Sarah was immobilized by the darkness, but Jett was not. He grabbed her and pulled her to his side and toward the periphery of the room.
“Head for the door,” he said, shoving her forward.
They had not gone five steps when Cy activated a flashlight and stuck his gun in Jett’s face.
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“Lock them all up,” Ellsworth was saying to Tom. “Check the electrical box. It’s probably the storm.”
“What if it’s not?” Tom said, flicking on a Maglite he’d gotten from a pouch on his belt. “We talked about this possibility.”
“It is the storm,” Ellsworth snapped. “Now go see to it.”
Tom led Young away, and Cy did the same with Sarah and Jett, escorting them back down to their cellar prison at a near jog. Sarah gasped as she stepped into her cell.
“There’s water on the floor. The cellar must flood during a storm.”
“That explains the water stains.” Jett turned to Cy. “She needs to come in here with me. She’ll get sick if she’s wet and cold.”
“She’s got her own cell,” Cy said.
A crackle came over his radio. “Get up here, now,” Tom barked.
Sarah saw the hesitation on Cy’s face. He wasn’t the decision maker, and he didn’t want to keep his boss waiting.
Jett had seen it there, too. “If she gets sick, there’s no one here to help keep Young alive.” He paused. “Or anyone else who gets hurt. You don’t want that responsibility on your conscience, do you?”
Cy hesitated only a moment. Then he shoved both of them into Jett’s cell and slammed and locked the door.
“Can we have a light, please?” Sarah asked. “It’s pretty dark down here.”
Cy pulled a penlight from his pocket and shoved it to Jett through the bars. Then he jogged out.
Sarah’s feet were cold from the dousing. She tried to hug herself into some sense of warmth, but the chill of the temperature and the brutality she’d just witnessed remained. “What happened in that dining room? Ellsworth turned into a monster.”
“He was already a monster.” Jett grabbed the blanket from his cot and wrapped it around her, bundling her close to him. “Come here, you’re cold.”
Being in his arms again made her dizzy. She wished her senses would not respond so strongly to him, even after so many years had passed. “I’m okay.”
“You’re shivering.”
She tried for a flippant remark to hide how very small she felt, how very safe in the circle of his embrace. “How come you’re not cold? You were in the ocean trying to catch Young.”
He ran his hands along her back and shoulders, chafing some warmth into them. “I’m navy. We don’t get cold.”
She sighed and leaned her head against him, giving in to the delicious warmth of his chest. She thought again of Ellsworth holding the pen, ready to slam it into Young’s thigh, his face aglow with sick anticipation. “I didn’t want to think that people could be like that, that they could brutalize each other for some piece of art to hang on a wall.”
“You’ve never wanted to see the bad side in people,” he said. “I guess it’s all that church stuff.”
She was too weary to engage him on this topic. “Why did the lights go out?”
His grip around her tightened a fraction. “Not sure.”
“But you have an idea.” His heart thudded a soothing rhythm against her cheek, and she wanted to rest in the steady beat, but his silence distracted her. She pulled back to study his face. It was impossible in the gloom.
He shrugged, making a show of tightening the blanket around her. “We’re okay for now. That’s the important point.”
“Jett, I know you too well, so don’t try to deceive me. What do you think is going on?”
“Probably just a short circuit. The storm and all that.”
“Or?”
“Or nothing.”
“I’m a detective, Jett, but even if I wasn’t, I could tell that you’re hiding something from me. I’m not going to let it drop, so you might as well say it. What else could have caused the blackout?”
He let out a breath. “The other party interested in Del Young.”
“The other...” Her heart thunked against her ribs. “Antonio Beretta? Here on the island?”
“As I said, it’s probably just the storm, but Beretta doesn’t strike me as having a reputation for giving up.”
She sank onto the cot, pulling her cold feet up underneath her. “Between Ellsworth and Beretta, I don’t know who’s crazier.”
“My vote is Ellsworth. Beretta is a profit-driven drug lord, your typical ruthless thug, but Ellsworth has got something else going on altogether—something having to do with his daughter, I’d guess.”
“Do you think Young is in love with Mary?”
“No idea. But it occurred to me that Mary might not have been abducted after all. Maybe she went willingly with Young. Ellsworth did say she was smart, and she must know on some level that her dad is a little short on sanity. Maybe she escaped with him under her own free will and Ellsworth can’t admit that possibility.”
“I had the same thought, but she’s not making an effort to visit or contact her father.”
“Would you?”
Would she? If her father was the manipulative and violent Ezra Ellsworth? “Could Mary possibly be involved in helping Young steal the painting from Beretta?”
“If she is,” he said thoughtfully, “I hope she’s got a real good hiding place.”
She recalled the sickly eager look on Ellsworth’s face as he held the tactical pen. I want to feel his pain.
Sarah squeezed her arms around herself to contain a shiver. “I have some good news.”
“We could use it.”
“Right before they caught me, I found the housekeeper’s computer.”
His eyes widened. “No joke?”
“No joke.” It thrilled her to see the pride in his eyes. “I only had a second, but I sent an email to Candace. Only a few words. I told her we were alive but I didn’t...”
She was interrupted as he took her hand, pulled her off the cot, and swung her in a circle. “Now we’re talking.” As he slid her to the floor, her mouth grazed his cheek. Suddenly she wished she could feel one more of Jett’s kisses, the warm, emotion-filled contact she’d craved when they were younger and the world was full of possibilities. If the past was truly past and they were free to remember the reasons they’d loved each other instead of the reasons they’d parted. His mouth moved closer to hers as if he, too, craved the connection.
She angled her lips to his, body prickling with anticipation.
Then he set her on her feet and carefully moved back.
The message was clear. She’d made her choice, he was reminding her, and he’d made his. The distance between them could have been fathoms instead of feet. Jett, what happened to us? she wanted to ask. Instead she made a show of neatening her ponytail and looking through the bars of the cell.
“I didn’t have time to give her our location,” she said. “I told them I was alive, with you.”
“They’re detectives. They can find us, right?”
“They should be able to get a general vicinity by tracing the IP address.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You have been studying, Detective Sarah.”
She thought there might be a tone of respect under the teasing, but she wasn’t sure. Lifting a careless shoulder, she pretended to search the space for any possible ways out she hadn’t noticed before.
“You really going to walk away from nursing and try the PI gig?”
Was it mockery now in his tone? Or admiration? She straightened. “Yes, if I have the courage.” She wanted to be brave, flippant, but instead the truth tumbled out. “I... I have lost confidence in myself since, well, lately. I don’t know why. It happened after the crash and the hospitalization and everything.” She was dismayed to find that her voice caught on the last sentence.
He reached out to straighten the blanket that had slipped from her shoulders, and his hand lingered there, toying with her hair. “I understand. Better than you know.”
She turned to him, hoping he would not see the moisture that had crept into her eyes. “What about you? Are you going to try to return to the navy in some other capacity?”
He sighed, the shutters falling into place, closing the momentary tenderness away. “No. I was medically discharged. Navy doesn’t want damaged goods.”
“You have a lot to offer the world, Jett, even if it isn’t while wearing a uniform.”
He stepped away, shaking his head. “This isn’t where you are going to give me the ‘God will use your circumstances for good’ speech, is it?”
The cynical tone made her cringe. “No, but if I can start a new life, why can’t you?”
“Because I haven’t accepted the loss of my old one,” he said. Before there would have been anger; now she heard only flat despair.
“It’s really hard to make peace with something like that,” she said softly.
“Yeah. It wasn’t fair, and I didn’t deserve to lose my career. I already got the raw deal with my father.”
“That’s the part you need to overcome, Jett. You’re holding on to the terrible things that happened to you.”
“And you aren’t?”
“I’m trying really hard not to. I still struggle every day, and I ask Him to help me.”
“I’m not going to ask God for anything, Sarah. He’s not a fan of mine.” His tone was brittle with loss, fraught with hurt and betrayal.
It pained her to know that part of that betrayal lay at her feet. “He doesn’t want you to suffer. He wants to give you peace.”
For a moment, his face took on a yearning expression.
He’s the only one who can, she wanted to whisper.
But he shook his head. “Save it for someone else, Sarah. I don’t need you to minister to me. I’m fine.”
The connection between them was severed. The cold seemed to intensify, and the darkness grew even more impenetrable. Hurt throbbed inside her. What did you expect? That the current situation would suddenly make him see the truth? He thought she was a naive, misguided do-gooder, blindly following a God who didn’t care. That hadn’t changed at all.
A muted bang on the ceiling and the sound of running feet drew their attention. “Keep on your toes, and if you can get away, run and hide for as long as you can.”
“What’s going on?” Sarah murmured, more to herself than him.
“We’re about to find out,” he said, pushing her behind him as the cellar door was flung open.
* * *
Jett’s muscles bunched, tension coiling through him at being caged like sitting ducks for whoever was jogging—no, sprinting—through the cellar toward them. He went to the bars, offering himself as a nice big target in case anyone was looking for one. Maybe they would see Sarah’s cell door open and figure she was somewhere else on the property. The darkness was their only advantage at the moment, and it was a pretty minute one.
Tom emerged, flashlight in hand. He was moving fast, face grave, breathing hard.
“What’s going on?”
“Beretta’s men are here.”
Jett’s heart sank at the confirmation. Why couldn’t he have been wrong about that? Beretta was not a man to be thwarted any more than Ellsworth. He and Sarah were caught between two lunatics.
“They cut the power,” Tom said. “They’re going to make a run on the house. We’re barricaded in, but we can’t hold for long with the weaponry they’ve got. Three men is our initial count. Arrived in a fast boat and took out our guy at the docks and one on the property.”
He unlocked the door and opened it. The hinges swiveled with a squeal of protest. “Cy is taking Ellsworth and Young to the helicopter. There’s not room for everyone.”
“So what’s going to happen to us?” Sarah said.
His mouth tightened. “If Beretta’s men find you, they’ll torture you for information on Young and then kill you when they’ve heard enough.”
Sarah shook her head in disgust. “Torture and violence. And you call yourself men.”
Jett didn’t doubt it about the torture, but Beretta’s methods would be simpler, more brutal—a baseball bat or a bullet instead of a tactical pen. His ribs were still sore from the beating he’d gotten in Playa del Oro. “Torture seems to be the standard operating practice around here.”
Tom hustled them away from the cage and toward towering wooden racks that extended into the darkness with an eighteen-inch gap between them. He stopped and gestured them forward to the narrow space between the two.
“If you go sideways, you can fit. There’s a door about a hundred yards down. You can get out of the mansion. Hide until it’s over.”
“Now you’re letting us go? I didn’t know you cared.”
“I don’t. I’m protecting Mr. Ellsworth’s assets. That’s what I’m paid to do.”
“It’s not just about the money,” Sarah said. “Is it? What did you mean when you said Del Young should have been the one?”
“No time. Get moving,” he commanded.
Jett dug in his heels. “Take off my tracking bracelet. Beretta’s men can use it to find me.”
“We’ve disabled the program on the house computers.” Tom tapped his pocket. “But I can still find you on my mobile phone. Don’t think we’re through with you. This isn’t over until Mr. Ellsworth has The Red Lady back.”
“And Mary,” Sarah put in.
A strange look crossed his face. “Yeah. Go now. This is going to be a battle, and the outcome should be decided in a couple of hours. Lie low until then.”
Jett stared at him incredulously. “Where, exactly, are we supposed to go? This island can’t be more than twenty kilometers from bow to stern. Where do you suggest we hide from a team of murderous thugs?”
Tom’s smile was cruel. “You’re navy right? What’s your motto—Semper Fortis? Always strong? You’ll think of something.”
Jett thought about the EODs’ unofficial motto, Initial Success or Total Failure. He’d always been willing to put his own life on the line, but now there was Sarah to think about. But what was the other choice? To leave her here with Tom, who would likely be overpowered and killed by Beretta’s men anyway? Rock and a hard place, Jett, just like always.
“Call in the police,” Sarah said. “You know there’s no way you can survive this.”
“I know the island, and we have a few protections in place. I can win.” He pushed them forward. “Go, before I change my mind and leave you caged here for Beretta to find.”
Jett’s mind whirled with possibilities. They had to get to a boat. Immediately.
Initial Success or Total Failure.
He looked at Sarah, who was already shivering in the cold but still standing straight, chin up. Though he could not see it, he hoped there would be that gleam in the green gold of her eyes, that light that meant she would go down swinging. He recalled the time he’d crashed his motorcycle after taking a stupid dare and woken up in the hospital to find her there standing next to his mother. His mom was hysterical, frayed edges showing in the tightly clasped fingers and trembling shoulders. Sarah was praying with her, whispering a plea for healing and God’s presence to invade the room. He didn’t know what he’d felt when he heard that, a rush of something that might have been a profound sense of peace. More likely it was just relief that his father was not there and pleasure at finding the woman who was his heartbeat standing there praying for him as if he were the most important man in the world. Dominic Jett, worthy of prayer, worthy of love. How could she believe that? About him?
A cold draft whispered along through the passage down which Sarah had already started. She stopped, turned to him and reached out her hand.
“Jett?”
He imagined the unspoken questions. Are we delivering ourselves up to Beretta’s men? Will we ever escape this island? Are we going to die here?
The cold washed over him, at odds with the burning that ribboned through his body. He knew he would do anything, sacrifice anything to get her back home safely to her family. She wasn’t his anymore, but he would still die for her if that’s what it came down to. He wasn’t worthy of prayer, worthy of love, but maybe that was the only way he had left to care for Sarah Gallagher.
A tremor went through him. What if he couldn’t complete this impossible mission? Like he’d failed at keeping his mom from being beaten? The way he’d lost the career that was more important to him than breathing?
You lost, time and time again. You lost.
Sarah’s words came back to him. That’s the part you need to overcome, Jett. You’re holding on to the terrible things that happened to you... He wants to give you peace.
I don’t need peace, he thought bitterly. I need to win. Just this once. His resolve hardened into granite. With Sarah depending on him, he would overcome. Right here, right now, with only his muscles and his brains to rely on, and God could have a front-row seat.
“All right,” he said, “let’s do this.”