Too Far Gone

by Marliss Melton

  “Oh, yeah,” he replied, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “Okay,” he said with resolve. “Ready to hear this?”

  She wasn’t sure she was.

  As he recounted the Savannah police’s betrayal, she shuddered to think how close the bullet that had left the gash on his head had come to killing him. An unaccustomed fear encased her heart in ice.

  She remembered telling him, and believing it, that she didn’t need a man in her life. That she’d be fine without him. He’d gone and made a liar out of her.

  “And then I woke up on a boat, with my ankles coiled in anchor rope.”

  The harrowing story ended with a record-long nighttime swim after which he awoke on the beach with a splitting headache. “When I saw a woman coming toward me, I tried to get up but I couldn’t.”

  The woman, whose name was Maggie, had nursed him through his concussion. Ellie listened, carefully masking the jealousy that twisted her insides. Maggie had bandaged his wounds and put him in her bed. She’d even given him her ex-husband’s clothes to wear and her cell phone.

  “Nice woman,” he said in conclusion. “Smart. She’s a doctor of . . . forensic anthropology,” he recalled.

  Ellie swallowed. The realization that Sean had lied to her earlier sat like a cinder block on her chest. He’d said before that people—plural—had given him the clothes he was wearing, when in fact, Maggie had offered him her ex-husband’s clothes. Maggie who owned a big house on the ocean and had a PhD.

  Suddenly, it didn’t matter that Sean had made Ellie feel like the only woman in the world when he’d made love to her. He could have any woman he wanted, including one with a seaside mansion and a doctorate. Why would he ever want Ellie, who could barely scrape up enough to pay the rent, who just started going to college, who had three boys who would need special help getting over the trauma they were still being subjected to?

  Nothing had changed between them.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said with a weak smile.

  “I’m all right,” he agreed, but a shadow seemed to fall over his face. She felt a tension in him immediately.

  “There’s something else you’re not telling me,” she quietly accused.

  He looked at her sharply. “You know me that well?” he asked.

  She had to swallow the lump in her throat. “I guess so. What is it?” she asked as the lines bracketing his mouth deepened. She could tell it was something awful. Her heart clutched with fear.

  “It’s Tiffany,” he admitted gruffly. “The woman I was with—”

  “I know her name,” she cut him off, not wanting to hear the rest. “What about her?” Jealousy twisted her insides anew.

  “Someone tried to kill her.”

  “What?” Ellie sat up abruptly. “Oh, Sean,” she cried, instantly ashamed of her pettiness. “What happened?”

  He stroked a hand up the length of her spine. “I think Butler plotted to have her murdered so I wouldn’t have an alibi.”

  “Butler?” she replied, envisioning the bland-faced FBI agent as a cold-blooded murderer.

  “Or maybe one of his superiors,” Sean offered with a shrug. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? Tiffany’s in ICU in a coma. I ruined her whole fucking life.”

  “Sean,” she breathed with dismay. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine,” she attempted to convince him. Tears of remorse and pity for a woman whose only sin was to succumb to Sean’s charms tracked down her cheeks.

  “Don’t cry, Ellie,” Sean begged, pulling her head down on his shoulder. “It is my fault. If I hadn’t been trying so hard to get you out of my mind, I never would’ve turned to her in the first place.”

  Ellie gave a sharp sniff and lifted her head. “What did you say?”

  His blue gaze looked deeply into hers. “I said I only went to see her because I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

  “Oh,” she answered, her dismal spirits lifting. She cautioned herself not to make too much of his confession. He wasn’t saying he loved her, just that he’d wanted to have sex with her and couldn’t. She’d pretty much sent him packing at the mere suggestion.

  “I think I’d better catch some shut-eye while I can,” Sean suggested, closing his eyes and rubbing them. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  She hadn’t slept well lately, either, not until Vinny’s call letting her know that Sean was safe. “Okay,” she agreed, wriggling in his arms to find a comfortable position.

  With her head pillowed on Sean’s shoulder, Ellie released a long, uncertain sigh. Sean’s confession about Tiffany gave her hope that he loved her the way she’d come to realize she loved him. Immediately, she reined in her optimism. What difference did it make if he loved her or not? She was determined to forge her own path, to stand on her own two feet. She didn’t need a man in her life to make her whole, regardless of how much she might love him.

  “Mr. Dulay?”

  “Yes, Myrtle,” Owen replied, recognizing Mrs. Banks’s distinctive voice, though it sounded more tentative over the phone than usual.

  “We’ve had another incident, sir, with Caleb Stuart.”

  “Have you?” Owen asked, tempering his annoyance. “What now?”

  “He started a fire in the school yard, then used the distraction to attempt an escape through the delivery entrance.”

  “I see,” said Owen, who needed no more proof that Ellie Stuart had left her genetic imprint on the second son. “I assume he was caught and is now being reprimanded?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s been locked in his room with bread and water for the next two days.”

  Myrtle sounded truly shaken by the attempted escape.

  “Not to worry,” Owen soothed her, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Soon his father will have the means to look after his own sons, and you won’t have to do it for him.”

  “Yes, sir. About that, sir . . .”

  “Go on,” he urged, troubled by something in her tone.

  “You told me their mother was dead,” she blurted with obvious affront and confusion.

  Owen’s heart skipped a beat. “Who told you otherwise?” he inquired. While teachers at the Boys’ Home were well aware of Christopher, Caleb, and Colton’s history, they were all loyal Centurions, men who’d never dream to question the Consul’s actions. Mrs. Banks had been told the boys’ mother was dead. Since she’d banned the use of television at the home and watched little, if any, herself, he’d thought his secret safe.

  “A woman,” said Myrtle. “She dropped by this morning with her husband on the premise of looking for a baby to adopt.”

  “You let them in?”

  “Well, she implied that she knew you, sir. I thought, perhaps, she might take pity on one of our younger tykes.”

  “Our boys have everything they need,” Owen reprimanded. “Foisting them off on others isn’t necessary.”

  “Yes, sir. In any event, she showed me a flyer that said the boys were missing.”

  “And you believe everything you read?” Owen countered with just the right mix of condescension and confidence. “You trust me, do you not, Mrs. Banks?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Then when I explain to you that the Stuart boys were being raised in filth by a drug-abusing whore, wouldn’t you wish better for them?”

  “Well, yes, sir, but—”

  “Their mother was compensated for her loss. I can’t help it if she spent the money and has now changed her mind. It isn’t easy to be the champion of children, Mrs. Banks. But I assure you that they’ll be far better off with their father.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Myrtle in halfhearted agreement.

  “What did this couple look like?” He was forced to reveal his curiosity in exchange for information.

  “The woman was young, with reddish curls. The man had a military bearing and a silver streak in his dark hair.”

  He searched his memory, unable to match her description to any key players. The word military made him wonder if the Navy SEA
L, who was now allegedly dead, had friends. “I see. Well, good day, Mrs. Banks. We’ll be visiting all three boys again this evening,” he added with the slightest hint of warning in his voice that she had better take no action.

  “Yes, sir. The boys will be expecting you,” she reassured him.

  Ending the call, Owen sat back in his desk chair and mulled over the disturbing conversation.

  The cat was out of the bag, so to speak. Yet he didn’t fear Myrtle’s betrayal. It was the faceless strangers who had come knocking who troubled him.

  Were they friends of the Navy SEAL? Of Ellie Stuart? Had he been a fool for letting the Culprit convince him to release her?

  The wisest course would be to take precautions. He would remove the boys tonight, stepping up his plans to install them with their father at his hunting lodge outside of town. Set in the marshes, surrounded by water, the house was miles from the nearest neighbor.

  In time, he reassured himself, rumors of a kidnapping would die away. Christopher would grow into a fine young man, capable of running his grandfather’s empire.

  “What are you doing?” Ellie asked as Ophelia took the keys out of her car ignition and shoved them into the pocket of her slacks. When they had dropped Sean off minutes before, he had instructed them to return to the inn and sit tight.

  Despite the gathering dusk, Ophelia’s sardonic look was unmistakable. “Did you really plan on going back?” she asked Ellie. “Come on, Reggie. Grab the camera.”

  In the backseat, Reggie started gathering up their gear.

  “Well, no,” Ellie admitted, thinking they might drive around until it was fully dark and then come back. “But I think we should at least move the car somewhere less conspicuous, don’t you?”

  “You haven’t done this kind of thing before, have you?” Ophelia surmised, flashing her a knowing grin. “If you park too far away and have to run for your vehicle, you might get caught.”

  “Oh,” said Ellie, seeing the logic in that. “Well, can we at least park across the street and not call attention to the men in the woods?”

  “Sure,” said the reporter with a shrug. Jamming the key back into the ignition, Ophelia revved the engine and executed a tight U-turn, only to put them straight into the path of an oncoming vehicle.

  “Watch out!” Ellie cried, blinded by headlights.

  The vehicle swerved abruptly, dropped two tires onto the shoulder to pass them, then bumped back onto the road, avoiding a direct collision. The driver blared his horn indignantly.

  “Phew!” Ophelia exclaimed in a shaky voice. “Sorry ’bout that.”

  “That was Carl!” Ellie realized, recognizing his silhouette even in the dying light. She twisted to watch as the taillights of a fancy silver car turned into the home’s long gravel driveway. “And Owen Dulay,” she added, noting the passenger in the rear seat. “Keep driving! God, I hope he doesn’t come after us.”

  Ophelia kept her foot on the accelerator, taking them swiftly back toward town. Bats twirled above the dark limbs of live-oak trees. Up ahead, streetlights beckoned insects. The sound of a jazz band spilled out of a nearby local haunt.

  “Are they following us?” Ellie asked, too fearful to look back. If anything happened to compromise her boys’ rescue, she didn’t know what she’d do.

  “No,” said Reggie. “I don’t think they got a good look at us, either. I think it’s safe to return, only not so close this time.”

  Ophelia circled a residential block, then headed back toward the outskirts of town.

  “Should we tell the others Dulay is there?” Ellie asked.

  “Believe me, they already know,” Ophelia reassured her. “Our boys see everything. Hey, Reggie,” she added, “how close to Dulay do we have to get to film a close-up of him coming out of the Boys’ Home?”

  “Pretty close,” said Reggie nervously. “The night- vision lens limits our range to fifty meters.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Ophelia optimistically. “You know those ghillie suits I put in the trunk?”

  Reggie groaned. “I thought those were for your husband.”

  “Nope. Those are for us. Trust me, no one will see us even if we have to get that close. We’ll look like two lumps of grass.”

  “You just said our boys see everything,” Ellie pointed out.

  “Oh, sure, they’ll see us,” Ophelia admitted. “But they won’t compromise their agenda by chasing us away.”

  Ellie regarded her shadowed profile with admiration. “Do you think Vinny will forgive you?” she asked quietly.

  Ophelia didn’t answer right away. She swung the car into a clearing of newly developed land, killed the engine, and sighed. “When Vinny realizes that I’m just doing my job the way he does his, then, yes, he’ll forgive me,” she replied with certainty. “It’s not about me,” she insisted. “It’s about exposing the truth. There are too many men like Owen Dulay. My job is to bring them down, the way Vinny brings down terrorists.”

  “He loves you,” Ellie reassured her.

  Ophelia’s eyes glimmered in the dark. “There was never any question of that,” she answered, pushing her door open. “Maybe you should keep the keys,” she added, handing them to Ellie. “Are you going to be okay waiting?”

  “Sure,” said Ellie, accepting the key ring with disappointment. Her lot, apparently, was to sit in a dark car as the hours crept by, honoring the phone silence Sean had requested, and wait.

  Wait for him to spirit her boys out of the institution that had housed them for . . . was it just eight days since their kidnapping? It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d been pulled from her Impala and thrown onto the pavement like a bag of trash.

  Funny, she used to wonder how Sean could kill in the name of national security. But now, having been on the receiving end of Dulay’s brutality, she understood the mentality behind dispatching terrorists. Because of that, she felt closer to Sean than ever—of one mind, one body, one spirit.

  She wasn’t supposed to have fallen in love with him.

  That may well be her most costly mistake ever.

  “Heads up,” Sean warned his teammates. He spoke softly into the mouthpiece of his interteam radio, which Vinny had borrowed from Team 12’s supply closet without the commander’s knowledge. “A van just pulled into the driveway.”

  As Sean peered down through his Night Vision Goggles, the van parked alongside Owen Dulay’s Bentley, and the driver jumped out, his face briefly illumined by the interior light. “I’ll be damned,” Sean breathed. It was the little bastard with the mustache, the one who’d gotten him arrested, accompanied by Grimes and the third kidnapper—a pock-faced, hulking creature. “Reinforcements have arrived, three in number. These guys were the kidnappers.”

  “Roger that, Chief,” Vinny whispered. “Can you tell if they saw Ophelia and her sidekick out there?” For the past half hour, Sean and Vinny, who had a view of the expansive front lawn, had watched two bumps slither closer and closer. Light reflecting off a camera lens betrayed their exact location, at least to the SEALs, who were trained to notice.

  “Negative,” Sean reassured him. “They’re heading straight for the side entrance, but it’s locked. Now they’re knocking.” Standing less than twenty meters away from Sean’s concealed location atop the wall, the three thugs shifted, scratched themselves, and spit as they waited. They had no idea that Sean, dressed in Solomon’s black clothing, his head covered in a knit cap, and his face smeared in camo paint, was close enough to trounce them. “Senior Chief?” Sean whispered.

  “Dulay just left his office,” reported Solomon. From his position at the back of the building, Solomon had watched Dulay hold a brief discourse with Mrs. Banks, who nodded and left. Carl and the boys were presumably together in some other part of the building.

  Sean’s pulse quickened as Dulay cracked the service entrance. “He’s letting them in,” he whispered. “Cancel that. He’s handing them a piece of paper. Looks like he’s giving them directions. Holy shit, I think h
e’s moving the boys out tonight.”

  “Wait it out,” Solomon instructed. “Vinny, fall back to the vehicle in case they do move out. At my command, bring it to the corner of the property, no lights.”

  “Roger, Senior.”

  “What’s happening now, Chief?” Solomon asked.

  Sean watched the three thugs examine the paper Dulay had thrust at them. “They’re returning to the van,” Sean reported. “Looks like they’re waiting for someone else to come out. Dulay went back into the building. Do you see him yet?”

  “Negative. Office door is closed. Lights are out.”

  With a cicada buzzing noisily beside him, Sean kept his eyes peeled for movement. Moments later, the service entrance popped open again. This time it was Carl Stuart who appeared, dragging a resistant Caleb behind him. Sean’s heart somersaulted with joy to see the boy. Christopher followed with reluctant obedience. He threw a look back at Dulay, who watched from the door.

  Seeing the van waiting with its rear doors thrown open, Caleb balked. “No!” he shouted. “I ain’t going with you!”

  “Stop it!” insisted his father, yanking him firmly forward. “You’re the one who wanted to leave, so quit your complaining.” Grimes, who’d gotten into the back of the van, reached out to haul Caleb in after him.

  “Recovery targets in direct sight,” whispered Sean, his eyes stinging at the welcome sight of Ellie’s boys. “They’re leaving with Carl Stuart. Even the baby,” he added as a young woman hurried to catch up with the others. A not-so-little Colton rode her hip. “Add one young female, unidentified. They’re all getting in the van.” The interior light lit Christopher’s solemn face as Carl handed him up next. At the last second, Chris turned and waved farewell to Dulay, who returned the gesture and stepped back into the building, closing the door.

  The woman, who was scarcely more than a teen, was the last to climb aboard. Little Hitler shut them all inside, stifling the baby’s sudden wail. Rounding toward the driver’s side, he slipped behind the wheel and fired up the engine.