Wings Of The Dawn

by Tracie Peterson

  Walking through the house, he ignored the tight gathering of agents as they listened to Curt. Outside, the light was fading from the sky as the sun melted into a puddle of orange and gold behind the Rocky Mountains. Erik climbed into Ole Blue, feeling so lost and discomforted that he didn’t know what to do. Where was God in all of this?

  I’m with you always, an inner voice seemed to speak.

  Erik pounded the steering wheel with his fists. “But I need assurance. I need to know that she’ll be okay.”

  Calming a bit, Erik fell back against the seat and shook his head. “God, I know You care, and I know You have everything under control, but I’m afraid. I don’t want anything bad to happen to Cheryl. I don’t even know where she is, but You do. She’s alone and scared, and I just want You to stay with her.”

  Then surprisingly the words of a psalm came to mind, and Erik murmured them aloud. “ ‘Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.’”

  Erik breathed a sigh of relief and felt a peace wash over him that he’d not believed possible under the circumstances. God wouldn’t desert them. He wouldn’t desert Cheryl. Even in the depths of this hideous situation, God was there.

  “I have to keep my focus,” Erik said and started the truck. “I have to remember that God loves Cheryl even more than I do.”

  seventeen

  Cheryl gagged at the taste of the oily rag in her mouth. Severon didn’t want her screaming to warn Curt away, yet he wanted Curt to clearly see that Cheryl’s life depended upon his actions. There-fore, Burks left her tied and gagged in the middle of the hangar with both doors open and a single light shining from nearby. As shadows fell across the ground and the skies darkened, Cheryl felt desperation build within her soul.

  I’m the bait they’re using to capture Curt, she thought. I’m the reason he’s going to die.

  She tried not to think about it. She tried not to think of how she and Curt had come full circle. She’d loved him once. She had planned her life around a future that would see him as her husband and lifetime mate. Those memories were bittersweet. The Curt and Cheryl of those yesteryears no longer existed. Yet the affection had been very real.

  But she had hated him as well.

  Someone had once told her that love and hate were opposite sides of a single coin. She didn’t know if she found that such feelings were far more internalized than she’d originally believed. Instead of hating Curt, she found that she really hated herself. Hated her vulnerability. Hated her neediness. Hated her mistakes. Hating Curt for injustices, real or imagined, came easily. Already steeped in hatred, Cheryl had little ability to love anyone.

  But now Curt would face death because of her hatred and her love. It was all her fault, and now all she wanted to do was protect him. She thought of Christy and of Grant’s baby. What was her name? Oh, yes, Sarah.

  They loved Curt and needed him. How could she ever explain that her stupidity and stubborn refusal to assist Curt had cost them a husband and father? Tears welled in her eyes as she watched and waited for the telltale signs of car headlights.

  Then another face came to mind. Erik. She tried to concentrate on her memories of him. His boyish grin. His blue eyes, so bold and bright. He could gaze at her with a look that seemed to go right through to her soul. Just thinking of him caused her stomach to do a flip.

  I suppose, she admitted, that since I’m about to die it can’t possibly hurt anything to say I’ve come to care for him. She wanted to laugh at her own noncommittal thoughts.

  Care for him? The man who’d forced himself into her life and beaten down the walls of hatred she’d built? The man who bore her painful reminders of the past? The man who knew all her dirty little secrets and held no condemnation for her?

  She pulled restlessly at the rope that bound her to the chair. Erik was also the man who’d comforted her when she was afraid. He’d been the man who’d refused to be put off, the one who’d gone the distance with her and remained true to her needs.

  Maybe someday you’ll be ready for something more than friendship. His words came back to haunt her.

  I am ready for something more, she agonized. Only now, there might not be a “someday” to count on. She might never have a chance to tell Erik that she’d fallen in love with him.

  I’ve fallen in love with him? she questioned. Her heart knew that it was true. It wasn’t the teenage love she’d had for Curt; a love born out of familiarity and adolescent vision. It wasn’t the adventurous emotion she’d felt with Grant. No, this was a quiet, saturating kind of love. The kind of love a woman knew she could count on for the rest of her life. The kind of love that would see her through the thick and thin of things and come through stronger than ever.

  Headlights flashed before her eyes, and Cheryl instantly forgot her thoughts. Curt had come, and no doubt with him came her only hope of surviving Severon’s revenge. She tried to glance around to where she’d seen Severon take his hiding place. The darkness prevented her from seeing him there, however. She looked overhead where the two thugs were calmly waiting in the shadows, no doubt with guns drawn.

  If there were only some way to save Curt’s life! Cheryl knew she would offer herself up in his place. He didn’t deserve to die for this. He’d only been after the truth. And with that thought, Cheryl knew that she could completely forgive Curt for the imagined wrongs she’d held against him.

  Curt’s car stopped just outside of the hangar. She could see him now. His expression was quite serious, and for several moments all he did was look at her.

  Don’t come in here, she thought, and then she prayed, God, don’t let him be killed.

  Curt got out of the car slowly. In his right hand he held the lockbox. Raising both hands aloft, he moved toward her with an ease that made Cheryl want to scream. She struggled against the ropes and made as much protesting noise as her gag would allow. Curt only smiled and winked at her with a cocky self-assurance that made Cheryl want to slug him. This was life and death. Didn’t he understand the jeopardy?

  If we die now, Cheryl thought, then everything has been in vain. Daddy will have died in vain. The O’Sullivans’ deaths will mean nothing. Even my baby’s death will be forgotten and meaningless in the wake of Severon Burks’s victory.

  Curt advanced, and Cheryl could see his eyes dart from side to side, even though his face remained fixed on her. “I’m here, Cheryl. I’ve done exactly as you instructed me.”

  She moaned against the rag, wishing that he would magically disappear from the line of fire. She suddenly remembered in vivid detail the way it felt to have a bullet pierce her body. At first it had just been a stunning sensation of being hit hard in a very small space. Then it had seemed a warmth spread through her body until it became a white-hot fire. Her breath caught in her throat, and her chest tightened. She shook her head, refusing to allow the memory to take her captive. If there was even the remotest possibility that she could help Curt, then she had to stay clearheaded and focused.

  “I’ve brought your precious list,” Curt announced to the air. “So why don’t you stop playing this game of hide-and-seek and come out and inspect it for yourself?”

  “I believe I’ll do just that,” came the voice of Severon Burks. He stepped into the light, gun leveled at Curt’s midsection. “I suppose introductions are unnecessary.”

  “I know very well who you are,” Curt said, slowly lowering his hands. “Severon Burks, age fifty-eight, Columbian-born native mother and American father. Raised in Columbia until the age of twelve. When your mother died, your father relocated to the U.S. in order to see you receive an American education. You stayed on after the death of your father, married, and raised a son named Grant. When Grant turned eight, you moved your family back to Columbia and joined your mother’s
family in the cocaine business.”

  “You’ve done your homework, Mr. O’Sullivan.”

  “Just as I’m sure,” Curt said with a smile, “you’ve done yours.”

  Severon smiled. “You’re quite right, of course. We probably know each other better than we know ourselves.”

  “I don’t know that I would go that far, but I suppose we’re knowledgeable enough to respect the deadliness of our opponents.”

  “Exactly.”

  Cheryl watched the showdown with growing agitation. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She could hardly breathe.

  “I’ve brought what you want; now why don’t you let Ms. Fairchild go so we can get down to business?”

  “Not so fast.” Severon waved the gun at Curt and motioned toward a small workbench. “Put it over there, and then go stand beside her.”

  Curt toyed with the lid’s handle. “I would imagine you’d like to review the contents and make certain this is what you’ve been waiting for. After all, I could have an empty box here, and then you would be back at square one. Wouldn’t you like to see?” He looked up with a questioning expression.

  “You wouldn’t be stupid enough to remove—” Burks fell silent, and his eyes narrowed.

  Cheryl drew in a sharp breath, and Severon stepped toward Curt. “Yes, I suppose you would be stupid enough to believe that removing the contents would buy yourself more time.”

  Curt shrugged and gave the man a good-natured smile. He rolled his head back just a bit and gazed upward as though considering the nature of their conversation. Cheryl watched him and suddenly realized that Curt was studying the surroundings. He was looking for something or…someone!

  Would Severon notice? She began to make a noise, hoping that if he did, he’d forget about it and focus on her.

  He looked at her with an unyielding expression of anger. “Be silent.” He waved the gun in her direction. “Or I’ll silence you myself.”

  Cheryl cowered down against the back of the chair and nodded. It was enough, she thought. Curt had been able to give the area a good once-over. At least I’ve helped that much.

  “All right, Mr. O’Sullivan. On the chance that you think you can mastermind some form of heroics in this matter, I’ll review the contents of the lockbox first. I will add, however, that if the box contains less than I expect it to contain, I’ll put a bullet through the kneecap of your friend over there. You can watch her suffer in pain while we figure out what to do about your inability to follow directions.”

  “I didn’t say that I’d neglected to bring what you asked for,” Curt responded quite seriously. “You’re just like your son. Grant also had a penchant for using women to buffer himself from harm. Why don’t you stop hiding behind Cheryl’s presence and look it over? I want to get home, and I want this matter to be settled. You win. You have your list, and you have your drugs. That should make you a very happy man.”

  “It might, but you neglect to remember one simple fact.” Severon’s expression turned to a look of pure hatred. The scar on his face grew tight and pale. “You killed my son. That isn’t something I’m going to forgive you for. You’re going to pay for what you’ve done, and she can pay as well.”

  “I didn’t kill Grant,” Curt replied frankly. “Forensics proved that much. My bullet didn’t kill him. I was busy getting his fiancée out of the line of fire. My only concern was to keep my friend from dying.”

  Cheryl blinked back tears. He had risked his life for her. It was a simple fact she had been quite willing to forget, yet here was history repeating itself.

  “You’re to blame for the double cross. That makes you responsible for his death.”

  Curt shrugged. “Have it your way, but Grant brought it all on himself. He didn’t even stop at endangering the life of his child. Sarah was just another pawn in this stupid game of yours.”

  “The child is of no concern to me. Put the box down and move over there.” Severon was clearly through playing games. “You people operate under the delusion that your own principles for living can somehow be grafted onto those around you. My game is different from yours, and its rules are different. Life is short and fleeting—and in most cases very fragile. It isn’t the life of a person that matters quite as much as what can be accomplished with that life.”

  “Then why avenge your son’s death?” questioned Curt. “If life is of so little value, why spend your time and energy here?”

  “Because several million dollars are at stake,” Severon replied. “And because I am a businessman. When you take something of mine, you must pay for it. You took the life of my son, and I will take yours.” He raised the gun. “Now, put the box down.”

  Cheryl wanted to scream. Curt came to stand beside her, yet his presence did nothing to comfort her. Even when he put his arm on her trembling shoulder, Cheryl found her body tensing even further.

  Severon smiled at them with an evil leer that made Cheryl draw in a sharp breath. Would he kill them now?

  “You may have already seen my friends overhead,” Severon said as he put his own gun into his suit-coat pocket. “I wouldn’t try anything foolish. They’ve been instructed to shoot you both if you so much as sneeze.”

  “Good thing I don’t have a cold,” Curt said snidely.

  Severon stared hard at him for a moment, then turned to the box. He fumbled with it for several minutes before growling in anger and turning back to face Curt. “It’s stuck.”

  “Yeah, it does that. I find that a ballpoint pen usually does the trick. I have one right here, if you need it. See, you just pry it between the lid and the box—”

  “Then get over here and do it, and remember my men have you and your friend covered. One wrong move will see her dead.”

  “Relax, Severon. Your friends at the gate have already made certain I’m not carrying any weapons. They went over the car in detail, and they did everything but strip-search me. How could I possibly pose a threat?”

  How indeed? Cheryl wondered, yet she prayed that Curt might be just such a threat. She wanted nothing more than for Curt to find a way to release them both from the clutches of Grant’s father. Sitting there, helpless, she thought of every movie she’d ever seen, remembering the hapless victims and how they staged their own rescues. But this wasn’t a movie. She had no carefully concealed knife in her shirtsleeves. She had no prearranged plan for an army of mercenaries to storm the premises and whisk her and Curt to safety by the sudden appearance of a blimp or fully armed jet. Her only hope was that God had listened to her prayers.

  Curt walked to where Severon stood and reached slowly into his breast pocket. Cheryl tensed. She could tell by the look of concentration on Curt’s face that he was about to make his move. She’d seen that look a hundred times before.

  What can I do to help? What can I do?

  Suddenly it seemed important to distract Severon’s concentration. Cheryl began to strain at the ropes and rock the chair in place. She yelled from behind the gag, calling Severon every name she could think of—all of it coming out in garbled, incoherent groans.

  It was enough, however, to make Severon turn. Just as he turned, Cheryl rocked the chair too hard, and it went smashing against the concrete floor. Lying perfectly still, Cheryl feared that the men overhead would riddle her with bullets. She could almost feel the impact of the bullets piercing her flesh. It was the nightmarish day of the DEA shoot-out all over again.

  She heard the scuffle between Severon and Curt, but was unable to see the results. Overhead she could hear voices and shouted commands. There seemed to be a great deal of yelling and confusion. What in the world was happening?

  Everything went silent. She tried to raise her head up enough to see, but it was impossible, so she waited silently for her fate.

  “I’ve got your boss,” Curt shouted to the rafters. “If any of you wants to play hero, now’s the time.”

  “I think we’ve got them all, Curt,” a man yelled down from overhead. “We picked up the one
s at the gate and a man who claims to be piloting the plane outside. There doesn’t appear to be anyone else around.”

  Cheryl saw several people move across the floor of the hangar toward where Curt and Severon had been standing before her fall. She longed to know for herself that all was well with Curt. She tried again to twist around. Just then a hand pressed against her shoulder.

  “Relax, Cheryl; you’re okay.”

  It was Curt, and his voice gave her instant assurance that everything would be all right.

  He untied her gag and then cut the ropes away from the chair. Helping her to her feet, he assessed her from head to toe. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” she managed to say, still tasting the oil on her tongue. “Are you?”

  “Nah,” he said with a grin, “I’m too tough.”

  She shook her head, and her legs went out from under her. Curt immediately grabbed her and put a supportive arm around her waist. “Come on. I’ll put you in the car until this mess is taken care of.”

  “I thought he would kill you. He blamed you for Grant, and he said—”

  “Don’t think about it,” Curt replied, hugging her close. “It isn’t important now.”

  He opened his car door for her. “You stay here.”

  “Curt,” she said, taking hold of his arm, “I have to say something.”

  He gave her such a look of understanding that Cheryl knew no words were necessary. “We can talk later,” he said. “Erik and Christy are waiting for us at home, and the sooner I finish up inside, the sooner we can go to them.”

  “Erik’s there?” she said with a voice that betrayed her interest.

  “Yes, Erik is there,” Curt replied with a grin. “He has something he wants to tell you. Seemed pretty important.”

  “What was it?” she asked, feeling a surge of anticipation.

  “I think I’ll leave that to him. You’ll just have to be patient for once and do things my way.”

  eighteen