Gabe crawled up on the beach, dragging Jeanne by the hood of her jacket. Although disoriented, she’d managed to keep her head above water as they’d shot over the reef and made their way toward landfall a few hundred yards away. Now, beaten by the surf and slashed by the coral, he fell onto the sand just beyond the tidal wash and with his last ounce of strength, drew Jeanne to his side.
“Made it, sweet.” He didn’t know which burned the most, his limbs or lungs.
Jeanne laid her head against his arm. “R-Remy?”
Prim had just emerged on the bridge when Gabe dove into the water. As he came up for air, the whole sky lit up. He honestly didn’t know if Prim had made it to the water. And there hadn’t been time to look for him—or Nemo, for that matter.
“Don’t know.” His arm felt like lead as he dropped it over her shoulder. “Don’t know.”
All he knew was that Jeanne was safe, here at his side. God forgive him for the relief he felt, but one man couldn’t save everyone. God, Prim is in Your hands. I pray for his safety.
A sob shook Jeanne, tearing from her throat. “It’s all my f-fault.”
Gabe had no idea what she was talking about. It took a considerable effort to even think about it. What he did know was that they couldn’t remain here at the water’s edge. If Goya thought they survived, he’d come looking for them.
Give me strength.
Gabe drew his knees up beneath him, knees that obeyed his mental command to rise as if they belonged to someone else, someone reluctant to abandon the rest.
“Get up, sweet. We have to hide in the brush.”
He ran his hand over her forehead, brushing wet hair away from it. At the contact with something warm and wet, alarm penetrated his fatigue. Drawing his fingers away, he examined them in the whitewash of moonlight.
Blood. Not a lot, he reassured himself, checking once more.
She must have been struck by debris from the explosion. “Jeanne, do you know who I am?”
Her body trembling from the cold and emotion tearing at her, she looked at him as if he was the one who’d been knocked in the head. “Gabe.”
“Where are we?”
She glanced around. “I don’t know . . . the beach?” Her expression firmed with consternation. “I’d rather know where Remy is.”
Gabe pulled her hood up over her head and tightened the elastic drawstring. “Something struck you in the head. You’re bleeding a bit. Maybe this will take care of it until . . .” Until what? Until morning when the others arrived? “Come on, sweet. Get up.”
“Did you see him?” she asked, battling weariness to get to her feet with Gabe’s help.
“He was topside when I dove over the side. That was the last I saw of him.”
Her face contorted in anguish, one that ripped at Gabe’s heart. “It’s my fault. I should have t-told Blaine.”
Gabe ushered her toward a stand of low growing shrub. “Your brother couldn’t have done a thing to prevent this.”
Winter nights on the Yucatán could be brutal when one was wet and exposed. A drop in temperature to the fifties or sixties could feel like freezing.
“We could have had a—a guard boat assigned.”
“Then blame me. I’m the one who wanted to avoid the publicity hounds that would have accompanied it.” And in his effort to maintain secrecy, he’d left them wide open to the very villains he’d suspected were lurking about. Although not even he suspected the likes of Goya was out there. “But looking for fault won’t help us now. Didn’t someone in the Bible turn to salt for looking back? Isn’t it against the rules?”
She almost smiled. The corners of her lips twitched. “Lot’s wife.”
“Well, if the Lord’s turning us to salt, He’s starting from the inside out. I feel like my tongue has been pickled.”
He could drink a keg of water then and there. Gabe wondered if there was a cenote on the island. The Yucatán was well-known for the freshwater wells formed by sinkholes in the limestone-based landscape.
“I didn’t tell Blaine because I wanted this to be my project, not my big brothers’.” Jeanne heaved a shaky sigh. “I feel so selfish.”
Gabe gathered her to him, wishing he could surround her with his body warmth . . . with his love. His heart felt like the rope in a tug-of-war, torn between searching for Remy and Nemo, and taking care of Jeanne. And he would look, once he was sure that she was okay.
“You don’t have a selfish bone in your body.” He caressed her tear-wet cheek with his lips. “Now, where’s that indestructible faith I fell in love with?” He gave her a squeeze. “I decided that if God got us out of that mess back there, I’d hit church every Sunday that is humanly possible.”
“You don’t make bargains with God, Gabe,” she chided, snuggling as if to get inside his skin.
“I made the bargain with myself, not God.” Gabe smiled to himself. She’d been under his skin since they’d thrown themselves over the treasure map on the night the cantina canopy collapsed on them. “Although He’s been growing on me, too. I couldn’t love you and ignore Him. He’s such a part of who you are.”
Her chin quivered in the cup of his hand. “I love you, too, Gabe Avery . . . and I’m so . . .” Her breath caught. “So sorry about your boat.”
“Don’t be,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m through hunting for treasure.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I have the mother lode right here, right now, in my arms.”
Gabe covered Jeanne’s lips with his, as if he could kiss away the cold, kiss away her fears. In its place, his gratitude at having this second chance worked its way into his sweet possession. He hoped she felt it. He wanted her to know with all his being what was in his heart, what she’d set free.
Her moan of pleasure, the embrace of the arms she linked around his neck as she responded told him that the woman in her had also found wings. They beat within in her chest, fanning desire enough for the two of them as he pressed her slender body against his. It pounded in his ears, primitive drums as old as Eden, sounding their call . . .
And barking.
Gabe rolled away and sat up, willing the drums into silence.
“What is it?” Jeanne asked, breathless.
“Listen.”
Barking, louder this time. Coming from down the beach. A fortifying hope surged through his body as Gabe climbed to his feet. “Nemo!” He reached down to help Jeanne up. “You stay here . . . rest. I’ll be back.”
Gabe started off toward a jut of brush down the beach when a familiar black form raced around it, stopping him in his tracks. “Nemo,” he shouted. “Come here, boy.”
Half-staggering, half-running, a man followed the dog.
“Remy!” Jeanne grabbed Gabe’s arm. “Gabe, it’s Remy. Praise Jesus!”
Overcome with a tidal wave of emotion like he’d never felt before, especially regarding Remington Primston, PhD, all Gabe could say was “Amen!”
“Prim,” Gabe said, lifting a cup of steaming coffee to his lips. “If I’m ever stranded on a deserted island again, I would welcome your company . . . and naturally yours,” he added, giving Jeanne a hug.
Seated next to him in the dinette of the Margarita, she basked in the warmth of his gaze and the body heat that, in addition to the fire that Remy built, had taken the edge off the cold night on Isla Codo.
“This man is one of many hidden talents,” Gabe went on for Tex’s benefit. “An Eagle Scout who can actually make a fire from dry twigs. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”
“I was beginning to have my doubts,” Remy demurred.
“Shoot,” Tex grunted. “All you’d ’a had to do was keep compli-mentin’ him and that blush of his would ’a kept you all toasty.”
Jeanne giggled, thrilled to be alive . . . thrilled to be in the dry clothes that Tex and his crew had scrounged up for the one-night castaways. Rico’s were almost a perfect fit for her, while both Remy and Gabe swam in Tex’s and Juan’s without complaint.
“You and Gabe are both heroes in my book,” she said, steadying her delicious, hot coffee against the thrashing of the boat by the waves as it sped toward Punta Azul.
She’d never seen a more beautiful sunrise than that which marked the beginning of the new day, one that would bring their colleagues or the coastal patrol to their rescue. By the time the Margarita came into view, she, Remy, and Gabe had quenched their thirst and hunger with some coconuts that Gabe had knocked out of a tree.
Nemo made a noise, laying his head in Remy’s lap. “Speaking of heroes—” Remy broke off a piece of a breakfast bar and fed it to the dog. “This is my hero.”
It was a miracle that Remy survived. He remembered jumping into the water, seeing a flash of light—and that was it until he came to his senses being tossed about by the surf like a lottery ball against the coral reef. Getting beyond the breakers had robbed him of the strength to go on.
“Just as I was about to give up,” Remy had told them upon their reunion on the beach, “this wonderful animal appeared out of nowhere and grabbed me by my shirt. I’d not have made it, if not for Nemo.”
The two of them had come ashore at the crook of the island’s arm. Remy had wanted to rest, but Nemo started off down the beach. Figuring the dog might have heard Gabe and Jeanne—and not wanting to be left alone—Remy had trailed after Nemo as best he could, given the battering he’d taken.
Jeanne stared at the gauze covering Gabe’s cheek, her stomach twisting. Fortunately, it wasn’t as deep as she’d first feared. Goya’s haste to abandon ship had been a blessing on that account, although she wasn’t certain that Gabe wouldn’t be left with a scar.
Not that he’d be the only one. All three of them were patched with Band-Aids of all sizes, covering the cuts dealt them by the reef. Since she’d remained in her jog suit, Jeanne suffered more bruises and abrasions than cuts and gashes, but Remy had a nasty wound on his thigh.
“Good news,” Pablo announced, descending from topside where he’d been on the radio off and on with authorities since the rescue from the island.
“Better than good,” Ann echoed, on his heel.
“Goya and his men were found stranded on a bar off Sian Ka’an, his ship taking on water,” Pablo told them, “but intact.”
Jeanne joined in the collective breath of relief in the galley. That meant the gold would not have to be excavated again, that it would all be recovered.
“The authorities figure he was headed for Belize,” Ann said, helping herself to some coffee. “He was probably going to fence the gold there.”
“The coastal patrol is taking on the treasure now as we speak,” Pablo continued. “After which, it will be transported to Mérida and on to Mexico City.”
“Wish I could have filmed that too,” Jeanne’s friend lamented. A diehard photographer, Ann had filmed everything from the three castaways waving frantically from the beach, to their rescue in the Margarita’s inflatable raft. “But don’t be surprised if there isn’t a beach full of press waiting.”
“News travels fast,” Pablo agreed, “but news of gold has wings. There’s a CNN chopper headed out of Cancún.”
Jeanne groaned aloud, drawing everyone’s attention. “My brothers are going to hear about this on the news? Great!”
“Perhaps I should collaborate with one of those true crime writers, rather than approach my book from a purely academic standpoint,” Remy mused aloud. “It would make a smashing best seller. Adventure, intrigue . . .”
“It was bound to hit the fan, sooner or later, Jeanne,” Gabe consoled her. He turned her face toward him. “And you will look nothing less than our bold leader who took us straight up the ladder to success.”
“He’s right,” Remy agreed. “You put this team together . . . and held it together.”
“Even saved our collective tushes, since I hadn’t yet worked out how I was going to actually use the knife that Nemo brought us.” Gabe’s expression became stonelike. “We wouldn’t have had time to escape.”
A fist of cold clenched in Jeanne’s belly.
“Hear, hear.” Remy lifted his mug of tea in deference to Jeanne. “To our heroine extraordinaire.”
“Told ya she was a golden girl,” Tex said to Gabe.
“Right you are, amigo.” Instead of toasting, Gabe gathered Jeanne into his arms as though to never let her go. “I have all the treasure I want right here. Marry me, sweet.”
“Oh . . . my . . . gosh.” Ann’s words voiced Jeanne’s own thoughts.
“As in till death do us part?” she managed in a small voice.
Gabe pressed his face to hers. “Till death do us part and then some.” He kissed her nose. “What do you say?”
“My camera!” Ann bolted from the galley, voice trailing after her. “I love happily-ever-afters.”
“Well, I say you have no sense of timing, whatsoever.” Remy took in the room with an imperious sweep of his arm. “Look around you, for heaven’s sake, Avery. There’s TNT-toting Tex gawking, and I certainly . . . well, it’s just—”
“Put a plug in it, Prim.” Gabe caressed Jeanne’s cheek with the back of his fingers, sending shivers of delight to places starved for it, joyful for it.
“Perhaps,” Pablo suggested, “we should go topside.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Tex protested. “I been waitin’ a long time to see old Gabe here bite the romantic dust.”
Remy slid out of the dinette and seized Tex by the arm. “I believe you just saw it. Now let’s leave him to digest it in private. You, too, Nemo.”
Jeanne’s pulse out-thumped the four sets of departing footsteps ascending the companionway. That was the thing with Gabe. Just when she thought she knew what to expect, he did the unexpected.
“I’m still waiting for your answer.” He primed her lips once again with affection. “Please, sweet.”
Gabe’s words from the night before played upon her mind, God’s answer to her doubts.
I made the bargain with myself, not God. Although He’s been growing on me too . . . I couldn’t love you and ignore Him. He’s such a part of who you are.
It was real, she told herself, as real as the love that filled her to overflowing. Granted, she couldn’t know for certain about the future, but Jeanne was certain of who held it in the palm of His hand.
I’m through hunting for treasure. I have the mother lode right here, right now, in my arms.
And so did she. Returning his embrace, Jeanne gazed into her own mother lode, those bad-boy blue eyes, where the soul of one fallen angel reached out for her own.
“Yes,” she whispered against his lips. “Yes.”
Somewhere in the background, a camera flash went off, but Jeanne couldn’t have cared less, not now, not here in the arms of the man she loved. If ever there was a Kodak moment, this was it. A snapshot of the beginning of happily-ever-after.