where you are.

There was no scent of the ocean in the air, no cooling breeze to indicate they’d moved toward the coast. Inland, she decided. She saw from the position of the sun that they had been traveling north. A town in Tijuana, perhaps?

But why bring them here? Surely a missionary nurse and a dive boat captain would be of little interest or value to anyone. Del Young—he was another story. His sly wink reminded her that he was not the innocent victim he seemed to be. Certainly Antonio Beretta had gone to great lengths to get his hands on Young, and now it appeared there was another interested party.

They pulled to a stop in front of a rusted warehouse. A scarred sign on the front identified it as an import-export business. The man in the backseat got out and rolled up a metal door, the groan of steel loud in the stillness. Her heart pounded as the Jeep pulled forward into the dark interior. The smell of rust and sawdust permeated the air. Rows of stacked pallets crowded the periphery of the otherwise empty warehouse. A nice, quiet, isolated spot in which to murder three Americans. Her breathing hitched. But they could easily have done their killing back in the woods...unless they wanted the bodies to remain undiscovered for a while. The other truck crowded in behind them.

Sarah’s guard lowered the door again. It clanked to the ground, vibrating the floor and swallowing them up in darkness. She felt a surge of panic as the darkness closed in, but Tom clicked on a bare overhead bulb that shed a sickly light over the space.

She and Jett got out of the Jeep. She searched Jett’s face. He did not appear scared, only angry. That set off little alarm bells inside her. Dominic Jett did not react well to being cornered. In their high school days, they’d gone on a day trip to Los Angeles, where two guys had tried to steal her purse. They’d been lucky to get away with bloody noses. Now Jett stood with his feet apart, hands braced in front of him, eyes flicking the space from man to man, assessing.

In her mind, they had no chance of escape. Don’t try anything, Jett. Please.

“What now?” Jett snapped at Tom. “Are you ready to tell us what you really want?”

Tom turned to the two who were pulling Del Young from the truck. “Strap him to the stretcher securely. The first part is vertical.”

“The first part of what?” Sarah said.

He glanced at her as if he had just now remembered her presence. “The journey.”

“The journey where?” she nearly shrieked. “Where are you taking us?”

Tom smiled. “Back home. To the United States.”

It was not the answer she’d expected, and it left her dumb with surprise. He was returning them to the US? Had she been wrong about Tom and his colleagues?

Jett snorted. “I don’t see a border crossing anywhere around here.”

“There are many ways to cross the border.”

“Why not do it the easy way?” Jett countered. “We’re Americans. Drive us to the border. Turn us over to the authorities, and they’ll investigate. We’ll get home eventually.”

“Eventually is not quick enough. We have a prearranged meeting.”

The truth was starting to trickle out. “With whom?” she asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Jett strode forward abruptly. The man behind him stepped up, immediately pressing a gun into Sarah’s temple. The circle of cold metal dug into her skin, and her heart stuttered into an irregular rhythm. One quiver of his finger and she would be dead. It was terrifying and surreal. Her brain did not believe it, but her flesh went cold.

“Don’t,” Jett snarled. “Don’t touch her.”

“There will be no need for violence,” Tom said calmly, “if you cooperate and do as you’re told. You are navy, aren’t you?” A tone of mockery crept into his voice. “You should be well versed in taking orders.”

Jett’s eyes glittered as he looked from the man holding the gun to Sarah. The muscles in his arms were tensed, every sinew rigid, his body a coiled spring.

She locked on his stare. “It’s okay,” she said firmly. “We aren’t going to resist. We will do as you say and he won’t hurt me. Right, Jett?”

His eyes narrowed, wheels no doubt turning as he calculated the chances of knocking the guy with the gun away from her. He could do it—she’d seen him practicing in the ring with a mixed martial arts instructor back in their dating days. But the other three men stood at a careful distance, hands on their weapons, watching. They would not get close until they had to.

Jett would die. The thought made her stomach tie itself into knots. Her former love, her lost best friend—she could not stand the thought of watching him cut down in front of her eyes. For her.

“Right, Jett?” she repeated softly. “This man is not going to hurt me.”

Though he did not completely remove the gun, her guard moved it away from her head. His conciliatory gesture to avoid bloodshed, which must have been part of his orders.

After a moment of hesitation, Jett recoiled a fraction, just enough. Sarah’s knees went weak with relief, but she held herself steady. If he could be strong, so could she.

“All right,” Tom said. “Now that we are clear, it’s time to go.”

Where? Sarah wondered, her mouth too dry to say it aloud. Jett went to her and took her cold hands in his. He gave her fingers a squeeze, and she squeezed back. The skin on his wrists was raw where he’d chafed against the restraints. She wished she could soothe the angry wounds, but he would not take comfort from her. Blinking back tears of relief, she waited to see what on earth would happen next. Together, they watched.

Tom went to a stack of pallets and he and another man pushed it away. He leaned to the floor, tracing his fingers along the filthy concrete until he found a small divot, which he used as a handle to heave a neatly cut section of the cement upward. It swiveled open on invisible hinges.

“Drug runners are resourceful, aren’t they?” Tom said with a smirk.

“This is a drug runner’s tunnel?”

Tom nodded. “One of the more sophisticated. Gets the product right into the States without the need for any border crossings or security checks.”

Sarah gaped as the men started down a sturdy wooden ladder, carrying Del Young on his stretcher. In moments, they had disappeared deep into the vertical tunnel.

Tom gave a formal bow. “After you,” he said.

Dread surged through her body, and for a brief moment she did not think she could get her legs to take her into that dark place. One look at Tom convinced her that if force was necessary, he would not hesitate. Swallowing her fear, Sarah made her body obey.

For the second time that day, she found herself climbing down a ladder, wondering if she was heading toward escape—or a dead end.


SIX (#uf30e1309-c5cd-5bdf-a0ae-6c050322df36)

Jett had to agree with Tom on one point. Drug runners were resourceful. The tunnel was neatly hewn, equipped with electricity and some sort of ventilation system. Under their feet were a pair of rails that stretched away into the darkness, designed to efficiently carry their illicit cargo. “I’m afraid we only have transportation for the patient,” Tom said as one of his men turned on a small motorized cart. Del’s stretcher was loaded inside, along with one man to operate the vehicle.

Sarah insisted on checking him before they took off. “His pulse is steady, but he’s going to need more fluids soon. Do you have a blanket? It’s cool down here.”

The cool felt blissful to Jett, but he realized a badly battered victim had to ward off shock. Tom removed his jacket and draped it over Young. The move revealed his muscled torso and a holster fitted with a Glock. Jett had no doubt the guy had more weapons in his pack and perhaps in an ankle holster.

“Get moving,” Tom ordered. “I want to be on US soil by nightfall.”

It was one point in their favor, Jett figured. No matter the circumstances, they had to be in a better position to escape once they’d returned to the United States, but he was still not convinced Tom wouldn’t kill them before they reached their destination. Know your enemy, Marco would have said, but Tom remained an enigma.

The cart took off with its patient loaded aboard.

“Now we walk behind,” Tom ordered.

Jett didn’t budge. “Water first.”

Tom raised an eyebrow at Jett. “Move.”

Jett shook his head. “Sarah needs water. Your man there has some in his pack. I saw it.”

“And what makes you think he should share?”

“Because you want us alive for some reason, or we’d be dead already. If we’re going to keep up a good pace, we need hydration.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed, but he flicked his head toward his man, who reached for a bottle of water.

Tom stopped him, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him, removing a flask of water from his own pack. “Here. You may have mine.”

Jett forced it into Sarah’s hands. “Drink and don’t argue.”

She sighed and took three deep swallows. He admired the delicate muscles of her neck as she drank, the way her eyelashes fluttered in pleasure. As he stood before her, she took another sip. His back was to Tom as he mouthed “blade” to her. She blinked, made a show of wiping her lips with the back of her hand and coughing as she removed the blade from her pocket and passed it to him with the flask.

He gulped down the rest of the water and handed the empty flask to Tom, concealing the blade in his palm. “Better,” he said. “Let’s go.”

He took off down the tunnel a few steps ahead. Tom hastened to catch up, which didn’t give Jett time to do much, so he slid the blade into his front pocket. It was a pitiful weapon, but it might give him an edge against his opponent, who believed them unarmed. Tom took a position right next to Jett, and Sarah was escorted by one of Tom’s men.

More patience was required.

“So who paid you to get us away from Beretta?”

“Not your business.”

“I think it is.”

“And you’re not going to shut up until I answer, are you?”

Jett flashed him a cocky grin. “How’d you guess?”

Tom huffed out a breath. “My boss and Mr. Beretta are at odds. He wishes to speak with Del Young about a certain piece of property in Mr. Young’s possession.”

Jett felt a pounding in his temples. “And Beretta’s after the same piece of property? What is it? A drug shipment? Diamonds?”

Tom didn’t answer. Jett began to sweat in spite of the chill air. The tunnel sloped upward, and Jett stumbled. He stopped, head down as the floor lurched under his feet. Prickles of alarm rose up along his spine.

He heard a soft cry. Whirling, he saw Sarah crumple, her guard catching her before she hit the floor.

“Sarah!” He lunged for her, but the tunnel was now spinning in front of his eyes. He went down onto one knee. “What...did you do?”

Tom kicked him sharply between the shoulder blades. Jett tried to stop himself from falling, but his body would not obey and he went chest down, the breath whooshing out of his lungs. Through a dizzying haze, he saw Tom lean over and remove the blade from his pocket.

“It would have been easier if you’d just cooperated, but I can’t allow a delay. Not that I’d have let you get the drop on me anyway.”

The water from Tom’s flask. Drugged. Why hadn’t he suspected?

He saw Sarah draped over her guard’s shoulder, limp and small.

He had to get to her, had to.

His head flooded with memories of his father, a big man, with a stubbled chin and six feet to his credit staggering home from the bar, angry over some perceived mistreatment from his boss, spoiling for someone to beat. Jett offered himself, goading his father into using him for a punching bag, diverting the anger from his mother. The tide of rage swept through him, the sensation of being powerless choking him. He would not succumb.

Got to get to Sarah. He made it to his feet, aiming an uppercut at Tom, which he easily dodged.

“It’s no use, Jett. I told you. You’re not going to win.”

Yes, I am. But his eyes closed anyway, and he slipped into blackness.

* * *

A fine mist on her face awakened Sarah. Her senses were numb and sluggish, eyes gritty and mouth dry as dust. It took her a moment to discern that the rolling motion was not her dizzied nerves but wave action. Waves? Her pulse quickened. She’d thought they were going to be loaded on a truck or van. Now here she was on a boat, lying on her back on a bench seat, Young on the other, unconscious. Maybe Tom had been lying about taking them back to the US.

Jett. Where was Jett? She jerked to a sitting position so fast it sent her head spinning. Her heart pounded. Had they left him behind in the tunnel? Or worse? She saw a figure lying on the floor between the two bunks. Jett.

He was very still. She scrambled off the seat and knelt next to him, fingers searching for a pulse, noting they’d bound his hands again. Through her terror, she felt it, his slow steady heartbeat. She stroked her hands over his cheeks to see if she could rouse him. Her relieved exhale caused Young’s eyes to open.

“Where are we?” Young croaked.

She forced the words over her dry tongue. “In a boat. I don’t know where we’re going.”





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