Abducted Page 8

  “Yeah. I’m sorry. Shoulda kept my big trap shut.” He hesitated. “Are you okay? I mean, healed up from your accident? Marco said you came through it like a champ.”

  She wiped a hand across her eyes. “I have back pain and I lost a lot of weight, but I’m doing better all the time. God’s been healing me inside and out.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Marco told us about your accident, Jett. I tried to call many times, but you never answered.”

  “I know.” He cleared his throat. “Ironic thing is I was injured in a training exercise when our vehicle rolled off the road. It wasn’t even doing the thing I studied so hard to do. Couldn’t even get that right.”

  “Will you be able to return to EOD someday?”

  “No.” His gentle tone bottomed out into something hard and flat. “I have occasional seizures, and I lost some vision in my left eye. I’m washed up.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He shook his head. “Sarah, I’m glad you got your healing, but God’s not doing anything for me, inside or out. The best times in my life are long gone, and no Pollyanna, God-loves-you speech is going to change that.”

  She heard the ache, the anguish, and she wished she could stretch out her fingers through the bars, even though there was no way she could reach him. She’d never been able to reach that vulnerable place in him. She could only pray that God would. “Jett...”

  “Get some sleep while you can.” He sprawled onto his cot, big shoulders slumped toward the unforgiving stone wall.

  NINE

  It was after seven, and they were still locked in their cells. Sarah had gone quiet, finally ending her pacing and lying down on the thin cot. He’d tossed his blanket over to her to add to the one she had, since it was dank and cold in their makeshift prison. She’d refused, he’d insisted, the argument continuing until she’d given up with an exasperated sigh. Better she be aggravated than cold, he figured. He hoped she was sleeping, since she’d not closed her eyes for a moment since they’d been taken from the clinic, except for her drug-induced state during the tunnel episode

  Though Jett was lying quietly on his own cot, he was light-years away from sleep. Instead he was trying to figure out a way to ensure an escape route for Sarah. Marco trusted him to take care of her, and this was one mission he was going to complete. Marco had saved Jett’s life, and there was no way he was going to let him down.

  He could picture his sixteen-year-old self, how awed he’d been that the tough navy SEAL took notice of a skinny, bruised kid, sleeping in his truck and sneaking into the gym to use the shower. All the bluster and tough talk hadn’t fooled Marco for a minute. Somehow he’d been able to see through all the bravado and known that Jett was hurting and desperate, even though Jett refused to give him particulars.

  “You decide whether you’re gonna make it or not,” Marco had rumbled one day when he found Jett trying to jimmy the vending machine into popping out a free candy bar since he hadn’t the coins to buy one. Marco pressed a thick finger into Jett’s chest. “Not your dad, not your mom, not your circumstances—you.” Then Marco had forced a disgusting kale smoothie and twenty dollars into his hand and told him he could bunk on Marco’s boat, the Semper Fortis, when things got too rough at home. The little boat had become his real home, and Marco more of a father than his own.

  And in that instant in front of the vending machine, Jett had known he would never disappoint this man if he could help it. The Gallagher sisters meant the world to Marco, and he’d entrusted Jett with Sarah’s safekeeping. The ultimate act of respect from the finest man Jett had ever known. He would not let him, or Sarah, down. Resolve hardening in his chest like quick-drying cement, he forced his thoughts back to possible escape plans.

  Ellsworth was so certain that his tracking bracelet would keep him in place—Jett might be able to use that to his advantage. If he caused a ruckus somehow, it might buy time for Sarah to get to a phone, barricade herself in somewhere until help arrived. It wouldn’t take much. One phone call or email would be enough to call in the cavalry. He was still mulling over the idea when Tom led them out of the wine cellar up to the main house.

  “Did you sleep?” he asked Sarah as they exited the gloomy space, more to insert some normalcy in the bizarre situation than anything else.

  She shrugged. “A little. I kept thinking this must be a bad dream, but when I opened my eyes, nothing had changed. I prayed a lot.”

  Waste of time, he thought, but instead he quirked a grin. “This is gonna be a great addition to your detective case files when we get out of here.”

  “You think so?”

  “Oh, yeah. It can go under ‘Hard-Boiled Detective—Island Abduction.’”

  He saw her chin go up slightly and a little spark returned to her eye. Score one for Jett.

  Tom made them go first, climbing up to the third floor until they made it to the bedroom where Young was kept. He saw Sarah eye the doorway to a small office, probably where the estate’s bookkeeping was done, before they reached the bedroom. She too was searching for an opportunity, an escape route of some kind.

  Young lay still underneath a crisp white blanket. Sunlight lit the clouds, sending a watery light through the window on the wall across from the bed. It highlighted the ghastly pallor of Young’s face, the yellow-green bruises marring his cheeks and temple. The guy looked liked he’d gone a few rounds with a boxing champ and lost. Big-time.

  When he heard them enter, he lifted his head.

  Sarah went to him and offered a brilliant smile that was probably more powerful than any medicine she could have given him. It reminded Jett of the one she’d given him when he woke up after the motorcycle crash. That smile had stayed with him, lingered in his soul to this day for some reason, which he didn’t understand.

  “You’re awake,” Sarah said to her patient. “I’m so glad. How are you feeling?”

  He stared at her. “Who are you?”

  “Sarah Gallagher, the nurse, remember?”

  Was Young truly confused or putting on another act?

  Young’s gaze darted around the room, finally alighting on Tom. He seemed to momentarily gain focus. “You’re Ellsworth’s man.”

  “Of course,” Tom snapped. “You know that perfectly well, so drop the act. You’re not fooling anyone.”

  “I’m dying,” Young said.

  “Not yet,” Tom said, “but you’re going be soon if you don’t tell me what I need to know.”

  “You want to know where The Red Lady is, don’t you?” Young whispered, ending in a wet-sounding cough.

  “Yeah,” Tom said. “Where did you stash her?”

  Jett’s heart sped up. Don’t tell him. Not yet. “You’re sick,” he said. “Let Sarah do her nurse thing first.”

  Young waved a hand. “I have to tell right now. I think I’m not gonna make it much longer.” His eyes burned, spittle catching on his lower lip.

  “You’re overreacting,” Jett said. “You’re going to be okay. You just need some time to recover.”

  “Quiet.” Tom pushed Sarah and Jett aside. “There is no more time. I’m listening. Tell me what you did with The Red Lady.”

  “And Mary,” Sarah added.

  Young looked puzzled—Jett figured his brain wasn’t yet firing on all cylinders, but at least the alertness was a good sign, depending on what he revealed. Don’t talk too much, Young, he willed. You’ll be signing our death warrants and yours, too.

  Young looked at Jett and Sarah, recoiling as if he’d just noticed their presence. “I don’t know you two. Get away. This information is for Mr. Ellsworth. I can only tell Ellsworth’s people.” His skinny legs writhed under the sheets.

  Sarah made a placating gesture. “Of course.” Shooting Jett a look, she stepped aside to join him. Instinctively, he took her hand
s in his. Hers were not satin-soft hands, but slightly rough with hard work and the difficulties they’d faced in the last few hours. She’d never been the prissy type with perfect nails and lotioned skin anyway, and he’d loved her for it. The moment he’d first seen her in the high school gym—hair messy, jeans splattered with paint, holding a dripping paintbrush—he’d thought her more beautiful than any other woman he’d ever laid eyes on. That opinion had never changed.

  The sentimental streak puzzled him. Pulling his thoughts away from the past, he squeezed again and gave her a wink.

  She offered a slight smile, confident, or so she pretended. Confident when she had no right to be so. She probably expected that God was right in the midst of all this insanity, that He would somehow work the thing out for good, as she’d told him so many times before, but Jett had no such confidence. He was on his own, just like he’d always been, and Sarah was, too, though if she wanted to delude herself, there was nothing he could do about it.

  His mind raced as he watched Tom reach for Young. If Young delivered all the info, there would be no reason to keep any of them alive, but he hoped they would have a little time while Ellsworth checked out Young’s veracity. Ellsworth hopefully would not take any hasty actions with a thirty-million-dollar painting and his daughter’s safety hanging in the balance. He’d keep Young around until the painting was in his greedy hands, then he’d have Tom kill them all. No witnesses, nice and tidy.

  A phone was still their best chance. Hope flickered up in his gut when he noticed the telltale outline of a cell in Tom’s back pocket as he bent over Young’s bedside. It might be their one and only chance.

  “All right, you little worm,” Tom growled. “Be a man for once in your life and tell me. Where’s The Red Lady?” Rage mottled his face.

  Jett let go of Sarah’s hand and took a step closer. Tom was a good fighter, wary and tough, but at the moment he was completely focused on hearing the truth from Young. One hard hit in the back of Tom’s neck and Jett could grab the phone, hand it off to Sarah and she could run, hide and get off a hurried phone call. Marco would have the island overrun with cops in no time.

  “Get ready,” he mouthed to her.

  She clutched his arm, shaking her head, telling him no.

  It’s not the time to argue, he wanted to snap at her.

  “Come on,” Tom said, grabbing a handful of blanket. “Start talking.”

  “Don’t.” Sarah stepped forward and grasped for Tom’s arm. “He’s injured.”

  Jett reached to pull her back. She could not be between him and Tom.

  Without warning, Young leaped off the bed, sending the blankets flying. He lunged for Tom, grabbing the gun from Tom’s holster and throwing an elbow under Tom’s chin. The blow landed with a sharp thwack against his throat. With a gagging sound, Tom stumbled back.

  “Get away,” Young said, gun clutched in his shaking palms. “Get away from me, all of you. I’m getting out of this loony bin.”

  Jett pulled Sarah behind him.

  Tom recovered his balance, quivering with rage. “You don’t have the guts to shoot, Young. You’re a miserable coward,” he shouted. “You always have been.”

  Young’s finger tightened on the trigger. A shot exploded through the room, shattering the lamp next to Sarah’s head. Bits of glass rocketed through the air. There was no place for cover in the small room. Jett’s blood surged and he shoved her behind a spindly chair as another shot drilled the ceiling, sending bits of plaster flying in all directions. The recoil jerked Young, almost knocking him over, but he kept his balance.

  Jett heard the sound of feet pounding up the stairs.

  “Reinforcements,” Tom yelled at Young, his body in a half crouch, one arm thrust forward as if to ward off any more wild shots. “You’re gonna die unless you put the gun down right now.”

  The guard would make it through in seconds and return fire. There was no way they’d survive being in the middle of a gunfight. Jett threw himself at the door and locked it seconds before the guard’s body slammed into the other side.

  Hatred simmered in Tom’s eyes as he stared at Jett, but he did not dare turn his back on Young in order to unlock the door. The guard began to kick the wood with his booted foot. It was a simple interior door, not suited for such heavy abuse, and it began to shudder immediately. Splinters of wood broke free from the frame. They had minutes, no more.

  Sarah was crouched behind the chair, trembling in fear. He knelt next to her, making himself a smaller target for Young, but still big enough to protect Sarah as best he could.

  Young’s eyes were frantic, searching for an avenue of escape.

  He’s got no options, Jett thought. Stairs blocked, no way off the island unless he planned on commandeering a boat or helicopter. He was trapped, and there was nothing more dangerous than someone with no options. The guard’s booted food rammed through the door. A hand reached through to unlock it.

  “I’m not dying here,” Young rasped.

  Tom took action, leaping forward and grabbing for Young’s wrists.

  Another shot rang out, and Tom stumbled back, the bullet grazing his shoulder, a trail of red darkening his sleeve. He grunted in pain, but instead of retreating, he sprang toward Young, hands reached out in a stranglehold.

  “No,” Young screamed.

  The guard charged through the wrecked door, Glock gripped in both hands.

  “Don’t kill him,” Tom ordered. “We need him.”

  But the guard took a shot anyway, the sound deafening as the bullet struck a glass shelf, fracturing it into tiny projectiles that peppered the floor.

  Jett again covered Sarah as best he could, feeling sharp bits cutting through the material of his T-shirt. When the shot died away, he dived for the guard before he could loose another shot. They grappled, the gun gripped between them. Jett got the guy in a chokehold, applying as much pressure as he dared.

  The guard grunted and gasped, finally letting go of the gun to claw at the arm cutting off his oxygen before he collapsed unconscious onto the floor.

  Jett was going for the gun until, with one last panicked shout, Young came to life.

  He threw himself against the window at full speed.

  The pane shattered with a roar as Young punched through the third-story window.

  Through a cascade of tinkling glass, Jett froze in disbelief. He too felt as though he was trapped in a bad dream as Sarah dived forward, grabbing at Young, clutching his legs before they both tumbled out the window.

  TEN

  The breath was driven out of Sarah. She and Young landed on a narrow ledge outside the window, pieces of glass shooting past them into the air. She hauled him back against her body and kept him from pitching forward, fabric ripping as she gripped his shirt. His heart hammered through the thin material.

  “Stop moving,” she panted, back pressed against the exterior of the house. “We’ll fall.”

  “I’m not staying here. Let me go.” He slapped at her hands, and she felt the ledge underneath her hip shudder. It was purely decorative—not intended to support the weight of two adults.

  “Calm down,” she commanded in the voice she’d used to soothe dangerously hysterical patients.

  “Ellsworth will kill me.”

  “He won’t. We’ll save you somehow.”

  Jett was scrambling through the window now, calling her name. Tom shouted at his man inside.

  Young thrashed and wriggled until she was forced to let go of him in order to keep from falling herself. He sat down on the ledge, legs dangling, and gave her a final curious look. “You don’t understand, do you?”

  “Understand what?”

  He shook his head, grabbing her hand with bony fingers. “Get off this island any way you can. Ellsworth doesn’t know how to handle losing, and now tha
t he has...he’s gone mad.”

  “Return the painting,” she said. “That’s all he wants.”

  Young released her sadly. “No,” he said quietly. “That’s not all.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Just get away before it’s too late.” He got to his feet, bits of paint chipping away and floating off into the air.

  “Don’t...” she called.

  But Young had scooted to the edge.

  “Wait,” she screamed.

  He leaped.

  Breath caught, Sarah peered over. The sun was low in the sky, but it was not yet fully dark. A precisely trimmed hedge edged the house and yard. She couldn’t see him anywhere, until she caught movement and he wriggled out of the shrubs, limping but seemingly unharmed.

  Without a backward glance, he staggered away, losing himself in the trees.

  Sarah felt strong hands grabbing her arms and she was lifted off the ledge. Jett pulled her clear of the window and eased her to her back on the floor.

  “Sarah.” His voice was soft, chocolate eyes wide with shock. He brushed the hair from her face. “Are you hurt?”

  For a moment they were the same gentle eyes that gazed at her with such love and admiration all those years ago. His mouth, warm and tender, brushed her temple. She wanted to drift away and just feel, remember, relive. But you’ll wake up, Sarah. Like she woke up every day, thinking for a fleeting second before her brain became fully conscious that her father might actually be alive. She’d not stopped them from going over the cliff. “No,” she said finally. “Not hurt.”

  He was shaking his head now, anger flickering to life. “That was ridiculous, insane. You could have broken your neck trying to save a no-good criminal.”

  “He’s my patient.”

  “He’s a liar and a thief.”

  “He’s precious to someone.” Like you were precious to me, she wanted to say. Even when you were drinking. After you dropped out of high school. When we broke up because you drove too fast and fought too hard and cared too little and you wouldn’t change, even for me. The thoughts hurt more than her banged-up body.