Sarah was on her knees, smoothing the paper on the floor with her fingers, mumbling over the strange words. Jett preferred to pace, even though he could only manage a few steps in each direction in the small room while avoiding the final resting place of Del Young. They’d both spent time praying by Young’s body. He didn’t know what to say—the conversation with God was something so new to him that he felt like a toddler groping for words. He let her do the out loud praying, his hand caressing hers, hoping that God had given Young a different kind of treasure than he’d sacrificed his earthly life for.
Sara sighed, shoving back the hair that had escaped its ponytail. “I can hardly read this list. Tom has terrible handwriting.”
He tried for levity. “I’ll alert his elementary school teacher to rescind his diploma.”
“I’m too tired and scared to find that funny.”
She looked exhausted, dark circles showing under her eyes, her shoulders slumped. It was time to deploy his surprise, he decided. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the squashed candy bar. “I saved this for you.”
He thought he actually saw tears of happiness glimmering against her lashes and felt like laughing with joy. She looked at the dismal offering as if it was a turkey dinner with all the trimmings.
“Chocolate?” she gasped. “You didn’t eat yours?”
“Nah. Figured you might want it later. I don’t like chocolate, anyway. You know that.”
She stared at him as though he were an alien amoeba from some faraway galaxy. “I still cannot comprehend anyone not liking chocolate.”
“You never complained while we were dating. You always ate the brownies Mrs. Grossman gave me.” He’d enjoyed giving them to her, watching her make a big show of packing them away to share with her family and then seeing her eating them all by herself when she thought no one was looking.
He watched her bite into the banged-up chocolate, eyes closing in pleasure, a soft moan welling up from deep in her throat. A cheap candy bar brought more happiness than anything else he could have rustled up. He was thrilled that he’d been able to give her respite, even if it was only for a moment, a second or two of distraction from the deadline looming over their heads.
She finished the chocolate down to the last bit, searching the wrapper for any tiny remnant she might have missed before she let out a gusty sigh. “That was wonderful. Thank you.”
He chuckled. If they ever got out of the current mess, he resolved to send her a candy bar every month, no matter where in the world they both landed. It was selfish, probably, to want her to think about him, at least for a moment or two. Seemed only fair, since he knew he would never stop thinking about her.
It was fully dark outside now, sometime between nine and eleven, he estimated. He didn’t know if Beretta would hold tightly to his hour deadline, but they had to come up with something to placate him and buy more time. He read over her shoulder.
“Lookout, vacation, spotting,” he said again. “It sounds meaningless, but there’s got to be a reason he listed them, unless it was just plain delirium.”
Licking her lips, she read the paper again before she threw it down and pressed her hands to her eyes. “I can’t. I’m empty. This isn’t going to work, is it? Beretta is going to kill us. We might as well just let him get it over with.” Now the tears really were trickling down her face. She was as strong as any woman he’d ever met, but chocolate or no chocolate, she was coming to the end of her reserves.
He knelt in front of her and gathered her close. He exalted in the warmth of her skin against his, the strength in her slender body that had labored so hard to keep both him and Del Young alive. Now it was his turn to be strong for the both of them.
“We are going to get out of this, Sarah.”
“I don’t see how. I can’t solve the case.”
“Didn’t you say to me once that faith was not seeing, but believing anyway?”
She sniffed, the tears continuing to trickle down her cheeks. He used his sleeve to dab them away. “Hey,” he said, propping up her chin to meet his gaze. “We’re not defeated yet.”
“I’m sorry Marco told you to look out for me,” she said, shaking her head, “that you got into this mess because of me.”
“I’m not sorry,” he said.
She drew back and stared at him, swiping at her nose with the sleeve of her baggy coveralls. He’d seen Sarah decked out for prom and dressed to the nines for a wedding, but he’d never thought her so lovely as he did then, swathed in dirty blue coveralls, her face exquisitely tender and grave. He was privileged to be the one standing with her through this horror, honored to be the one who was chosen to spend what might be their last moments together. Thank You, God. Thank You for letting it be me.
She was staring at him, head cocked to the side, fervent eyes searching his face. “Surely you would not choose to be in this situation with me, the girl who broke your heart.”
He didn’t answer at first, just cupped a hand to her cheek and pressed his lips to her temple. “Being with you has allowed me to resolve a few things.”
“What things?”
“Plans for the future, for one.” His senses were dizzied by her proximity, and for a moment, he wanted to believe that they were still in love. He longed for it with an intensity he hadn’t realized he possessed, but his heart, even in its battered condition, would not accept the untruth. Sarah did not love him. They were two people who shared a history, thrown together in desperate circumstances, struggling to survive. He read it in her stiffening posture, the way she subtly drew away from him.
Though he wanted to keep her close, he let go and she sat back, breaking his hold on her.
“I’ve resolved a few things, too,” she said. “I really am going to take a break from nursing if we live through this. I was doubting my decision, but I think it’s the right one. I feel like God’s telling me to start a new chapter in my life. My father’s gone, I’ve been drifting around, afraid to begin again without him, but now I know it’s time.”
A new chapter. New life. He found it hard to swallow. High school’s over, Jett. His hard-earned wisdom had come too late. He was a part of the past she was trying to put behind her. He cleared his throat. “When we get out of this, I’m going to make a few changes, too.”
“So sure we’ll make it through?” she said shakily.
He nodded. “One hundred percent.”
“What will you do?”
“We don’t need to go into it now.”
“Please,” she begged. “Talk to me about something besides clues and paintings and death waiting on the other side of that door. Tell me about the future, your future.”
He gave voice to the plan that had sparked in his mind those long hours lying on his cot. “Gonna go back to college. Get a degree in business and open my own dive company.”
She smiled. “Perfect. A life on the water just like you always wanted.” She paused. “Where will you set up shop?”
“Not sure. Got any suggestions?”
“Maybe near Laguna Beach, where your mom is.”
“Yeah,” he said, something heavy settling in his heart. “That might be good.” He realized he’d desperately wanted her to suggest he stay in Coronado, where she lived. Stupid of him. He’d resolved the past, so he could move on to another future. One without her. It was what she wanted. What was right for them both, and he’d expected nothing else. He wondered why it felt like there was an anchor inside him. Had he thought for a fleeting moment that she still wanted him? That there might be some ember left between them that could be fanned to life? No way, Jett. You threw away a future with Sarah long ago. Any feelings you might have imagined between you are due to this ridiculous scenario you’re ensnared in.
“So you’ll be a detective, and I’ll be a dive master. Funny how life turns out, isn’t it?”
“Yes, funny.” She looked as though she wanted to say something else, but instead she picked up the paper. “We have to get back to business.”
Yes, he thought, the business of survival. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and stood, pacing again, ignoring the various aches and pains that flared up in his body. “Del Young must have another place farther south, because he spent plenty of time with Mary Ellsworth. I’m going to guess he’s stashed the painting somewhere nearby.”
She nodded. “Makes sense, since it would be risky to fly or drive it anywhere until he was ready to hand it over to Beretta. Lookout, vacation, spotting. What do they have in common?”
“Lookout and spotting.” Jett puzzled it over. “Vacation? Fire lookouts? Whale spotting?” He shook his head. “You could go on a whale spotting vacation, I suppose. I have no idea what that would have to do with hiding The Red Lady.”
Sarah’s frame went rigid. She bolted to her feet.
“What?”
“I just thought of something.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Let’s have it.”
“Jett,” she said, eyes sparkling with wonder. With the pencil she’d stuck behind her ear, she crossed something out and wrote on the paper. “What if he didn’t say vacation? What if he said ‘station’?”
“Lookout, spotting, station.” Jett’s pulse flickered. “A spotting station, as in a World War II spotting station? The kind that looks out across the Pacific Ocean.”
“Yes, there were many sprinkled along the California coast.”
“Uh-huh. I read all about them when I was a kid. The men who manned the stations would use azimuth scopes to take the bearings of enemy ships. They were experts on identifying the ships’ silhouettes.”
“You know,” she said slowly, “there’s a spotting station in Santa Barbara. It’s been boarded up to keep out the vandals and teens looking to party there. My father took us once years ago, before they closed off the place. I remember it was set on a bluff away from everything, no houses or buildings nearby.”
“A World War II spotting station,” he repeated. “The perfect place to hide something.”
“And someone? Could Mary be there, too? Camped out and waiting for him to return?”
“Unlikely, after all this time, but they may have arranged to meet there when he messaged her the deal with Beretta was done.” Jett heard footsteps in the hallway. “Are you sure about this, Sarah?”
He heard her swallow. “No, I’m not, but I don’t think there’s time for a plan B.”
“Then we go with plan A,” he said, taking her hand and squaring his shoulders. “Sarah Gal, it’s time to solve this mystery one way or another.”
She clung to his hand. “I’m scared, Jett.”
“We’ll finish this together,” he said, kissing her temple.
She pressed her trembling lips together and gave him one brave nod.
Miguel opened the door for Beretta. He stepped inside. The gun was not in his hand, but Jett saw it holstered at the belt.
“So what is it to be?” Beretta said. “You solved the case or you are to be shot?”
Jett smiled. “She solved the case. She knows where The Red Lady is.”
“But I want to confirm it with Marco and Candace, when they call.”
He looked at an expensive gold watch on his wrist. “And with five minutes to spare? Let us not wait any longer. Tell me what you have discovered.”
“I might be wrong. My family can confirm and—”
“They’re lying,” Miguel growled. “You see?”
Beretta silenced him with an upheld palm. “Tell me. Now.”
“How do we know you aren’t going to kill us as soon as we tell you?” Sarah said.
“You don’t,” he said, “but my painting is worth thirty million dollars and change. We did not capture Tom and Ellsworth, so if they have figured out the clues, they might be headed for the same location. You will lead me to it first, and then, perhaps if I am feeling gracious, I will let you go.”
“And if we don’t?” Jett said.
“You will.” Beretta’s smile was wolfish. “Because you do not wish to see this lady grievously hurt. I am correct, no? I saw the rage in your eyes when I shot at her earlier. I know that you will do anything to keep me from putting a bullet into her for real, won’t you?”
Jett fumed, the blood in his body turning to lava. If she wasn’t standing next to him, he’d have thrown himself at Beretta, gun or no gun. He’d taken on plenty of tough guys in his day, and Beretta was no better than your average street-corner thug.
Miguel stood nearby, daring him to act.
“All right,” Jett said, tamping down on his anger with an extreme effort. “We’ll take you there, tomorrow. It’s on the mainland, but the channel is treacherous at night.”
“Not to worry,” Beretta said. “We have a boat and we are experienced in navigating difficult waters, so to speak.”
“We should wait until morning,” Jett said firmly.
Beretta turned to stare at Jett. It was not the look of a man who was accustomed to waiting.
And if they delivered on finding the painting, would Beretta actually let them go?
He did not have the look of a man who was accustomed to mercy, either.
As they were escorted from the room at gunpoint, Miguel’s burner phone began to ring. “Let me speak to them, just to be sure.”
With a snicker of laughter, Miguel tossed the phone on the bed where Del Young’s body lay and closed the door behind them, the phone ringing in the empty room.