Abducted
“Juanita, I can’t hold the stretcher much longer,” she panted.
“Here’s the door.” Sweating and gasping, they eased past stacks of boxes. Juanita heaved a heavy wooden bar aside and swung the door open. Brilliant June sunlight nearly blinded them, wrapping them in the sizzling heat of a Mexican afternoon.
They stepped out to find themselves in the weed-filled space that doubled as a parking lot for those few who were fortunate enough to have a vehicle. Incredibly, the doctor’s old, battered truck was there. He’d opted to walk to the nearby village to save the cost of the fuel. Sarah almost cried with relief.
“Quick,” she said. “We’ll load him in. Then I’m going back to help Jett.”
“No,” Juanita said, frightened eyes opened wide.
Sarah did not listen. Instead she helped Juanita ease Young into the bed of the truck. Juanita got behind the wheel and fingered the visor where her father always left the keys.
“Start it up,” Sarah commanded. “Drive a mile down the road and wait. If we don’t come in ten minutes, take him to your father.”
Juanita’s lips pinched with fear. “Beretta’s men will kill you both.”
Sarah steeled her spine against the wild fear. “I’m not going to leave Jett. He’s our patient, too.”
Juanita clung to her hand until Sarah pulled away. Juanita started the engine, and Sarah prayed the attackers would not hear the noise.
She raced back to basement, noting the smell of smoke in the air.
She wanted to yell for Jett, but she was afraid of attracting any attention, so she crept on, stopping every few feet to listen. The tang of smoke was stronger now, which hastened her pace toward the ladder. They wouldn’t dare burn down the clinic, would they? In the back of her mind, she still could not believe someone was intent on murdering Del Young.
So naive, Sarah. Your father was murdered. Why not Del? Why not you? It had been a mere six months since the car she was driving was forced off the road and her detective father was killed. It had required a full four weeks in the hospital for her body to recover from the injuries she’d sustained in the accident. Justice had been served, thanks to Marco and her sisters and it had given her a desire to earn her detective license while she lay in the hospital recovering. But she’d insisted on fulfilling her promise to do her final missionary service in Playa del Oro. Would she pay for that decision with her life? Forcing herself to move beyond the paralyzing terror, she’d just put her hand on the first rung when a calloused palm sealed off her mouth. She thrashed her arms and tried to clamp her teeth on her assailant.
“Stop biting and don’t scream,” Jett breathed, holding her tightly. “Or they’ll be down here in two seconds.”
Relief made her knees go weak.
He eased his hand away, and she could not help wrapping him in a tight hug. His hands went reflexively around her waist, and he chuckled softly. “You won’t think I deserve a hug when you find out about my little diversion,” he whispered, lips grazing her ear. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
Her good sense returned, and she shoved him away. “I was just...relieved that you weren’t dead.”
“You and me both,” he said, taking her hand and urging her back toward the exit. “That would have ruined my whole day. Keep moving. We don’t have much of a head start. Where’s your helper?”
Sarah told her the plan she’d concocted.
“That was savvy,” he said.
“You sound surprised.”
“Didn’t think you had the street smarts to come up with a plan like that.”
“Just because I’m not a tough guy like you doesn’t mean I can’t think on my feet.”
“Yeah, you were thinking just fine when you dumped me in high school.”
Heat seared her cheeks as she yanked her hand away. “Maybe this isn’t the greatest time to go into our past relationship failures.”
“Your failure, not mine. I wasn’t the one who walked away. You broke up with me, remember?”
She ground her teeth together to keep from firing off an angry retort. The light traced the exit door just ahead of them. They burst through the sultry air into the sunlight. Darting a look back, she saw drifts of smoke coming from the clinic. In the distance came the shouts of the men inside and a clamor of Spanish as the townspeople came running with buckets to put out the fire.
He grabbed her hand again and tugged her into action.
Keeping their heads down, they ran along the road, kicking up pockets of dust, heading for the cluster of palm trees where Juanita must be waiting.
“Just how big a diversion did you create?” Sarah panted, turning to look back again at the smoking clinic.
“It’s still standing, isn’t it?” Jett said. “There she is.” They ran to the idling truck and leaped in the back next to the patient. Juanita sat ramrod straight behind the wheel, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.
“Drive to the dock,” Jett commanded.
“They’ll find you there,” Juanita said. “Come with me until it’s dark. I have a place we can hide that Beretta’s men don’t know about. My father will treat Mr. Young there. You can sneak out after sunset.”
“But the police...” Sarah said.
Juanita put the truck in gear. “They are of no help.”
“She’s right,” Jett said. “The cops aren’t going to keep this guy safe from Beretta—Rodriguez told you as much. We have to get out of here, head for US waters. The coast guard will intercept us, and we can tell them the whole story.”
Sarah shook her head. “We can’t just run away. We have to tell the doctor, arrange to have another nurse assigned, talk to the chief of police...”
“I will do all that,” Juanita said quietly.
“No,” Sarah said. “Not alone. You won’t be safe.”
“This village is my home,” Juanita said. “I’m not leaving. My father and I will keep the clinic open and talk to the police, even though it will do no good.”
“I can’t...”
“Yes,” she said, catching Sarah’s eye in the rearview mirror. “You must.”
Sarah had worked with Juanita for the three months she’d been at the clinic, and the woman had always been quiet, even tempered. The iron in her voice was new, or perhaps Sarah had not taken the time to recognize it before.
“Okay,” she finally said. “We’ll escape after dark.” As they sped out of town toward Juanita’s house, Sarah prayed darkness would come quickly.
THREE
It was nearly four when they arrived with their ailing patient at a small brick building with a crooked front door and a corrugated metal roof. Jett figured it had been a little café at one time, but now the windows were shuttered and the front step sagged. Like the town itself, it seemed to be sinking under the crushing weight of the poverty all around it.
He climbed from the truck and tried to stretch out some of the stiffness in his back, but the pain from his bruised body put an end to that. You’re not an eighteen-year-old kid anymore, he thought. There’s a price to be paid now for putting your body on the line. Didn’t matter. He’d pay it anyway, regardless of the consequences. He’d never hesitated to take the savage blows intended for his mother.
Why don’t you hit me? he’d taunted his father countless times when dear old Dad had come home stinking of whiskey. Leave her alone, he’d shouted, like a lion tamer luring a beast with an offering of fresh meat. He shook the thought away, wondering if he’d ever be able to rid himself of those memories.
A one-eared dog trotted up, sniffing the group as they unloaded Young from the truck, offering a tentative yip. Another hungry soul, scrounging anywhere for anything. Jett stooped to give the bony head a pat. “Sorry I don’t have any food for you, boy.”
The dog wagged its tail anyway as Juanita hurried to open the door. “Inside, quickly,” she said.
The interior was molten, warmer even than the air outside. Immediately they were bathed in sweat. Jett and Sarah carried Young inside and laid his stretcher on a long wooden table. Sarah loosened his straps, and he moaned. His eyes flickered open, but he was clearly out of it, forehead lined with pain and eyes sunken, skin waxy.
“He needs IV fluids,” Sarah said, rummaging in her bag.
Juanita nodded. “While you administer them, I will go get us some food and water.”
“Want me to go with you?” Jett said. “What if Beretta’s men followed us?”
Juanita flashed a quick smile. “Then I will be quick, and on the lookout like Detective Sarah.”
Sarah laughed, a sound that was at odds with their dire circumstances, like the peal of cheerful music in a dungeon. “I left my magnifying glass back in Coronado. Right now, I’m Nurse Sarah.”
“Probably a more helpful occupation for the circumstances.” Juanita frowned at the patient and sped out the door, closing it behind her.
Jett watched Sarah fuss over Young. “So how exactly are you going to be both a nurse and a detective?”
Her attention was fixed on her work. “I’ve decided to give up nursing after this mission and help full-time with the detective agency.”
That surprised him. She’d always been passionate about her occupation. “Yeah? Why did you decide on that?”
“Because I guess I’ve had enough of death,” she said.
The expression, that sadness in her voice, made him want to fold her in his arms. The experience of losing her father had changed her, taking some of the brilliance away from her smile. But, hey, he thought uncharitably, she had her God. Wasn’t He supposed to protect people like her? Still, it grieved him that she should be touched by tragedy of that magnitude. Some people deserved the bitter stuff that life dished out to them. Sarah did not.
As he puzzled over what to say, he made himself useful by holding the plastic tubing and handing Sarah the materials as she gloved up, applied the tourniquet, disinfected Young’s arm with a small wipe and started the IV. He held up the bag of fluids as she released the tourniquet. A nail protruding from the wall served as a good place to hang it. Jett envied the liquid being pumped into Young. His own mouth was so dry he could hardly manage a swallow.
As she snapped off her gloves, she talked soothingly to Young, stroking his hand and wiping his brow with a clean cloth. Her patter was meant to be comforting, he supposed, but for Jett, it brought back too many memories, too many consoling platitudes that were intended to encourage him after the vehicle accident that left him with a serious head injury.
“Can I pray for you?” Sarah asked her patient.
Pray? The word made Jett bristle inside. She was living in a fantasy world, praying to a God who didn’t listen or just didn’t care, a fact he’d thought she would have learned after her accident. Either way, it sickened him. Let’s pray for your recovery, the hospital chaplain had said to Jett a year ago. Ask God to take away your pain. He’d done neither, and what was more, He’d taken away Jett’s career, the only light in Jett’s life.
God wasn’t some fairy-tale father who granted wishes. He created humans and left them to drown in their own misery, which wasn’t any better than Jett’s worthless earthly parent, currently serving time in prison. How could a smart girl like Sarah not see that for herself? He felt her gaze on him, and he looked away.
As Young’s eyelids fluttered open again, he moaned, whispering something.
She bent closer to hear, her dark blond hair brushing the table. Young grasped her wrist, his mouth moving sporadically before he got the words out. “You’re a detective?” he croaked.
“I’ve got a detective license,” she said. “But don’t worry. Right now, I’m your nurse. You’re going to get some fluids, which will help you feel more comfortable, and we’ll get you to a proper hospital.”
“You’ve got to go find her,” he murmured.
She shot Jett a look, and he moved closer. “What did you say, Mr. Young?”
He squeezed her wrist as a spasm of pain crossed his face and he struggled to sit up against Sarah’s restraining hands.
“Find who?” Jett said.
Young’s eyes suddenly rolled back in his head, and he collapsed back on the table.
Sarah checked his pulse and breathing. “He’s hanging on by a thread. If we don’t get him to a doctor soon, he’s not going to make it.” She pushed the sweat-soaked hair from his face and fanned him with a notepad from her bag. “What do you think he means by ‘go find her’?”
Jett shrugged. “You’re the detective. Your family’s making quite a name for themselves in the investigation business.”
“Marco’s been filling you in?”
“He told me your sister recently cracked a case in Cobalt Cove.”
She smiled. “How sweet that you stay up-to-date on Gallagher family business.”
“I don’t,” he said, more severely than he’d meant to. “But seeing as how you and your sisters run an investigation firm, do your thing. Solve this guy’s mystery.”
“How am I supposed to do that under the present circumstances?”
“Don’t look at me—I’m just a diver. But it sounds like you just got yourself a case, Detective.”
* * *
Jett was clearly mocking her, so she ignored the remark. “Mr. Young? Can you hear me?” But he was unconscious. Go find whom? Was whoever he was looking for the reason he’d been beaten? The cause of Beretta’s relentless attention?
There was no sense in talking it over with Jett. He’d gone to the back window to wrench loose one of the boards, allowing a breeze to waft in. Delicious, she thought, lifting the hair off her neck and tying it into a ponytail with a piece of gauze. If she’d had a moment more to pack, she’d have been much better prepared, but as it was, she’d only tossed in basic medical supplies, her passport and one granola bar. At the bottom of the bag were two precious bottles of water. Thirst clawed at her. As much as she wanted to rip off the cap and guzzle some of the water, she was uncertain about their upcoming journey and she thought it best to save it. Maybe she should offer a bottle to Jett.
He’d stepped out into the back, which was nothing more than a scruff of weed-covered ground, dry and parched. He knelt to play with the one-eared dog who was so skinny she could see his ribs. Jett stroked his big hands tenderly over the dog’s delicate frame. Those same hands had caressed her face with a featherlight touch.
She was transported back in time to their first date, a trip to the ice cream parlor and a walk on the beach. He’d found a shell for her in the sand, a delicate white scallop tinged with the fiery glow of a sunrise on the inside. Shyly, he’d offered it to her.
It’s perfect, he’d said. Like you.
She remembered his arms embracing her, a bittersweet reminder. So much anger and so much heart wrapped up in one maddening man, she thought.
“Here,” she said, handing him a bottle of water.
“Thanks.” He twisted the cap and poured a small amount into his hand. The dog lapped it up eagerly. Jett lifted the bottle to his lips, eyeing her before he put it to his mouth. “Hang on. Did you get some?”
“I’m okay.”
He shook his head and handed it back to her. “You drink half.”
“I don’t need any.”
“Fine. Then I don’t, either.”
She folded her arms. “You’re a patient. Patients before nurses.”
“You’re a woman,” he snapped. “Women before men.”
He folded his arms to match hers, and she knew he wasn’t going to give in. “You’re infuriating, you know that?” she said, snatching the bottle.
“Funny how many people tell me that.”
She gulped, restraining herself from downing it all. Even though it was warm, the water tasted delectable. Then she handed it to him, and he drained the rest. They stood in the yard, trying to find some relief from the stifling heat, until Juanita called from inside. She’d returned with a bag of savory-smelling food and a clay jug. Sarah’s mouth watered.
“My cousin makes excellent chilaquiles. There is no meat today, but it is still good, I think.”
“It smells divine,” Sarah said.
She handed them plastic forks, metal plates covered with foil and two paper cups, which she filled with water. Jett raised his to his mouth, drinking it in two swallows.
Sarah set the plate aside and folded her hands to pray. Juanita did the same. Jett, she noticed, stepped away, arms crossed over his broad chest, until they were done.
Under the foil were quarters of fried corn tortilla covered with a green salsa and topped with slices of raw onion. A humble dish, generously shared by people who had little to give. There could be no greater blessing than that, Sarah thought.
There was a period of quiet while they devoured the luscious meal and drained the jug to the dregs. Jett offered one of his tortillas to the dog, who happily gobbled it up.
“Did you get word to your father?” Sarah said.
Juanita frowned. “Yes. He will meet us here.”
“How will he avoid Beretta’s men?” Jett said. “They’re probably swarming the town right about now.”
“He will be all right,” she said, turning away to gather up the remnants of the meal. Sarah helped her wipe out the dishes as best they could and pack them up to be returned to Juanita’s cousin.
“You have been very kind, Juanita,” Sarah said. “I know this is going above and beyond. You’ve been so brave.”
Juanita turned to face her. “No,” she said, voice cracking. “I haven’t. Oh, please forgive me, Sarah.”
The stricken look on her face started alarm bells ringing in Sarah’s brain. “Forgive you for what?”
Her lips trembled. “I...”
Jett drew close. “What did you do?”
The door swung open. On the threshold stood the men from the clinic, dark haired, sweating through their T-shirts, two holding bats.
The taller one smiled and turned to his partner as he looked at Young.
“Good thing for you he’s still alive. I told you not to hit him on the head—you might have killed him.” Then he jutted his chin in Juanita’s direction. “Go. Your father is safe. He will be released now that you have done your part.”
Sarah looked at Juanita in horror.
“You sold us out?” Jett said.
“I’m sorry.” Tears sprang up in her eyes, and she wrung her hands. “My father called my cell phone while I was waiting in the truck. They will kill him if I do not do as they ask. I could not sacrifice his life for yours.”
Jett shook his head in disgust, but Sarah gripped Juanita’s hand. “You didn’t have a choice.”
“Forgive me,” Juanita murmured.
Sarah nodded. “You did what you had to do. It’s okay.”
“Go,” said one of the men to Juanita. “And speak to no one of this.” She hurried out, a hand pressed to her mouth, stifling her sobs.
The taller man bobbed a chin at Young. “It is fortunate for us that we did not kill him before. Senor Beretta would be most unhappy. Thank you, Senorita Gallagher, for keeping him alive.”
She stuck up her chin and glared at him. “He needs a hospital.”
“He will get plenty of medical attention until his usefulness is over. As for you two...” He shook his head. “You were clever to escape the clinic.”
Jett smiled. “And you were stupid to fall for it.”
The taller man lashed out so quickly Sarah almost didn’t see it. His bat connected with Jett’s stomach, sending him sprawling backward.
She screamed and dropped to her knees next to him.
“Home-run hit, Miguel,” the leader said.
Jett sucked in a breath and groaned. She pressed her hands to his broad chest. “Please don’t antagonize him,” she whispered. “Please.”
Jett quirked a grin. “I’m just getting warmed up.”
She helped him to his feet, determined to take action before Jett could say another word.
“Listen to me.” She kept her voice calm, businesslike. “If Mr. Young is important to Senor Beretta, then he would want you to help get him to the hospital. We can get to the airport, fly him to Puerto Rosado. He needs a brain scan.”
The man considered. “That is not for us to decide. We’re taking him, and we no longer need your assistance.”
Jett stepped forward, one hand clutched to his stomach. “Let her go,” he grunted. “She’s well-loved here in the village. You don’t want to mess with her or there may be trouble. Release her, and she won’t tell anyone about you.”
Sarah could only gape. Since when was Jett her spokesman?
“I don’t think so,” the tall man said.
“You’re making a mistake,” Jett snapped.
This made both men laugh heartily. “Our only mistake was not bashing your brains in earlier.”
Jett didn’t flinch, but Sarah’s whole body prickled in fear.
The man with the bat shifted. “So what are we going to do with them?”
“Kill them,” the leader said with a smile. “Kill them both.”
FOUR
The terrible command hung in the heated air.
Sarah’s face went pale as sea foam, and she clenched her hands into fists.
Jett stared down the men. If they expected him to be intimidated, they would be disappointed. He shook his head with an exaggerated sigh. “I see intelligence doesn’t rank high on the list of Senor Beretta’s job requirements.”
Miguel started forward again with the bat. “We should kill him now, Alex. Enough talk. Beat him until he begs for mercy.”
Jett felt Sarah’s hand clutching the back of his shirt.
It doesn’t matter what they do to me, he wanted to tell her. No one is ever going to see me beg. He’d seen enough of that in his mother, and it left a vile taste in his mouth. Her pleading for his father to stop, to quit drinking, to stop the beatings, to leave off the behavior that turned their home into a war zone. None of her begging had made the slightest difference.
He refocused, ignoring the burning in his stomach from the bat blow. Sarah was the important one right now. Marco had charged him with her safety, so it was time to bluff. Big-time. “Young is on death’s door, in case you haven’t noticed. If you serve up a fresh corpse to your boss, he’s not going to take that well, is he?”
“The coward’s just talking to try to save himself.” Miguel spat on the floor.
“A little testy, Miguel? Upset that I gave you that black eye earlier today? You shouldn’t drop your left hand. I was trained by a navy boxing champion, so I’m afraid I had a big advantage.” Marco had earned that championship honestly. The guy was a genius in the ring. He’d taught Jett plenty about fighting and life. Besides, it was a pleasure to rub salt in Miguel’s wounded pride, even though he could feel the dread rolling off Sarah at his goading.
Miguel glowered. “I will crush your skull.”
“Try,” Jett said. “It will be a moment you’ll never forget.” Big talk, since Jett’s head was pounding from the earlier fight and the bat strike had left him unable to draw a full breath. Still, there was enough anger burning through him that would fuel his muscles into delivering what his mouth had promised.
Miguel’s face pinched with rage. “You will die slowly, American.”
“And you will eat those words,” Jett said, enunciating each and every syllable so there was no mistake. They were six inches from each other now. He could read the hatred simmering in Miguel’s eyes. He hoped Miguel could see the same in his.
Alex held up a hand. “Un momento. Let me hear what this arrogant American says before we finish this.”
Sarah sucked in a breath, and Miguel grudgingly eased back a pace.
“Young is going to die without Sarah’s help—it’s that simple,” Jett said.
Alex shrugged. “We will get him medical assistance.”
“Yeah? Where?”
“We do have hospitals here in our country, in case you were not aware.” Alex’s tone dripped with sarcasm.
“I am aware, and the closest one with an MRI machine is Puerto Rosado. There will be a lot of people there asking questions, forms to fill out, the victim being an American and all.” Jett was guessing about Young’s citizenship, but he saw in Alex’s face that he’d hit the mark.
“The village doctor,” the third man said. “We will make him do the treatments.”