Abducted Page 19

“Going to spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of her love, if she’ll have me.”

  Marco nodded. “Affirmative, and if you ever mess up and hurt her...”

  “I’m going to answer to you.”

  “That’s another affirmative.”

  They lingered in silence for another few minutes until Marco straightened. “All right then. As long as we’ve got that straight.”

  Marco shook Jett’s hand in a bear grip, and though he never cracked a smile, Jett thought his mentor’s mouth quirked in pleasure—at least he imagined it had. The big man turned to leave.

  “Marco...” Jett looked his father figure in the eye. He wanted to thank the man who had changed the trajectory of his life, who gave him a chance to become the person he wanted to be, the one who had taken a risk on a skinny, loudmouthed kid with no hope and no help. He wanted to say so many things, but he found himself unable to utter a word through the sudden clog in his throat.

  Marco stared back at Jett for a moment and nodded, hopefully hearing all that Jett could not say. He gave one final shake and clasped Jett in a quick, bone-crushing hug. “Get on with it.”

  And then he walked away.

  Jett wandered into the auction house, settling into the back row. He admired The Red Lady, on display in all her glory on a sturdy stand. She looked every inch the regal lady in that gallery setting, and he found it hard to believe that Sarah had almost pitched her out of the spotting station onto the rocks. That made him smile.

  He settled in, enjoying the comfort of the soft chair, the sensation of clean clothes, a full stomach and no more tracking bracelet around his ankle. And then it began—a genteel dogfight to see who would become the next owner of The Red Lady. He only hoped it would be a more worthy individual than the two who’d tried so desperately to acquire her before.

  When the event was done, one fortunate businessman from Japan was the proud owner of the The Red Lady for a cool thirty million dollars and change. He beamed and accepted congratulations for his new acquisition. The painting would probably go immediately into a climate-controlled gallery, sealed away from all but a few select visitors. Those folks would never know how the painting had been caught up in a deadly adventure involving two countries, two vicious adversaries and the loss of several lives. As the gallery began to clear, he made his way out.

  He caught up with Sarah in the lush courtyard. She was surrounded by her mother and sisters, who bustled her along like a duckling. In the distance, Marco waited, leaning on the hood of his truck, ever vigilant.

  Seeing Sarah there, ringed by her family, almost made him lose his nerve.

  They remember me as a loser, the high school dropout, a troublemaker.

  His palms went cold, but he forced his feet forward. Finally, JeanBeth Gallagher turned around and spotted him. He wasn’t sure whether to wave or offer a handshake to Sarah’s mother. While he puzzled it over, she closed the gap between them.

  “Dominic,” she said, throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheek. “How can we thank you enough for what you did for Sarah?”

  “She did a lot for me, too, Mrs. Gallagher,” he said.

  Donna, Candace and Angela Gallagher added their hugs and kisses while Sarah stood by, her cheeks pink. When they were done, JeanBeth took his hand and smiled. “I’ve heard the condensed version of what happened on that island, but I’d love to know the rest of the details. It’s pot roast night, and you’re invited. We’re celebrating. You and Sarah are safely returned, and even The Red Lady survived the ordeal.”

  “Oh, well, I’m not sure...”

  “Six thirty.” Mrs. Gallagher tugged playfully at his lapel. “Don’t be late or you have to do all the dishes by yourself.”

  Angela laughed. “That’s really more of a command than an invitation, I hope you realize.”

  “Yep,” Donna said. “Don’t make us track you down. We’re detectives, you know. We can do that.”

  He almost felt like part of the family for a moment. “Thank you.”

  “No,” JeanBeth said, face suddenly serious. “Thank you.” She kissed him one more time and then the Gallaghers continued on up the walkway. Sarah started to follow.

  “Sarah, can I talk to you?”

  She turned those green-gold eyes on him, accentuated by the pale green silk of her dress, and his breath hitched. A strand of pearls decorated her throat, and her hair was gathered softly at the base of her neck. More beautiful than The Red Lady, or any other priceless work of art. He felt himself go hot, then cold.

  “Just for a minute,” he mumbled.

  “Um, okay,” she said. She took his offered arm and walked with him down the path toward the shade of some flowering shrubs.

  “Don’t feel pressured into pot roast night, by the way,” she said, giving his arm a playful squeeze. “My mother is forceful.”

  “Runs in the family.”

  She laughed. “Dad used to say she was an undercover general.” Her expression grew serious. “I know my mom and sisters said it, but I’m not sure I have, not enough anyway. Thank you, Jett.” She tipped her head up to look in his eyes, sun shining on the glossy satin of her skin. “I would not be alive if it wasn’t for you.”

  “I could say the same. I’d be floating somewhere in the ocean without your help. Food for the fishes.”

  She blushed a deeper shade of petal pink. “Well, anyway, we both came out of it alive, by the grace of God. Are you okay?” Reaching up, she touched his bandaged temple very gently with her forefinger, sending tingles along his face and neck. “No lasting damage?”

  “Nah, just maybe a scar to enhance my good looks. It will give me something to tell my grandkids about someday.”

  Another brilliant smile from her circled right to the core of him. He wanted so desperately to speak, but the words froze inside him and the silence lengthened.

  “Well, I...guess I’d better go,” Sarah said wistfully. “My family are keeping me on a tight leash since I got back.”

  “Wait. I’ve gotta tell you something,” he blurted.

  “What?”

  “I did it. I mean, I enrolled in night classes and put a deposit down on a space for my dive company office.”

  “That’s awesome.”

  “Here in Coronado.”

  She blinked. “Really? Right here?”

  His heart hammered in his throat. “Yeah. Want to stay close to Marco.” Had he really said that?

  She offered a wry smile. “Marco does need a man around. All these women drive him to the point of distraction. I think that’s why he spends so much time at the gym.”

  “And you. I mean, I wanted to be close to you.”

  Her mouth formed a little O of surprise. “Me?”

  “Yes.” His tongue simply wouldn’t cooperate with her staring at him, those lush lips parted in surprise, the flicker of her lashes, the way her hair smelled like flowers. Everything he wanted to say turned into a jumble in his mouth when he looked into her eyes.

  “Just a minute.”

  He turned her around so she was facing away from him. “Now I’m gonna say it without getting mixed up.” He sucked in a deep breath and blurted, “I love you,” to the back of her head.

  He saw her shoulders lift in surprise.

  “I’ve always loved you,” he hurried on. “When my life was in tatters and I hated myself, you were the one thing that shone bright, like some sort of star or something. And on the island, when you gave everything you had to keep me alive, I saw it again. I think maybe it’s your soul that peeks out from inside.” He was babbling, words flying out like wild ocean spray, nerves firing wildly as he tried to read her body language.

  Her head was bowed now, and his gut twisted, wondering if she was ready to turn around and send him packing.

  Go
for broke, Jett. Initial success or total failure. He reached for her, resting his fingers on the delicate blades of her shoulders. Could he feel her trembling, or was it his own nerves getting in the way?

  “On the island, when I almost drowned, God reminded me that I have a soul, too. It’s kinda bashed up and torn, I think, but He let my soul shine through the mess I’ve made of things. Sort of gave me a second chance, I guess and I’m not gonna waste it.” He sucked in a strengthening breath. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way about me, Sarah, but I had to say it. I had to tell you, because second chances don’t come around very often.”

  She’d still not made a sound. He swallowed hard, willing her to feel the love through his fingertips.

  “If your father was around, I would have asked him first and I know he would have put me through the wringer, but I would have shown him—” he rested his hands on her shoulders, now feeling the precious warmth of her through the silk of her dress “—I would have convinced him that I’m a man now, not a messed-up boy. I would have proven to him that I’m worthy of you, and if he didn’t believe me, I’d have kept pounding away at it until he believed me. But he isn’t here, so I talked to Marco, because he’s sort of your father. He gave me his blessing, if that makes any difference, and threatened that if I ever hurt you he’d take me apart a piece at a time. Anyway, the point is...the point is that I love you, Sarah Gallagher.”

  His hands drifted up to the cloud of soft hair and he toyed with the silky strands before his fingers found her arms again.

  Slowly he began to turn her around. Would he see rejection? Embarrassment? Worst of all pity? His stomach clenched into a solid knot.

  Let it be love, he prayed. Let me see love there.

  Inch by inch, he turned her until she was facing him. Her smile, her eyes, her soft exhalation. How he loved each and every atom of her, how he’d been a fool ever to risk losing her.

  “I love you, Sarah,” he whispered.

  She studied his face, his eyes. “I didn’t think you would ever say those words again.”

  Did she or didn’t she? He was about to explode, on tenterhooks of fear. “Sarah?”

  “I love you, too, Dominic Jett.” She took his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. Joy ebbed like a roaring tide inside him until he thought he would burst.

  “How could this be real?” she breathed.

  He was barely able to answer. “I guess it’s true what they say about God working in mysterious ways.” He kissed her again, molding her into his arms.

  “Nothing more mysterious than a kibble-carrying chocolate hater.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, long and loud, amazed that he felt lighter than air, as if he had overcome the chains that bound him and reached the pinnacle. He fumbled in his pocket for a ring, a slender gold band with no more than a diamond chip on it. “I’m going to get you a better one, when I have the money, but for now...will this do?”

  She blinked hard as he slid the ring on her finger. “It will do just fine. Forever. I love you, Jett,” she said, one crystal tear trailing down her perfect cheek.

  He caught that tear with his fingertip and made a vow to himself that he would be there to catch every tear, every peal of laughter, the good, the difficult and everything in between. “Oh, Sarah Gal, how did I ever think I could live without you?”

  He kissed her then, and he knew he’d finally made it home.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from HIGH SPEED HOLIDAY by Katy Lee

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  Dear Reader,

  While I hope you have not been in the same situation as Jett and Sarah as they struggle to get free from two powerful enemies, I know we’ve all experienced what it’s like to have our lives take an unexpected turn. It’s so easy to question God’s love for us when all we can see is monumental obstacles all around. Jett has a similar feeling, dealing with his troubled family history and failed career. It comforts me to know that while I may not triumph over the roadblocks in my way, God has already overcome. He wins, and when we choose to believe and follow, we win, too. What a wonderful encouragement to us, don’t you think? I hope this story provides you with some excitement, refreshment and a renewed sense of how very precious you are to God.

  Thank you for taking the time to read my book. As always, I welcome comments to my website, Facebook and Twitter accounts. If you prefer to correspond by mail, there is a physical address listed on my website. God bless!

  Fondly,

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  High Speed Holiday

  by Katy Lee

  ONE

  Was a cop ever really off duty?

  Chief of Police Sylvie Laurent didn’t think so. She freed her hands from her wool gloves and pocketed them in her winter police coat.

  Then she unclipped her gun holster.

  Trouble never waited for her to clock in, and it wasn’t about to start now.

  Even when it posed as a good-looking man sporting a golden tan.

  “You’re not in Kansas anymore,” she mumbled aloud, heading the stranger’s way. Or, with his bronze skin maybe she should say Cali.

  He appeared like a black sheep against a sea of snow white—the snow-covered grounds of Spencer Speedway, as well as the paled complexions of the townspeople he pushed through. It would be months before any of them glowed a golden bronze like that, maybe not ever.

  So, who was he? And why was he here?

  A group of local children with cotton candy frozen to their cold faces cut in front of her, innocent to the possible threat at the annual Jingle Bell Jam celebration. The Christmas event put on by the Spencer family for longer than Sylvie could remember wasn’t a tourist attraction. It was something the Spencers offered to their employees every year to start off the holiday festivities. That included pretty much everyone in Norcastle, New Hampshire, but it did not include this guy.

  A horn from the racetrack blew. Sylvie kept walking, even though she knew she was expected down in the pits. The small 1940s reproduction cars called Legends were set to compete on the track in ten minutes. Sets of snow tires strapped under the carriages of the tiny vehicles would give the crowd some excitement as the teen division of drivers raced to the finish line in the annual Legends snow race. Her son would be among them—and expect her to be o
n the sidelines.

  Duty calls. Sorry, Jaxon.

  The stranger’s eyes met hers, chilling her with their hold. There was something about their ice-blue color that was so familiar. With one blink, he took them away and dismissed her.

  Bad move, mister.

  Sylvie picked up her steps to cut him off, but three teenage boys stepped in front of the guy, blocking her path. Just a few feet from making contact, she ran into one of the boys, knocking something to the ground. A glance down and her plans changed in an instant.

  A can of beer lay in the snow.

  She picked it up. “Belong to you?” she asked one of the teens, noticing his bulkier-than-normal parka. A closer look at all three boys, the same age as her fourteen-year-old son, and she noticed they were all smugglers today.

  Sylvie took her last look at the black sheep’s retreating back and decided he would have to wait.

  “Unless you boys want to be cuffed and stuffed in the backseat of my cruiser, I suggest you hand over the alcohol you have in your pockets.”

  Bret Dolan, the son of Norcastle’s mayor, flicked his straight, dirty blond bangs from his eyes and lifted a defiant chin to Sylvie.

  Like father, like son.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the boy spouted. “That’s not ours. That was already on the ground. We just have a couple sodas.” The boy lifted a cola out of his pocket. “See?”

  Sylvie reached inside her navy blue uniform coat. “Shall I call your parents, Bret, for the show when I search you? I’m game for an audience.” Sylvie took out her cell phone. She checked the bars and saw none, but she didn’t let on about the lack of coverage, which was spotty in these mountains on most days.

  On a huff, the Dolan kid reached into his other pocket and withdrew a can of beer. He jammed it over to Sylvie.

  “Crack it open and pour it out,” she instructed without touching it.

  “Really? You can’t be serious.” Bret’s distaste for the whole event became even more evident as each of the boys followed suit with the same task, their lifted spirits at getting away with something doused right along with the six-pack of beer now on the snow around them.