Abducted Page 18

  She thought about Mary Ellsworth. Had Young really abducted her as Ellsworth claimed? If so, and he’d imprisoned her in the spotting station, she would surely no longer be alive after so many days had passed. Or was she an accomplice, in love with Young and trying to help him fence the painting he’d stolen from her father? Had she given up waiting for him to return and struck out on her own? They might have the answer in minutes. Her skin prickled in anxiety as they approached.

  Jett appeared relaxed in the driver’s seat, but she knew by the muscle jumping in his jaw that he was thinking through all the possible escape scenarios. With both Miguel and Beretta armed and ready to kill them as soon as they found—or did not find—the painting, she did not see that there were any scenarios at all.

  As he stared out the front window, she looked again at his strong profile, recalling her utter despair when she’d cradled him in her arms, thinking he’d drowned. God helped her to drag Jett from that ocean, she told herself sternly. It was not over until He willed it to be.

  Still, she felt a sharp pang of guilt. Jett was here because of her. He’d let her down in a big way in high school, and in some ways, she’d let him down also. Now here they were, at the bitter end of the horrific adventure. She realized there was no one she would rather have at her side. Scarred, failed, saved and still strong. Jett had never left her heart for a moment and he never would. If only she could tell him, thank him one more time, express to him that she knew he would make an amazing success of his dive business, of his life, of a marriage.

  Her heart throbbed as she thought of it. What they could have had, how they’d been so foolish.

  The SUV stopped at an outcropping of rock. About twenty yards distant, the spotting station loomed like an enormous concrete mushroom at the edge of the cliff. It had only a boarded-up door on one side and a narrow horizontal slit traversing the cement on the other, where the spotters would keep their lookout to warn of enemy ships approaching. They got out of the car and Miguel shoved Jett toward the boarded-up door.

  “Open it.”

  Jett gripped one of the weather-roughened boards and pulled. It came away easily in his grasp. “It’s been opened recently,” he called.

  Sarah could hardly keep still. Maybe Young had been there, and Mary, too. Jett removed the rest of the boards and yanked open the door. A waft of cold, dank air bathed her face. She could make out a set of concrete steps, cracked and damp.

  Miguel ordered them up. Jett went first, his head barely clearing the low overhead cement. Sarah tucked her fingers into his belt loop and followed. They were not offered flashlights, so they picked their way along one slippery step at a time. The stairs opened into a large oval room. Dry pine needles crunched under her feet, and the chill seeped up through the thin soles of her shoes.

  “Now,” Beretta said. “Let’s see if you were right about my Lady.”

  Sarah held her breath as Beretta and Miguel turned on their flashlights.

  For a moment the illumination dazzled her eyes. As she adjusted, Miguel pushed them farther into the circular space.

  “There’s nothing here,” Jett said at last.

  Sarah felt her heart plummet as the flashlight beams picked out only the blanket of pine needles. No boxes or wrapped package. No sign that Mary or Young had ever been there.

  “It seems you were wrong,” Beretta said, through clenched teeth. He drew his pistol and aimed.

  “No,” Sarah cried, just as two figures emerged at the top of the stairs, one firing a shot that exploded through the chamber.

  * * *

  Jett flung himself on top of Sarah and they rolled toward a thick pile of needles accumulated on the damp floor. At first in the gloom and the confusion, he did not recognize the two people silhouetted by lantern light.

  “Everyone stay still,” Tom commanded, the gun in his right hand. In his left, he held a powerful lantern.

  Mr. Ellsworth’s face was like something from a zombie movie. His cheekbone was bruised, lip split, probably at the hands of Miguel or Beretta before his escape. Holding a smaller lantern, he moved by Tom as if in a trance. “Where is she?” he said, head swiveling.

  Beretta was on the floor, nursing the wound in his shin where Tom had shot him. “Drop it,” Tom said to Miguel, and he reluctantly lowered his gun to the floor.

  Ellsworth caught sight of Jett and Sarah. He fell to his knees. “Mary,” he gasped.

  Sarah looked at him, breathing hard. Jett stayed in front of Sarah, but she peeked over his outstretched arm. “Mary isn’t here, Mr. Ellsworth. I’m Sarah Gallagher.”

  “Where’s Mary? And The Red Lady?” Ellsworth asked.

  Jett thought Tom looked slightly sick.

  “You followed my tracking bracelet, Tom?”

  Tom nodded, eyes still on Ellsworth.

  “Is the painting here?” Ellsworth said.

  “No,” Miguel snapped. “There’s nothing here.”

  Jett gaped as Sarah stood up. “Yes, there is,” she said. From underneath the debris she removed a rectangular, plastic-wrapped package. As she removed the tape, they watched openmouthed. Sarah revealed the portrait. In the lamplight, the face of the The Red Lady seemed almost real, as if she’d been expecting them to arrive. Her painted eyes glimmered with animation, the curve of her neck elegant in the gloom.

  “Ah,” Ellsworth said. “There she is.”

  “Get away from that.” Beretta stood on one leg and started toward Ellsworth. “It’s mine.”

  Tom stopped him. “Not anymore. We’re walking out of here, right now.”

  “Not without my Mary,” Ellsworth said.

  “She’s not here.” Tom’s face was pained. “She’s not here, okay? Can’t you see that?”

  Miguel cocked his head. “I hear sirens. We need to go, Mr. Beretta.”

  Jett’s heart leaped. The cops. If they could just survive a few moments longer.

  “Not until I get my painting,” Beretta roared, lunging for Sarah.

  Jett intercepted him with a football tackle to his midriff. The breath whooshed out of Beretta and they crashed to the floor. Beretta lashed out an elbow, knocking Jett back and reaching for the gun at his belt, but Jett hung onto his wrist, clinging with every last ounce of strength.

  Miguel lurched toward them, but Tom fired a shot that caught Miguel in the arm. He clapped a hand to his bicep, groaning in pain.

  Jett finally got the drop on Beretta and twisted his arms behind his back. Miguel looked at his fallen boss, and after a moment of thought, sprinted toward the door and disappeared down the stairs.

  Mr. Ellsworth stood shakily and approached Sarah, arms out for the painting. “Mary left it for me.”

  “Stop saying that,” Tom shouted. “You know she didn’t. Mary’s not here, and she never was.”

  Jett kept his hold on Beretta. “Where is Mary Ellsworth, Tom?” Jett said. “You know, don’t you?”

  His mouth twitched, but he did not answer.

  “Hand me the painting,” Tom said, pointing the gun at Sarah.

  “Give it to him, Sarah,” Jett said.

  “No,” Beretta shouted, writhing in Jett’s grip. It was all he could do to hold on to the man. If he let Beretta go, he’d be on Sarah in a second. If he didn’t, Tom might get tired of waiting and shoot her. Sweat beaded his forehead as he tried to figure out which was the best choice to keep her safe.

  “What happened to Mary?” Jett called to Mr. Ellsworth.

  Ellsworth looked at him as if they’d never met. “It wasn’t supposed to be her.”

  “Shut up,” Tom yelled.

  “It was Young. He cheated me, lied about not being able to steal The Red Lady, and then he kept my money, so we arranged an accident.” Ellsworth’s voice sounded dreamy. “To hurt Mr. Young, to punish him, but not to
kill him.”

  Jett and Sarah locked eyes. Something bad was coming. Something worse than art theft and abduction and greed. “Mr. Ellsworth,” he said again slowly. “Where is Mary?”

  There was a sound of boots pounding up the steps, and Marco barreled through with Candace right behind him.

  “She’s dead,” Candace said from behind Marco’s shoulder. He stood in front, Ka-Bar in his fist. Jett had never been so happy to see his ornery mentor.

  “Mary Ellsworth died three months ago in a Jet Ski accident.” Candace’s eyes flew to her sister. “Sarah,” she breathed. “Oh, Sarah.”

  Sarah stood with the painting in her hands. “I’m okay,” she said, tears glinting in the lantern light.

  “We figured it had to be the spotting station,” Candace said in a whisper.

  “And you were right,” Sarah said.

  Marco edged in, trying to move closer to Tom.

  “Stay there,” Tom said. “Or I’ll shoot her.”

  Marco stopped but he did not lower the knife. “That’d be a bad idea,” he growled softly.

  “Mary’s dead,” Ellsworth said. “Mary’s dead and it was supposed to be Del Young. I had Tom sabotage his Jet Ski motor, but Mary took it out instead. She’s dead,” he said again, saying the words slowly and carefully. “Mary is dead.”

  “Yes, you stupid fool,” Tom yelled. “Now all that’s left is this painting. I’m not going to follow orders anymore. I loved her, too. How do you think it feels to know I helped kill her? Did you think you were the only one who felt anything for Mary?”

  Dead at the hands of her own father, Jett thought, worst of all. No wonder Ellsworth had gone mad, dreaming up some crazy scenario in which Mary was alive and hiding out with his coveted painting.

  Tom moved closer to Sarah. “Hand me the painting, and then I’m leaving. You can do what you want with him,” he said, jerking his head toward his boss.

  Ellsworth was rocking back and forth, moaning. He stretched out his hands toward the painting. “Give her to me,” he rasped.

  Tom fired off a round that ricocheted off the concrete, sending sparks and chips of cement flying before it embedded itself in the far wall.

  Sarah lifted the painting, and before Tom could grab it, she shoved it almost all the way through the narrow slot in the cement. It teetered on the edge.

  “No,” Tom and Beretta shouted at once.

  “If you don’t put the gun down, I’m going to drop her through,” Sarah said. “She’ll fall fifty feet and hit the rocks below.”

  Jett stared at Sarah. He knew she was terrified, her body trembling, yet in her face was such courage he knew that she had the strength to overcome anything—a lost father, a new career, their own dark past. He resolved at that moment if there was any breath in his body, he was going to spend his life standing by her side. She was too magnificent, too filled with spirit and heart for him to ever live without.

  If only he could convince her.

  If only they could get out of the situation alive.

  Tom went rigid with anger. “That’s a thirty-million-dollar painting.”

  Sarah shrugged a shoulder. “So sue me.”

  Jett wanted to kiss her. But then Tom’s finger closed on the trigger and there was no longer time to wait. He sprang off Beretta and dived at Tom. The gun fired and Jett felt a line of heat crease his temple. Stars swirled in his field of vision, but he got his weight onto Tom’s gun arm and bore down with everything he had.

  Marco rushed for his other arm, and between them, Tom relinquished his grip on his gun. It skidded from his fingers.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jett saw Beretta surge to his feet. Sarah hurled the painting at him Frisbee style. He was so startled that he grabbed for it with both hands. At the same moment, Candace cracked him over the head with her binoculars. It did not knock him out, but it stunned him for a precious moment and he sank to his knees, the painting settling onto his lap.

  Jett looked to Marco, not yet letting go of Tom. “You got this?”

  “You have to ask?” Marco said.

  Jett released Tom to Marco and removed The Red Lady from Beretta’s lap and twisted his arms behind his back. Marco pulled two zip ties from the cargo pocket on his pants and tossed one to Jett, who tied Beretta while Marco did the same with Tom.

  They marched the two men halfway down the stairs, where two uniformed officers were just charging up, guns drawn.

  “We got the other guy on his way down the road,” the taller cop said.

  “Well, here’s another couple of clients for you.” Jett was only too happy to hand Tom and Beretta into their custody. “One more upstairs.”

  They returned to find Mr. Ellsworth stroking The Red Lady’s frame, crooning to her as if the canvas and paint were his lost daughter. The sight sickened Jett.

  Candace still had one eye on Ellsworth and her binoculars gripped in her hands, as if she expected she might have to conk him over the head at any moment.

  “I got him now,” Marco said, helping Ellsworth to his feet and ushering him into the custody of another newly arrived cop. “You can put the binoculars away.”

  Candace dropped her arms and wrapped her sister in a smothering hug.

  “I was so afraid, Sarah,” Candace cried. “I felt so helpless knowing you were in danger.” And then she dissolved into tears.

  Sarah was swallowed up in her sister’s embrace. “I knew you were looking for us, all of you. I love you, big sister.”

  “Love you, too, little sister,” Candace choked out.

  Jett backed up a few steps, letting the women sob together. The sibling bond was something he’d never experienced, but it was clear that Candace was exactly what Sarah needed.

  Marco joined him. “All right, Jett?”

  “Yes, sir, but it was dicey there at the end. What took you so long?”

  “Didn’t want to interrupt your island vacation.”

  He laughed. “Considerate.”

  Marco pointed to Jett’s head wound. “Forgot to duck?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Serious?”

  “No, just a scratch.”

  “Okay then.”

  Candace pulled Sarah to arm’s length and stroked her face, speaking low and soft to her sister, sentiments Jett could not hear and probably would not understand anyway. He had his own sentiments to unburden.

  Later. The events of the past few hours unrolled in his mind like a long stretch of road, culminating in the life-and-death struggle in the old spotting station. He could not quite get his mind to accept all the things that had happened. One ridiculous detail rose to the top.

  “Marco?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did Candace really just take down drug kingpin Antonio Beretta with a pair of binoculars?”

  Marco grinned. “Affirmative. Nice piece of work.”

  “You teach her that from your navy SEAL arsenal?”

  “Nope. Came up with that one herself. Like Sarah threatening to drop The Red Lady.”

  They both continued to gaze at Candace and Sarah.

  “Girls,” Jett said. “They’re unpredictable.”

  “You got that right,” Marco said with a chuckle.

  Sarah disentangled herself from her sister and made her way to Jett.

  He took her hands.

  “Are you hurt?” she said, voice unsteady.

  “No. You?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

  “Believe it.” He stroked her fingers. “We’re safe.”

  She sucked in a breath and the tears began to trickle down her face. He folded her in his arms and kissed the top of her head.

  Thank You, God, was all he could manage as he tried no
t to squeeze her too tightly to his chest. They had not been defeated, not by the ocean, not by Beretta or Ellsworth and not by their own past mistakes. He felt nothing but pure joy that Sarah, the most precious treasure in his life, was alive and safe.

  * * *

  Three days later, Jett attended the art auction for one reason only—because Sarah, along with the Gallagher clan, was going to be there. He’d spent the last seventy-two hours going over the details of their ordeal with police and enduring medical checkups. Sarah had been undergoing the same and he had not had a private moment with her since they returned to Coronado. The object of Beretta and Ellsworth’s obsession, The Red Lady, had been seized by the Mexican government after Beretta was jailed, and by some confusing twists and turns it was now up for auction again. He hoped the new owner would be a more savory character.

  Marco met him before he entered, looking conspicuous in jeans and a T-shirt. The auction required a jacket and tie and Marco was philosophically opposed to both, so he waited outside, unwilling to leave them unescorted until he was sure Beretta’s people planned no retaliation. The key players were in jail in Mexico, but a powerful man like Beretta would not stay there for long, nor would he forget who put him there.

  Marco considered the question Jett had just posed to him. “Sarah is the baby, you know. We’re protective of her.”

  “Yes, sir, I know.”

  “And I still think you should have bested Beretta’s men at the clinic. I mean, it was only three of them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You need more boxing lessons?”

  “Apparently.”

  Marco nodded, falling into a silence that lasted nearly two minutes. Jett knew better than to interrupt, so he shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks and waited.

  “So you really think you’re good enough for her?” Marco demanded, arms folded across his burly chest.

  “No, sir.”

  “That’s right. You’re not. So whatcha gonna do about that?”