by Bonnie Vanak
Lacey’s stomach churned. What the hell had she done? And why was this woman intent on killing her?
“You were the one who tried to kill my daughter?”
Her throat was parched and her lips cracked. It was hard to speak. Harder still to keep the terror at bay and keep from panicking.
“I wanted you out of the country. It almost worked.” Collette scoffed. “And then everything seemed to fall into place, except that fool Montana resigned and left the country. Had he remained, and you had left for the States, I would have assumed control of your charity. That’s no longer an option.’
“Why do you want my charity?” Keep her talking, stall for time. Get answers, be aware of your surroundings. It was what Jarrett would have done.
“I don’t care about your stupid charity. I care about your land. I had a very sweet deal worked out with the former owner. I paid him a healthy amount each month for using his land. He asked no questions and never came onto the property. But he died and before I could purchase it outright, his son sold it to you. The do-gooder from America who wished to form a charity.”
“Were you the one who killed Caroline?” Lacey demanded.
Collette’s gaze flicked away. “Paul warned me to be subtle. But his foolish, feeble attempts to scare you away weren’t working. The dead chickens, the painted threats done by that imbecile you hired as a gardener. The dead body on the mango tree seemed a perfect way to cast suspicion on you and make you leave. And still, you remained. Paul was a fool. He grew too fond of my product, and I had to do something.”
Her father’s friend, her business partner, was in on this, as well. Was there anyone surrounding her she could have trusted?
Jarrett. She prayed he knew she was missing.
“What did you do with Rose?”
“You don’t have to worry about her any longer. She was terrified I would follow through on my threat to execute her parents. Rose was quite an asset in helping me smuggle Caroline Beaufort’s body onto the compound and hanging it from the tree and giving access to my men when they started the fire. All of that should have chased you away. But it didn’t.”
Poor Rose. The housekeeper had betrayed her, as well, but she paid with her life.
“With you missing, I will take charge and no one will question my authority.” Collette smiled. “I will convince your father that you would want Marlee’s Mangoes to continue. It will be your legacy. The houses you wished to be built on the land will never be built. It is impossible. That land where you wanted to build houses hides my lab and the cocaine I hid there for the past four years.”
The woman was insane. She could see it now, in her eyes, and the light she’d mistaken for zeal. It was power Collette craved. In an odd way, she found herself respecting Collette. To work for nearly a year in a low-level management position for a charity, all to conceal her true objective, took enormous cunning and patience.
Then she looked right at Collette and felt a slow-burning rage.
The woman headed one of the largest drug cartels outside Colombia. And all this time she had hidden cocaine right underneath Lacey’s nose.
Collette wasn’t patient or clever. She was greedy and power-hungry. Maybe it gave her a thrill to pretend to be managing the mango operation while she plotted on how to take down Lacey’s charity and ruin everything. Collette didn’t care about the women’s lives, her own country. She only cared about herself and her drug empire.
“You present a little problem. If we kill you and dump you into the ocean for the sharks, with the ocean currents you might never be found, and I need your father to claim your body so you can officially be declared dead. But we can’t keep you here for long. I have a business to run.”
A cruel smile touched her mouth. “I need a way for them to find you...after you’re dead. Bow rider won’t fully sink. They’ll find the wreckage with your body.”
She beckoned to one of the men. Shouldering his assault weapon, he came over. Collette took a pistol from the holster attached to his waist.
Jarrett had a pistol like that, she thought in rising terror.
“Bring her outside. I don’t want to stain the floor.”
The man picked up Lacey and flung her none too gently over one shoulder. He climbed down to a bow rider boat bobbing in the ocean.
The boat was taking on water, fast. The man dumped her onto the starboard aft bench as Collette followed.
She recognized the elegant keychain dangling from the starter with the initials PL.
She wasn’t alone. In the faint glow of the yacht’s running lights she saw a man sitting near the helm. Dressed in a pair of dark knit slacks and a white shirt, he stared sightlessly at the sky, a round hole neatly piercing his skull. The dead man was her business partner. Paul.
From the yacht’s deck, Collette laughed.
“Paul was so worried about you,” Collette called out. “He wanted out and was no longer an asset and begged me to spare you. Now when they find your body and the note we left at your house, they’ll blame him. The both of you went on a little night ride and it was a murder-suicide.”
As Collette raised the pistol, Lacey jerked her body around, praying the woman would miss her heart. The gun fired. Pain exploded like a firecracker. She slumped downward, knowing if Collette saw she’d failed to hit vital organs she’d finish the job.
Playing dead in the darkness offered her only chance. If Collette thought she was dead, the woman might leave, buying her time to make her escape. Lacey did not move, trying to keep her breathing as quiet as possible. The white-hot burning in her body and fear made her want to scream, but she did not move.
You’ve got a chance. You can make it.
“Stupid spoiled American girl. Why couldn’t you have stayed in your own damn country?”
Through the red fog of pain burning in her shoulder, she watched her former business manager climb the ladder back onto the yacht. And then the yacht sped off, the giant wake crashing into the bow rider.
Blood streamed down her arm and over her chest. She couldn’t focus. Lacey labored to breathe.
And then she envisioned Jarrett’s stern face, his scowl, as he yelled at her. “Don’t give up. I’m a SEAL. I never give up the fight.”
You can do this, she heard his deep voice in her head. Save yourself.
With every last ounce of strength, she raised her hands above her head and slammed them downward. Pain exploded in her chest like a hammer. Lacey screamed, but the zip ties broke. She hobbled to the helm. The engine did not start. She fiddled with the radio, before realizing the housing was destroyed.
Hopping to the bow, she tossed off the seat cushions from the benches, and lifted the lid of the hidden storage compartment. She’d been on this boat before. Paul was anal as hell about his boat and always made sure the life vests were stored here, along the EPIRB, the Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon.
Collette had planned this too well, but perhaps in her enormous arrogance, the woman forgot. And she didn’t know Paul and his anal-retentive streak.
A sob rose in her throat.
No life vests. The EPIRB was dead. She found Paul’s rusty fishing knife and sawed at the zip ties on her ankles. After freeing her legs, she kept searching through the compartment. Her fingers scraped over something silky. She pulled it out and found three flags. The flag of St. Marc, a US flag and a pirate flag. No first aid kit. Only a small fishing cooler, empty and stinking of bait fish.
But hidden by all of them, tucked into the corner... She nearly wept. A flare gun. Lacey picked it up and checked the chamber. Empty.
But she knew something Collette did not. Lacey wrapped her wounded shoulder with the US flag and cinched it tight to slow the bleeding. She went aft, passing Paul’s body, trying to keep her mind clear, her breathing centered. Jarrett had been in worse scrapes. He wouldn’t fall to pieces like a wussy girl and break down.
Paul had this bow rider specially designed. There was additional storage under the st
arboard cushion. Lacey tore off the cushion and lifted the lid.
“Thank you, thank you,” she whispered.
Nestled among two towels and a colorful bathing suit was a small box. She opened it and saw two flare cartridges. Water had already poured into the aft section, and the boat listed starboard. The towels were soaked. Water had seeped into the plastic packaging. It might not fire.
With trembling fingers, she ripped open the package. But the first cartridge was damp. It would not fire.
She examined the second cartridge. Damp as well, but maybe...she loaded the gun, aware of the salt water sloshing around her ankles and the waves pounding against the hull. Mixed in with the smell of seawater was the pungent stench of gasoline. They were going down fast.
She aimed the gun skyward and dressed the trigger. The gun did not fire.
Her shoulders sagged. What was the use? She was going to die out here, on Paul’s boat. No one knew she was here. Rose had told Jarrett that she took the SUV and left for Ace’s house to see Fleur. By the time he discovered the deception, she’d be dead.
Never give up.
One more cartridge remained. It was also damp, perhaps not as much as the first two. Water sloshed around her ankles now. Lacey loaded the gun and pointed it upward. Oh, please...
She pulled the trigger and the gun fired. The recoil startled her and she fell backward, onto her ass. But the pain didn’t matter as she watched the flare sail upward, cutting a red trail through the night, like a star leading home.
It soared ten feet and then fell to the sea.
Not high enough. Who could see it at that height? She refused to let her mind sink into despondency. There were boaters around. Maybe one had spotted it.
Collapsing back against the seat, in the sinking boat she prayed someone would see it and render aid.
Maybe she could bail out. She searched around for a bucket, anything to bail out the boat. Hope faded as she found a fist-sized hole in the aft section.
No use bailing out. The bow rider was going down, and she was going with it. Lacey grabbed a seat cushion and clung to it as the water lapped at her ankles.
She looked up at the sky, at the waxing sliver of a moon gleaming down upon the sea. Salt water trickled down her cheeks. Jarrett was out there, somewhere, maybe worried about her or wondering why she’d abandoned everything.
Her shirt was soaked with blood and she was losing consciousness. Lacey forced herself to keep awake as the boat continued to slip deeper into the water. Surely someone would find her.
She began to shiver violently.
And then a wave rolled toward her, and she fought it, but her arms were too tired. She let go of the cushion. It floated away, bobbing in the water.
No, please...
She swallowed a mouthful of water and coughed. She simply could not hold on any longer.
I’m so sorry, Fleur. I’m sorry, Jarrett. I’m sorry I didn’t give us the chance to become a couple again, a family.
Dimly she heard something in the distance. It seemed a long way off. The last thought she had as the grayness pushed at the edges of her vision and her lungs screamed for air was a wistful hope that Jarrett had come for her after all.
CHAPTER 19
The SEALs had pinpointed the position of the suspect yacht headed south. In the Zodiac, Coop, Deke and Ace crouched down alongside Jarrett, all wearing their wet suits and combat gear. They were armed and prepared to board soon as they caught up.
Ace shouted to him above the sound of the waves.
“We’re losing them.”
But Jarrett’s instincts tingled. Yeah, they’d lose the yacht, but he suspected Lacey wasn’t on it.
Dark as ink out on the ocean. His NVGs were first-rate but he spotted nothing with them. They headed south, following the yacht.
Instincts fully charged now, he removed his NVGs to improve his peripheral vision. He scanned the horizon. And then he saw a red flare burst into the air about ten feet, then nosetail straight into the water.
Lacey.
“Follow that flare,” Jarrett ordered.
“Ice, we’ll lose the yacht,” Coop protested.
“Do it. Crank it up.”
Coop turned the Zodiac around. Brine splashed in his face, but he barely felt it, for the chill in his bones was making him numb.
They reached the spot where the flare was fired. Jarrett’s blood turned to ice as they came upon a bow rider flipped upside down.
There was a body floating in the ocean. Deke shone a light on the body.
Long blond hair.
No. No.
Jarrett tossed down his weapon, jumped into the water and swam toward her. He lifted her head up and towed her toward the Zodiac.
As the other SEALs lifted her on board, they began emergency resuscitation. He climbed onboard, his heart racing, his mind frantic. Blood streamed from a wound under the American flag she’d wrapped around her shoulder.
She was dead.
Calm down. You can save her.
Jarrett took over the mouth-to-mouth from Coop, leaving Ace for the chest compressions. The glowsticks Deke held showed Lacey’s skin bluish and pale. No breaths.
She had given up. His Lacey, the one who had always fought, who’d nagged and pestered him to keep pushing on, to reach past the superficial and grab the brass ring because she believed in him.
She had given up. And it killed him to see her hopeless, lost and empty.
“No.” He grabbed her shoulders, feeling the fragile bones and soft skin. Pale. She was so damn pale. “I won’t let you do this, Lace. You’re not giving up. Goddamn it, I’m not giving up.”
He bent over and continued giving her mouth-to-mouth as Ace resumed chest compressions. Calm, stay calm. Must focus. C’mon, Lace, breathe, damn it, breathe. You have so much to live for. Fleur. Your dad, the charity you worked so hard to build up and all those women you taught to fight back.
Me.
Please, Lace.
Jarrett breathed into her mouth. Then he sat back. And heard the sweetest sound on earth.
Lacey, coughing and gasping. Alive.
“Whoa, there she goes. Thank you, sweet Jesus,” Ace said, sliding off her.
Gently, Jarrett turned her over onto her side as she began to vomit up seawater. He rubbed her back, his lungs expanding with air as he breathed out a huge sigh.
Never again. He didn’t care what he had to do.
He was never giving her up. Ever.
* * *
I should be dead. But I hurt too much.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. Lacey’s head ached and her legs burned, and she felt a deep throbbing in her ankles and hands.
She smelled metal, disinfectant and the slight tang of Jarrett’s spicy cologne on her pillow. Carefully she moved her head to the right. She was lying upon a cot or bed of some sort, in a dorm-style room filled with empty hospital beds. Lacey looked down. She wore a hospital gown, partly pulled over her shoulder and chest, which sported a large white bandage.
A tube snaked out of her right hand, and a cuff was on her left arm. Blood pressure cuff, she realized as she struggled to sit up. Ow. Her body felt as if someone had jackhammered it with a concrete chipper.
A man sat on a stool near her bed, thumbing through a book. He glanced up and dropped the book. Dressed in black cammies and a black T-shirt, he had close-cropped dark hair and a well-toned, athletic look.
“Thank God. You’re awake.” The sailor smiled at her and glanced at the tube snaking out of her left wrist. “I’m Chief Petty Officer Scott Weaver, from Team 15, US Navy SEALs, better known as Deke. I’m the corpsman who did triage on you.”
He beckoned to a woman in blue scrubs, and she came scurrying over.
Lacey tried to gather her bearings as the woman checked the machine by her bedside.
“I’m Lieutenant junior grade Nancy Jones, a Navy nurse. You’re on the Navy hospital ship USNS Comfort.”
Nurse Jones made a notation on the lapto
p she carried. “You’ve been unconscious for a full day, Ms. Stewart. It was touch and go to see if you would make it through surgery because you lost a lot of blood, but you had plenty of volunteers willing to donate for a transfusion.”
“An entire team of them,” Scott interjected. “It’s part beer, part piss and vinegar.”
Nurse Jones rolled her eyes. “SEALs,” she murmured.
“Water,” she whispered, her mouth dry and her lips cracked.
Scott brought over a sippy cup and helped her to drink. The water was warm, but she’d never tasted better.
Her body felt as if someone had hammered it with iron, but her head wasn’t as muzzy. Still, sitting up had drained her. She lay back.
“How did I get here?” she asked.
“The Comfort has been conducting disaster relief exercises in the Caribbean,” Scott told her. “It was faster than medevacing you to Miami. We heloed you over. You were in bad shape, Lacey. Almost as bad as Gene.”
“Gene? What happened to him?”
“Ice said he tailed you to the compound and Collette’s guys shot him when he tried to rescue you after they knocked you out cold. He was here for a while, but they medevaced him to Miami. He’s going to be fine. Ice is arranging for all his medical care to be put on his tab.”
“Jarrett,” she said. “Is he here?”
Does he care? Or did he think that I ran off and left him?
She closed her eyes again to hide the tears brimming in them, and then heard Scott’s voice echoing over an intercom system. “Lt. Jarrett Adler, report to sick bay. Your patient is awake. Hoo-yah!”
Lacey opened her eyes again, blinking fast. Scott returned. “That’ll get his attention.”
“He has more important things to do.”
Nurse Jones frowned. “Lt. Adler is the SEAL who rescued you.” She looked up. “Your father is here.”
Senator Stewart, flanked by a tall, gray-haired man in navy cammies with a commander’s insignia, and a suit with an earpiece, came to her bedside. Her dad, pulled away from DC. She felt confused and ashamed for interrupting his work.
“Ten minutes,” Nurse Jones warned.
“Lacey, oh, thank God you’re okay.” Her dad reached for her hand.
