The room was so silent, the ticking of the ridiculously ornate clock sounded loud. Jett couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. The whole mess would make a great TV movie. Seriously. Priceless painting is swiped; daughter of a filthy-rich guy is kidnapped. “Del Young stole the painting and abducted your daughter?” He wouldn’t have thought the scrawny guy capable of either.
Ellsworth hesitated before he took a sip from a crystal glass Tom placed at his elbow. “He no doubt figured he would take Mary to ensure I wouldn’t retaliate for the theft of The Red Lady.” He sniffed, tapping a finger on the drinking glass. “That was a grave mistake, of course.”
“How do you know Young abducted Mary?”
Ellsworth looked at the ceiling as if he was seeing an image of his daughter there. “Mary is a graduate of UCLA. Brilliant. Cultured. Her grandfather was an earl. I own a luxury hotel empire that stretches across the world. No one would dare take her, dare to lay a finger on her, except Del Young.”
“What about Antonio Beretta?” Jett put in. “He’s not shy about snatching people. How do you know it wasn’t him?”
“I tell you, it was Del Young,” he snapped, emotion flaring in his eyes for the first time. “He’s a con man. A thief.” He pronounced the word as if it were an expletive.
He noticed Sarah was surreptitiously scanning the room, memorizing the layout. That’s my Sarah Gal.
No, not yours, he corrected himself. Not anymore.
Ellsworth sat up straighter. “Mary is an extremely intelligent woman, a political science major and a summa cum laude graduate. If there was a way for her to escape from Mr. Young, she would have found it.”
“How long has she been gone?” Sarah asked.
“Three months, like I said. She’d returned here after her graduation, and then one morning I awoke to find her gone.”
Jett watched Tom’s expression as his boss spoke. Tight, controlled, worried.
“Shortly before Mary disappeared, Young told me he was unable to steal The Red Lady, that Beretta’s security was too great. Lies, of course. He stole it all right and hid it away. He promised to return my money, but he stalled and stalled. When he figured out I was onto him, he abducted Mary and went into hiding. I sent Tom to find him, and he tracked him back to Playa del Oro, where he was undoubtedly intending to meet with Beretta to return The Red Lady for a hefty fee and tell him all about me.” Ellsworth glared. “Young got a half million from me to steal the painting after Beretta took The Red Lady from under my nose at the auction. He used Mary to prevent me from pursuing him.”
“How do you know Young didn’t already hand over the painting to Beretta in exchange for a fee and ratting you out?”
“Tom tells me you found Young in the act of being beaten up by Beretta’s men. They were sent to convince him to hand it over.”
“Or maybe they were punishing him after he returned it for stealing from Beretta in the first place,” Sarah put in.
Ellsworth considered. “Beretta is a bloodthirsty savage. Young would be dead already unless he needed him alive.”
Jett agreed. Furthermore, it made him think Ellsworth was a man who thought through all angles. The quality made for a great EOD technician, and a dangerous enemy. More dangerous than Beretta? He wasn’t sure.
Ellsworth looked at a spot on the ceiling, just above the chandelier. “I believe Young has no intention of giving it to either one of us. The man is without scruples.”
Jett bit back the urge to laugh at the hypocrisy. “All right. You’re out a painting and a daughter. Call the cops. They are trained to find people. They’ll figure out where Mary is.”
Ellsworth remained silent.
The silence told Jett all he needed to know about Ellsworth. “But you won’t involve the police, because it will come out that you hired Young to steal The Red Lady from Beretta and you won’t ever get her back.”
“She was meant to be mine,” he hissed, banging a fist on the table. “They are both mine, and I will have them returned. I have more resources than any police department, and now that I have Mr. Young, I will get what I want quickly.”
“So if you’re such a big shot and you’ve got this whole thing nailed down,” Jett said, leaning in, “why do you need us?”
Ellsworth set his glass down so forcefully the water sloshed over the rim, soaking his hand and the table. He did not seem to notice. “You are here to take care of Young, get him well enough so he can divulge the whereabouts of The Red Lady and my daughter.”
“What will happen to us when that moment arrives?” Sarah said.
“You will be set free, of course,” Ellsworth said. His smile did not quite reach his eyes as he delivered the lie.
Ellsworth would have them killed after he laid his hands on his treasures, otherwise he’d land himself in prison for abduction. He and Sarah were on borrowed time. They would live as long as Del Young did.
“This isn’t right, Mr. Ellsworth,” Sarah said. “Holding us all here against our will. It’s wrong and you know it.”
That’s where Sarah made her mistake, Jett thought. She assumed knowing right from wrong meant Mr. Ellsworth would want to do right. Jett suspected the man knew exactly which choice was morally right, but the fact was he simply didn’t care. When would she outgrow that naïveté? People aren’t all going to measure up to the Gallagher standards, Sarah. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“I’m not a monster, Sarah,” Ellsworth said, reaching out to pat her hand. “I’m a businessman. I want what is mine, that’s all.”
Jett could imagine the ruthless Antonio Beretta saying the same thing. “And what about Young?” He watched a spasm ripple across Ellsworth’s mouth. “What will you do with him after your treasures are returned?”
Ellsworth put the glass carefully on the table and eased it into a position directly in front of him. “I’m afraid Mr. Young will die. That is the only choice.”
Sarah got up. “I’m not going to keep him alive so you can kill him.”
“What choice do you have, really?” Ellsworth said.
“I can choose not to comply.” The light picked up gold flecks in her hair and a gleam of passion in her eyes. Ferocious and gentle at the same time. Magnificent. He mentally shook himself. They were on the same side purely for survival’s sake. Don’t forget it, Jett.
“Then you will be letting him die anyway, and his death will be on your conscience.” Ellsworth glanced at the tiny cross on a chain around her throat, and a sly expression emerged. “You’re a missionary, Sarah Gallagher. This God you serve—He won’t allow you to let Mr. Young die, will He?” Ellsworth’s tone was mocking.
Jett twisted uncomfortably. Those could be his own words, used to taunt Sarah for being something he could not be—trusting, faithful, the very qualities that both attracted and infuriated him. He pushed back his chair.
“But if she doesn’t comply, what’s your action plan then? You’re going to kill us?”
“No,” Ellsworth said. “I don’t kill. I pay Tom to do that for me.”
“What kind of a man does that?” Jett snapped.
He turned his cold gray gaze on Jett. “A man who gets what he wants. That’s the kind of man I am, Mr. Jett. Make no mistake about it.” His tone was soft, but there was steel threaded through. “Mr. Young has been moved to a makeshift hospital room on the third floor. Ms. Gallagher, you will attend him as you need, escorted by Tom and Mr. Jett, should you need any assistance.”
Jett held up his hands. “I can’t assist with my hands bound.”
Ellsworth smiled. “All right. Cut him loose, Tom.”
Jett raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“That’s a bad idea,” Tom said. “He’s already caused trouble.”
“That’s because he didn’t know that the entire house is under camera surveillance.”
Jett didn’t flinch. Cameras could be beaten. They were just simple machines, like the breadbox-size robotic cameras he’d carried as an EOD, designed to gather intel without exposing a soldier to injury. He’d figure out a way to outsmart the cameras.
“And besides,” Ellsworth said, beaming, “Mr. Jett hasn’t received our gift yet.”
Gift? His gut tightened, but he kept his face expressionless.
Ellsworth took a box from a small drawer in the sideboard, extracting a heavy-duty black band with a small rectangle attached. He smiled. “You lived a difficult life as a teen, didn’t you, Mr. Jett? I’m sure some of your acquaintances might have been sporting one of these? Perhaps your father, even, when he was out on one of his probations?”
Jett ground his teeth. Ellsworth had been doing some research.
Sarah peered curiously at the gadget and then at Jett. Don’t let her see you react, he ordered himself, biting down on the fury.
“What is it?” she asked.
“He knows, don’t you, Mr. Jett?” Ellsworth cocked his head, birdlike, looking at Jett out of the corner of his eye. “Tell her.”
“It’s an electronic monitoring bracelet,” Jett said through a clenched jaw. “The kind they put on prisoners under house arrest.”
Horror crept into her eyes, dulling the vivid color.
“Very good.” Ellsworth handed it to Tom. “We can track your every move.” He laughed. “There is nowhere on this island you can run where we will not know about it within moments, Mr. Jett.” His laughter sounded high and reedy in the enormous dining room. “So go ahead and cut him loose, Tom. Then put our little gift around his ankle.”
It took all of Jett’s will to stand docilely by as Tom cut the zip tie that bound his wrists and fastened the tracker around his ankle.
There’s nowhere on this island you can run...
He blazed a look at Ellsworth who stood smiling, like a child who’d just received a coveted toy. Enjoy it now, because soon I’m going to be saying the same thing to you, Ellsworth.
Nowhere you can run...
* * *
Sarah insisted on checking out her patient immediately. She was reassured to find him resting comfortably on a small bed with clean sheets that had been set up for him in an empty bedroom. His pulse was strong and his color good. Basic medical supplies stood in tidy piles on a table. She checked his dressing and got another IV started with Jett’s help. Young’s eyes flickered open.
“Where?” he asked.
“On Ellsworth’s island,” Jett said. “And he wants his painting and his daughter back.”
Sarah glared at Jett, but Young had already closed his eyes and flopped back onto the pillow. She bent close and whispered in his ear. “We need to talk if you want to stay alive. I’ll be back when I can,” she said in case he was feigning being unresponsive.
“Come on,” Tom called. “You both need some shut-eye. Mr. Ellsworth wants to interrogate Young this afternoon. Rest up until then.” He led them back down to the wine cellar.
“What time is it?” Sarah asked.
“Almost ten a.m. on Thursday morning.”
“We’re hungry,” Jett said. “How about some food?”
“Provisions are in your cells.”
“Too cold in there.”
“There are blankets.”
“Not good enough.”
Tom opened the cellar door with a jerk. “This isn’t a spa vacation, Jett. You’re here to do a job, so shut up and do what you’re told.”
“Is that what you do?” Tom would not meet Jett’s eye. “You’re just a hired killer who takes orders from some rich guy? He’s lying about something, and you’re covering up.”
That earned Jett a hard shove that sent him headfirst into his cell. Then Tom led Sarah into hers. At least this time he left the lights on when he departed. She saw there was indeed a pile of blankets, a small cot and a tray with fruit, a bottle of water, cheese and bread on it.
Jett cracked open his bottle and drained the entirety in moments. Then he began munching on an apple while he paced the length of his cell. Sarah was too hungry to do much but wrap the blanket around herself and do the same, making her way from apple to cheese and the sliced bread. When she was done, she saw Jett staring at her, fingers curled around the bars.
“Looks like there’s a small staff that I’ve identified from a duty schedule I saw on the wall—the housekeeper, a cook—but he might have sent most of them away. Haven’t seen any sign of them. There’s Tom and two guards. There must be one guard dedicated to watching my tracking coordinates, unless Tom can do that on his cell phone.”
Sarah jumped when something soft glided by her leg. A Siamese cat wound its way around her ankles and she bent to stroke it. “And a cat,” she added.
He laughed. “All right. Five humans and one cat. They’ve also probably got a helicopter pilot and boat captains on the payroll.” He looked at Sarah. “What’s Young’s status, really? Is he faking being unconscious?” Jett spoke so low she had to strain to hear him. Was he worried there might be listening devices recording their conversation?
“Not at the moment, I don’t think, but Jett, there’s something you should know.”
“I’m all ears.”
She recalled the earlier conversation she’d had with Young in the boat on their way to Ellsworth’s island. “He said he doesn’t remember where he left The Red Lady and Mary,” she whispered.
“He what?” Jett snapped. “Is he lying to buy time? Save his skin?”
“I’m not sure. He sustained a serious head injury, so it’s possible he’s telling the truth.”
“Or he’s lying, knowing that once he gives a location, it’s lights-out.” Jett thudded a fist against the bars. “I just need to get my hands on a cell phone. One call would do it.”
“My sister Candace calls me every Friday. When I don’t answer tomorrow, she’ll start looking.”
He nodded, eyes shifting thoughtfully. “That’s something positive, anyway.”
“So what should we do now?” Sarah watched as the cat slunk through the bars and disappeared into the shadows.
“Get some sleep.”
She knew Jett was a hopeless insomniac even when he wasn’t imprisoned. “What are you going to do?”
“Lie here and think.”
She giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“You didn’t used to value the ‘stop and think’ method. Usually you went with the ‘do it and repent later’ technique.”
“Name one time,” he said.
“When you decided you knew how to water-ski without any practice and you wound up with two black eyes and a concussion.”
“Okay, that’s one, but you can’t name a second.”
“When you challenged Marco to a boxing match on your seventeenth birthday, and it was over in three minutes.”
Jett sighed. “That’s only because he took it easy on me. It would have been one, but he was trying not to embarrass me too much in front of you.”
She remembered that seventeenth birthday for a different reason. She’d baked him cookies—oatmeal raisin, his favorite—and showed up at his house to deliver them. Jett had never invited her over before, so she’d thought she’d leave the cookies on the doorstep to surprise him. The front door was open, a broken beer bottle on the porch. Jett was kneeling at his mother’s feet, dabbing at a cut on her arm with a cotton ball.
She’d immediately offered to help, and the startled looks on their faces were ones she’d never forget. His mother’s, sorrowful and guilt ridden, and Jett’s, anguished and overwhelmed with a rage he quickly concealed. His mother told Sarah that she’d cut herself while framing a picture. Jett stayed stone silent until he’d escorted her outside.
“Jett, is that what really happened?” She’d noticed then in the sunlight that he had a bruise starting to form on his cheekbone.
He’d stared at her then, mouth tight with pain. “We can talk about it later.”
Only he never had, and she’d never pushed him to.
“Yeah,” Jett said, chuckling through the bars of his cell. “I learned never to challenge Marco to a boxing match. I still wouldn’t, even now.”
“I liked your impulsive side.”
“You did?”
“Sure.”
“Your dad didn’t.”
“He is...” She swallowed. “He was protective.”
“True story. He labeled me a loser, and that was as far as he went getting to know me.”
“You didn’t take the time to let him get to know you, so don’t blame my father.”
“Not enough time in the world.”
Her jaw was tight, shoulders tense, so she tried to let out a breath. No one on the planet infuriated her more than Jett. And no one had the right to criticize her father. “Well, he’s dead now, so you’re right about that.” A wasp sting of grief punctured her once again.
There was silence from Jett’s cell. “Hey, um, I forgot for a minute there.”
I never forget, she wanted to say. Not for one moment. She saw the strong planes of Jett’s face, the dark hair, which had begun to grow out of the ever-present crew cut and was now long enough to touch the tops of his ears, the inky-black thatch of hair she’d loved to touch.
“I’m... I mean, I’m sorry about what happened to your dad. He was a quality man, even though he couldn’t stand me.”
“It wasn’t that he didn’t like you.”
“Funny, I didn’t read it like that when he said he never wanted to catch sight of me around you or he’d flatten me.”
She sighed. “You gave him plenty of ammo. Drinking. Getting into fights. Dropping out of high school.”
“Even if I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have thought I was good enough for you.” Jett’s tone was not angry, just sad. “Drunk for a dad. Moving around one step ahead of the repo man. The Jetts were from the opposite side of the tracks than the Gallaghers.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is.” His dark eyes fastened on hers. “And deep down, you thought the same.”
“I did not, Jett. Stop putting words into my mouth.”
“Sarah, can you look me in the eye and tell me that you didn’t think I needed fixing?”
Inside, she burned not with anger, but with shame. It was true. All the while they were dating, she’d thought she understood Jett and his circumstances. Had she truly wanted to understand him? Or just change him?
“That’s what I thought,” he said when she did not reply. “The Gallaghers and their American dream life.”
Shame flipped to anger. “Really, Jett? Is my life really so perfect? I wasn’t aware that part of the American dream is having your father murdered.” She forced the words past the lump in her throat. “Knowing that someone wanted him dead, and if perhaps I’d been a better driver maybe he wouldn’t be. Doesn’t feel like the perfect life to me.”
A sob escaped her lips, and she clamped them shut.
“Sarah Gal,” he said, pressing against the bars. “Hey.”
Her vision blurred with unshed tears, and for a moment her body longed to be in his embrace, there in the darkness in this strange place with danger filling every inch of the horribly gorgeous house. But there would be no comfort in his arms ever again. It was just a distant high school memory forged before both their lives had taken drastic turns. “Jett, I don’t want to get into this now. I miss my dad so much sometimes it hurts to breathe. Can we leave it at that?”
“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.