Look for Me: Second Chance Christian Romance Novel with a Side of Suspense: Encounters in Key Largo (Vacation Sweethearts Book 4)

by Jan Thompson

  Regardless of how many people Flavian had killed, Corinne would have to admit that he had been a good father to Dahlia the first two years of their daughter’s life.

  Someday, if she ever saw Flavian again…

  No.

  How quickly have I forgotten all the people Flavian had killed to get to those diamonds?

  Now, Nikos might kill her and Dahlia just to get to Flavian—if he hadn’t already. Unfortunately, whether Flavian was dead or alive, there was no way Nikos could get to half the diamonds.

  Because I have given them to the FBI.

  Corinne had no idea what time it was, but she knew that in the last three days, someone came to escort her to breakfast shortly after dawn. Nikos was either an early riser or he didn’t sleep at night.

  She prayed for strength at what she was about to do. Before she could finish praying, she heard footsteps outside the door. Boots on cement or whatever the hallway floor was made of.

  No doubt they had come to take her to breakfast. This time she told herself to be brave enough to ask for a shower and clean clothes.

  She heard the key turn on the other side of the door.

  She prayed again.

  She half-expected that Miss Executioner would come for her, but this wasn’t her job. Usually a couple of guards would escort her out of here. They’d go up one flight of stairs, and walk down a wide hallway to an airy room overlooking the bay.

  She didn’t remember seeing any boat docks outside, but if she could take Dahlia outside, she could try to find a boat to get off the island. Or wait until one arrived.

  But first, she had to get out of her cell.

  She sat up on her bed. That way, she wouldn’t arouse suspicions. Didn’t want the guards to think she was too eager about a potential plan or something.

  As soon as the guard opened the door, Corinne spoke. “Is there anywhere I can take a shower?”

  The guard stared at her.

  “I also need clean clothes since I’ve worn this for four days.”

  The guard said nothing, as if stunned by something.

  “Please ask Nikos for me, will you?” Corinne realized then that if she had been in this position three years ago, she would have flashed a bare thigh or shoulder. Flavian’s men would bow immediately, especially Slam and Slime, so easily bought.

  Not any longer.

  She was saved in Jesus Christ now, and her old life was dead to her, including everything she had to do in Las Vegas to survive.

  Sometimes she wished she had never left Savannah.

  Wished she had married Martin instead when he asked her to four years ago.

  And bore his children inside a Christian marriage, instead of having two kids by different fathers and ending up as a single mother.

  “Tell Nikos I’m not going to see him until I get a shower and some clean clothes.”

  Who in their right mind would choose to stay in a cell? It was no bargaining chip. And it was certainly not the type of guile that would make Flavian proud of her.

  Asking for a shower was buying time. Corinne figured that if she could see more of the house—the building—then she might know the escape routes.

  She regretted not asking Flavian more about the building. He had told her the bare minimum. She should have asked him about boats.

  Half an hour later, she was escorted by none other than her maid-in-waiting, Miss Executioner.

  “You take everything, don’t you?” She snarled. “You take my man, my child, and now you take my clothes.”

  “Clothes? I only asked for a shower.”

  “Nikos said you need a change of clothes.” Miss Executioner pushed her forward. “He wants you to shower in my bedroom, and then change into my clothes. He wants you to look like me.”

  “You’re taller than I am.” Corinne wasn’t sure if that helped. Perhaps she could…

  “Of course, I am. I’m also better than you. But Nikos has his eyes on you because you belong to Flavian.”

  “I belong to God,” Corinne corrected her.

  “Don’t go there.”

  “You mean heaven? If I die now, I go to heaven because I trusted Jesus in my heart,” Corinne said. “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “I’m going to get my man back.”

  “I mean after you die.”

  “I’m not going to die any time soon.”

  “You will when they come for me.” Oops. Corinne shouldn’t have said that.

  “They who?”

  Uh… “Flavian’s people.”

  “Slam and Slime are dead, woman.” Miss Executioner shoved her into the sparse bedroom, and led her to the bathroom. “Your clothes are on hangers.”

  “I don’t get to choose?”

  “Nikos has already chosen.” Miss Executioner’s voice cracked.

  Suddenly Corinne wasn’t afraid of her anymore because she had found Miss Executioner’s weakness.

  One word: Nikos.

  Corinne hated to do it, but if she kept pushing the Nikos button, she might be able to disarm the woman when she was most vulnerable.

  She took her time in the hot shower, shampooing her hair at least three times. The hot water never felt better.

  She dried her hair with a towel, and put on the too-big blouse. The stretch pants fitted her loosely. She rolled up the pant legs until they cleared her feet.

  Miss Executioner was waiting for her outside the bathroom.

  “Do you have a hair tie?” Corinne asked politely.

  “No. Let’s go.” Miss Executioner turned slightly, and Corinne took the chance.

  With a flying kick, she knocked Miss Executioner over. While the latter was regaining her balance and reaching for her gun, Corinne spotted the Taser around Miss Executioner’s belt.

  Corinne yanked it off the belt, and tested it on Miss Executioner, who writhed in pain.

  Then Corinne took Miss Executioner’s handgun and key card.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Martin stood up as soon he heard commotion and screams outside their cell.

  Flavian laughed. “I think she did it. All those lessons finally paid off.”

  “Who?”

  “Gail.” Flavian tried to get up.

  Martin shuffled toward him. “You can’t walk with broken legs.”

  The door clicked and opened.

  “Flav—” Corinne’s eyes widened when she saw him. “Martin? What are you doing here?”

  “Keeping Flavian company.” Martin lifted Flavian. The man wasn’t too heavy, just about as much as he could bench press at the gym.

  Okay. Maybe just a tad more.

  “You know who he is,” Corinne said.

  Before Martin could reply, he heard another voice coming from the hallway.

  “Hurry up! Let’s go!” Agent Tanaka stood at the door. She looked disheveled. Her hair was matted, and the clothes she had worn at the nightclub that night were torn in various places, but she had handguns in her hands and a two more hanging off an oversized vest.

  “Now!” Tanaka yelled again.

  The four of them went up the stairs, with Flavian piggybacking on Martin and giving directions on which hallway would lead to the outside. He was in great pain as his broken legs dangled on both sides of Martin’s waist.

  Tanaka led the way, and Corinne brought up the rear, behind Martin who was carrying Flavian.

  “I have to get Dahlia.” Corinne pulled away.

  “Corinne!” Martin stopped in his tracks.

  “Corinne? Why did you call Gail that?” Flavian looked puzzled.

  Everyone ignored him.

  Tanaka walked past Martin and Flavian. She shoved a handgun into Martin’s waist. “You two go ahead. Flavian knows the way out.”

  “Corinne.” Martin was too stunned to say anything else but: “I don’t want to lose you again.”

  “You never lost me. Go. I’ll see you later.” Corinne started sprinting, Tanaka at her heels.

  Martin’s heart warmed. He h
eard her words over and over in his mind.

  You never lost me.

  “What did she mean by that?” Flavian asked.

  Martin couldn’t reply. He wanted to cry. Flavian wasn’t heavy, but his own heart was.

  What if those were Corinne’s last words to him?

  He had to get Flavian out of the building and then he decided he’d return to help Corinne and Tanaka.

  Then again, what could he do? It was apparent that Corinne knew how to use a weapon.

  And that she was buddies with Tanaka.

  Was Corinne an FBI informant?

  Was that why she ended up in WITSEC?

  The door opened to heavy rain. Martin’s steps were slowed down by the part-sandy and part-muddy ground. He nearly slipped once or twice, with Flavian hanging on to his neck with his one good arm.

  A sudden force pushed Flavian against Martin’s head, throwing him off balance. He slipped and fell face first into the ground. Flavian slid off his back. They both groaned in agony.

  In the thunder and lightning, Martin heard gunshots. And more groaning from Flavian.

  “They’re coming!” Martin got on his knees, but he had lost a shoe. He tried to reach for Flavian.

  Flavian was not moving on the ground.

  “Flavian?” Martin crawled toward the man.

  Like thunder, a host of boots pounded around them, heading toward the house. Martin looked up but saw nothing until a flash of lightning gave him light.

  Large words were emblazoned on the back of the vests of the crowd of armed people.

  FBI.

  Martin was so relieved he rolled back, flat on the muddy ground. He closed his eyes and let the heavy rain pelt his face.

  He didn’t stay long before someone knelt down beside him. “Can you walk?”

  Martin nodded. Tried to get up. From the corner of his eye, he saw two FBI agents carry Flavian. He followed them. It was a long walk through a grove of trees that smelled like oranges, but they made it to a dock.

  Two boats awaited them. From the markings, Martin guessed that one was a Coast Guard boat, and the other looked like a Marine Patrol boat from the Miami Beach Police Department.

  All that told Martin they were off the coast of Florida somewhere, but not quite on international waters if the local police had jurisdiction.

  Where are we, really?

  The thunderstorm had passed, leaving what felt like a tropical shower.

  A helicopter landed on the flat grassy plain next to the dock. Paramedics poured out and started treating Flavian. He was still not moving.

  Martin’s thought that Flavian wasn’t that seriously injured when he carried him went out the door when he heard what the FBI agents said to the paramedics.

  Gunshot wounds.

  Martin quickly said a prayer for Flavian.

  Another paramedic approached Martin. Suddenly all his muscles hurt from having to carry Flavian. He stretched out on the ground. Rain fell on his face and soaked through his clothes.

  Everything else moved in slow motion around Martin. All he could think of now was Corinne. Was she alive?

  You never lost me.

  Did she really mean it?

  The paramedics told him to get to a doctor since he didn’t have any broken bones or gunshot wounds. That meant Flavian had taken a bullet for him.

  A bottled water appeared in front of him. It was Pilar Santiago with a smile on her face. “You’re alive.”

  “You’re alive too.” Martin grinned.

  “Someone had to call 911 and contact the FBI.” Pilar sat down next to him. “Told you to stay in the van.”

  Martin ignored her chastisement. “What happened to you in the club? We waited a long time.”

  “I never left. I was in the back alley looking at two dead bodies.” She was specific about saying two.

  “Let me guess. Slap and Spit?”

  Pilar shrugged. “Don’t know their real names, but they’re dead now.”

  “Turncoats can’t be trusted by either side.”

  “We don’t know what they are.”

  “Nor do we care.” Martin drank half the water. “How did you know we were here? What is this place anyway? I don’t even know where we are.”

  “You’re on a private island off the coast of Florida. It’s owned by a trust fund. Your captors rented it.”

  “Let me guess,” Martin said. “Because it has prison cells in the basement?”

  “Does it?” Pilar whistled. “Do they give tours?”

  “Flavian wasn’t our captor,” Martin said.

  “I know. It’s his ex-business partner whom Agent Tanaka has been trying to take down for a couple of years.”

  “That still didn’t explain how you found us.” Martin finished off the bottled water.

  “Tanaka injected herself with a tracker, but Nikos must have discovered it because the FBI tracked it to the bottom of the sea outside Miami Beach. That’s why it took two more days to look for y’all. Kudos to the Coast Guard who helped the police.”

  Martin’s eyebrows rose. “Did you say two days?”

  “Yeah, happy Friday.” Pilar suddenly stood up. “Here they come.”

  Martin watched a group of people emerge from the orange grove. On the other side of the grove of trees, smoke rose into the dark early afternoon sky.

  An FBI agent carried Dahlia. Corinne and Tanaka came up behind them.

  Martin was relieved to see Corinne.

  You never lost me.

  Corinne didn’t look his way, though. She screamed and made a beeline for the stretcher lifting Flavian into the chopper. She hunched over the injured man. When Dahlia was handed to her, the chopper lifted off in the rain.

  Martin’s heart sank to the bottom of the sea. Maybe the words she had spoken weren’t meant for him at all. Maybe they were meant for Flavian.

  You never lost me.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Flavian was in surgery for hours, first to get the multiple bullets out of his back, and then to put his broken arm and legs back together. Corinne wondered about the pointlessness of the latter procedures because the surgeons had told her that he would never walk again, thanks to his destroyed spinal cord.

  But first, he had to regain consciousness.

  Pacing back and forth in the hospital playroom didn’t do her any good, but she didn’t want to leave Dahlia, not after what had happened yesterday.

  Corinne’s mind was numb. The entire episode felt surreal to her, as though she hadn’t been there in person. It was a coping mechanism she had perfected over the last four years.

  Her feet hurt and she sat down. Her ankles had started to swell as her pregnancy progressed. All this stress wasn’t doing her a bit of good.

  But she had to be strong for Dahlia.

  Someday she might tell her daughter everything that happened in the first three years of her life. Yet, Corinne had been pushing the memories further and further back into her own forgetfulness to the point that she wondered if she’d remember them clearly when the time came.

  Watching Dahlia color with chunky crayons, Corinne began to tear. She prayed that her daughter would be strong growing up, that her life would be easier than hers.

  And that she would find God at an early age.

  Corinne dared not close her eyes as she prayed for Flavian. She glanced at the clock on the wall, ticking away the pains of her life.

  Here she sat alone with her daughter.

  Well, not really alone. Outside the playroom, a Miami Dade police officer sat on a chair. Corinne didn’t know whether to feel safer with him there or be alarmed that someone was still after her—according to Agent Tanaka, who had gone hunting for Oscar.

  Corinne didn’t believe she was in any danger, but Tanaka was sure that if Flavian didn’t have the diamonds Nikos wanted, then someone else had them. Oscar?

  Apparently the smuggled stash was bigger than either Corinne or Tanaka had thought. It had turned out there were more diamonds o
ut there somewhere, beyond what Flavian had traded and what Corinne had handed over to the FBI.

  Nikos was dead.

  Corinne couldn’t get the picture out of her mind. As soon as she and Tanaka had stormed the room where Nikos was playing house with Dahlia in the toy kitchen, the FBI agent fired two shots into the man’s head. No questions asked.

  Later, Tanaka would say that she thought Nikos had nefarious plans for the little girl, still in pajamas.

  But Nikos had never touched Dahlia in the years he had visited Flavian and Corinne in their mansion outside Las Vegas. He wasn’t a predator, as far as Corinne knew. He was only using Corinne and her daughter as leverage against Flavian.

  Then again, both had ordered the killings of their enemies. They lived by the sword, and now they would die by the sword.

  Flavian was still alive, though.

  Corinne prayed again. Let me speak with him one more time, Lord. Please.

  She heard footsteps and voices. She straightened up.

  The surgeon she had spoken to earlier appeared at the door.

  Corinne leapt up, and then found herself hobbling toward the doctor. “Is he all right?”

  “Mr. Bailey is in a coma in ICU,” the surgeon said.

  “May I see him?”

  “Soon.”

  “Will he live?” Corinne asked. It was more for the sake of her daughter. Their daughter. Flavian was still Dahlia’s father, after all.

  “We don’t know. We lost him twice in the OR.”

  Corinne gasped. “Let me see him ASAP.”

  The surgeon nodded.

  Was it possible to talk to a comatose person about Jesus Christ? Could he hear her speak and pray? Corinne didn’t know.

  But she was going to try, nonetheless.

  Suited up with a mask and gloves, Corinne walked gingerly into the ICU. While she felt that it was an overkill, the nurses had told her that Flavian was in such bad shape that they didn’t want him to catch more germs and get infections. He would be wheeled back into more surgery soon.

  Corinne knew that the FBI wanted him alive because he was the little fish that could lead them to a bigger fish. That was, assuming Flavian would cooperate with the authorities, something he hated doing all his life, and which had led him to be as elusive as possible.