5 Minutes to Marriage

by Carla Cassidy

  “When this is all over, he’ll try to take the boys from you.” Marisa’s voice was a tortured whisper.

  “Probably,” he agreed and fought a wave of fear so intense it brought a mist of tears to his eyes. “But it’s a risk I have to take.”

  He punched in the number for his ex-father-in-law, and when Harold answered his phone Jack explained to him what had happened and what he needed from him.

  When he hung up he turned to Marisa and stared at her with a hollowness he’d never felt before. It was as if he were already grieving a loss too enormous to comprehend.

  Marisa must have seen something in his eyes that spoke of the depth of his despair. She placed a hand on his forearm. “Don’t give up, Jack. Mick and David need you to stay strong. Patrick wants money. Once he has what he wants he’ll let them go.”

  “I hope you’re right,” he said. He started the car and pulled away from Kent’s. Once he had his boys back safe and sound he would see to it that Kent spent the rest of his life behind bars. Right now all he cared about were his babies.

  If anything happened to his boys, then there was no place on earth that Kent or Patrick could hide. Jack would make it his mission in life to find them and destroy them.

  Harold Rothchild was a handsome man. His snow-white hair was in stark contrast to the black suit he wore with a casual elegance.

  He’d arrived at Jack’s moments ago with two large suitcases. He’d shown no emotion when Jack had introduced Marisa as his wife.

  During the time that they’d waited for him to arrive Marisa had taken a quick shower, washing off the soot and ash that had covered her. As she’d stood beneath the spray of water she’d wept with fear for Mick and David. She’d cried uncontrollably for Jack.

  Jack spent the first few minutes after Harold’s arrival telling the tall, lean man what had happened in the past couple hours. Harold said nothing but his piercing blue gaze never left Jack’s face.

  They were all seated at the dining-room table, Jack’s cell phone in front of him as he waited for another call from Patrick.

  “Patrick Moore.” Harold frowned as he said the name. “He’s a dead man and doesn’t even know it yet.”

  With everything that had happened since Jack had pulled her from the fire, Marisa suddenly remembered what Patrick had told her about his real identity.

  “His name isn’t really Patrick Moore,” she said. Both men turned to look at her. “I just remembered, he told me his name was Paz…Paz Martin or Martinez.”

  “Paz Marquez.” Harold’s voice was flat as he stared at Marisa.

  “Yes, that’s it,” she replied. “He said something about a diamond and his father being murdered.”

  Harold leaned back in the chair, his face turning the shade of ash. “This isn’t about money. It’s about revenge. It’s about that damned diamond.” He reached a hand up and rubbed his forehead, as if a headache had suddenly made itself known.

  “What are you talking about? Who is Paz Marquez?” Jack asked.

  “Antonio Marquez, Paz’s father, found the diamond that we now know as The Tears of the Quetzal.” Some of the natural color began to return to Harold’s face. “He didn’t turn it over to my father like he was supposed to but rather pocketed it and quit his job. My father found out about it, and one night he met Antonio in the mine, retrieved the diamond from him, then buried him alive.” He bowed his head, looking as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I was just a kid, but I was there and saw it happen. I never told anyone, and now it appears I’m paying for my silence.”

  He reached up and straightened his black and silver tie, as if finding comfort in the small gesture. Marisa noticed that his hands shook slightly.

  “I tried to make it right,” he continued. “As soon as I was old enough I began sending money to Paz’s mother, Juanita. Because of my father she was left a widow with three small children. I arranged for her to move to Arizona and start a new life. I thought it would be enough.”

  “Apparently it wasn’t,” Jack replied.

  Harold offered him a tight smile. “I always thought it would be you who did something stupid and put those boys at risk. I never dreamed it would be me who brought danger to them.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Jack replied. “It’s just important that you and I work together to bring the boys home.”

  Marisa turned her head to stare out the window. The emergency equipment had been carted away, and the barn was nothing but a pile of rubble. Dusk was falling and the coming of night terrified her.

  Where was David? Where was Mick? Were they afraid? Were they crying out for her?

  Her heart ached with the need to have David and Mick back in her arms. In the short span of time that she’d been in their lives they had crawled so deeply into her heart that she felt as if she’d given birth to both of them.

  It wasn’t just thoughts of the boys that shattered her heart. As she looked across the table at Jack she wanted to weep with his pain.

  He looked as if he’d been shot in the gut and couldn’t staunch the bleeding. His face was an unhealthy shade of pale, and his eyes were feverish shards of pain.

  The evening passed in a torturous tick of the clock. Each minute felt like an eternity as they waited for Patrick to make contact.

  Marisa made sandwiches that nobody ate and coffee that they all consumed with alacrity as they waited for the call that would hopefully bring the boys home.

  Home. That’s what Marisa had begun to think of this place with Jack and the boys. Since their whirlwind marriage she’d been happier than she’d ever been in her life.

  Even though she’d known better she’d begun to have dreams about their future. She’d fantasized about school carnivals and baseball games, about family outings and laughter. Always in those fantasies she and Jack were proud parents who not only loved the boys but also each other.

  But they were just fantasies, and she knew without question that no matter what happened tonight the fantasy was coming to an end.

  Even if the boys were returned safe and sound, she had a feeling that Harold would fight Jack for them, and in Jack’s current frame of mind, she wasn’t sure he would fight back.

  The knot that filled her chest at telling them all goodbye was as painful as her gasps for breath when she’d been inside the burning barn.

  It wasn’t just the boys that she would miss. It was Jack. She’d known in the first five minutes of meeting him that he was the kind of man who could own her heart. She’d tried to keep herself distant from him but to no avail. He’d ingrained himself so deeply into her heart then when she finally would have to leave, she would leave a piece of herself behind with him forever.

  She’d just gotten up for the coffeepot to refill their cups when Jack’s cell phone rang. For a moment it was as if everyone in the room froze.

  Marisa’s heart beat so loudly in her head she wondered if she’d only imagined the ring of the phone. It was only when Jack leaped forward and grabbed the cell phone that she realized it really had rung.

  “Cortland,” he snapped.

  The tension in the room was so intense it made Marisa’s stomach churn. She’d grieved long and hard for a baby she’d never held, a baby who had never drawn a breath of air. She couldn’t imagine grieving for Mick and David. The pain was simply too unbearable.

  “I’ve got the money,” Jack said. “I want to talk to my boys.” He rose from the table with such force his chair crashed to the floor behind him. “Damn it, you put Mick on so I can talk to him.”

  His angry features instantly transformed to something softer. “Hey, Mick. Are you okay, buddy? Don’t worry—Daddy is going to come for you, okay?”

  Marisa could tell the moment Patrick got back on the phone as a hard mask of rage replaced the tenderness on Jack’s face.

  “Just tell me where to meet you and I’ll be there with the money,” Jack said. “Yeah…yeah, all right. I got it.” His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
“And, Patrick, if either of those boys has so much as a scratch then I’ll kill you.” He hung up the phone.

  “Where?” Harold asked, his features as ferocious as Jack’s.

  “Eleven o’clock tonight behind the old King’s Inn casino downtown,” Jack replied.

  “Shouldn’t we go to the police?” Marisa asked, afraid that something was going to go terribly wrong. She knew the location of King’s Inn. It had been a dive where some of the locals had gone to gamble, but three months ago it had been closed down.

  “No, no cops,” Harold said, and Jack quickly echoed the sentiment.

  “But what about Kent? Shouldn’t he be arrested as an accomplice?” she asked. “For all we know he’s already left town.”

  “We’ll get him,” Harold replied. “He’s a stupid man who would sell out a friend for the price of a six-pack of beer.” He looked at Jack. “I imagine you know that it was Kent who was keeping me apprised of what was going on here with you and the boys.”

  “Yeah, it’s amazing when you realize who you can’t trust in your life,” Jack said. His gaze sought Marisa’s and he smiled. “And it’s equally amazing when you realize who you can trust.”

  Rather than make her feel better, the smile shot an icy chill through Marisa. If anything happened to Mick and David she would be devastated, but she knew in her heart, in her very soul, that the man she loved would be completely destroyed.

  Chapter 12

  Jack drove slowly down the street toward the old King’s Inn casino. The downtown area that most people visited was the Fremont Street Experience, five blocks of casinos and restaurants beneath a large barrel canopy with light shows to enthrall the crowd.

  There was a seedier Las Vegas downtown, where small casinos served a desperate crowd and drug addicts lingered in the shadows. Pimps and prostitutes yelled to passing cars, and pickpockets and muggers lay in wait for an unwary out-of-towner.

  It was to that area that Jack drove.

  He was alone in his car with two million dollars in cash and was hoping—praying—that Patrick had enough morality left not to harm his boys.

  More than a touch of fear rode with him in the car. The terror burned in his heart that beat with enough adrenaline to fuel a football team in a championship game.

  Harold had insisted that he was coming along, but Jack had refused to allow him to ride with him. Patrick had demanded that Jack come alone, and he wasn’t about to break the rules of a game where Mick and David were the trophies.

  It was agreed that Harold and Marisa would follow him and park a block away from the rendezvous and wait for Jack to get the kids.

  Jack knew the boys would want Marisa. They would need her loving arms wrapped around them and assuring them that everything was all right. Truth be told there had been moments in the long night of waiting where Jack had needed her arms around him.

  As he pulled into the deserted parking lot behind the abandoned building that had once been a casino he glanced at his watch. He was fifteen minutes early.

  He parked the car and turned out his headlights, then took a quick survey of his surroundings. An old trash Dumpster sat against the back of the building, barely discernible in the darkness. Other than that there was nothing in the area.

  The streetlights from in front of the building barely pierced the darkness back here. Tension screamed inside him as he glanced at his watch once again.

  He rolled down his window to allow in the stifling July night air, but the heat couldn’t begin to melt the icy center inside him.

  He touched the butt of the revolver on the seat next to him. There was no way he’d put himself in this kind of position without bringing a weapon. He had no intention of using it unless it was to save his own life. The last thing he wanted was to try to be a hero and wind up turning a volatile situation into something worse.

  As far as he was concerned Patrick could have Harold’s money as long as he returned Mick and David unharmed.

  Money could be replaced.

  Little boys could not.

  He looked at his watch once again, apprehension roiling inside him. He had no idea from which direction Patrick would come so he swiveled his head in all directions as he waited.

  “Don’t take them away from me,” he whispered. “I’ve only just learned to do it all right. Don’t let it all be for nothing.” Jack had never been an overly religious man, but he prayed now, hoping that God heard his prayers.

  He was well aware of the fact that Harold would probably push for custody when this was all over. Jack would fight him with every breath in his body. In his heart, Jack truly believed that those boys belonged with him.

  And for the first time he recognized that he’d become the man he’d finally wanted to be—the man his parents would be proud of, the man Marisa had known was inside him.

  He straightened in his seat as a car without its headlights on slid around the building and parked facing his. For several agonizing moments nothing happened.

  A throb of tension beat at the base of Jack’s skull, and his hands grew slick with sweat on the steering wheel.

  Suddenly the car’s high beams came on, half blinding Jack.

  The driver door opened and Patrick stepped out. The headlights gleamed on the metal of the gun in his hand. Jack grabbed the revolver from the passenger seat and opened his door as well.

  As he got out of his car he smoothly shoved the revolver into his waistband in the small of his back. “Where are my boys?” Jack asked harshly.

  “First things first,” Patrick replied. “Throw your weapon on the ground,” he demanded. Jack hesitated. “Come on, Cortland, I know you wouldn’t be stupid enough to show up here unarmed. Now toss it and we can get this over with. Slow and easy. Don’t make me get nervous. Trust me, you don’t want me nervous.”

  There was no way Jack intended to take a chance. He didn’t want to piss off Patrick. He just wanted to get his sons and walk away.

  With a slow movement he reached behind him and grabbed the revolver, then bent down and placed it on the oily pavement and scooted it away with his foot. It clattered and came to rest several feet from where Jack stood.

  “Where are my boys?” he asked again.

  “I told you, first things first. Where’s the money?”

  “Two suitcases in the backseat of my car,” Jack replied.

  “Get them out.”

  Jack did as he was instructed and pulled the two heavy cases from the backseat of his car. The fact that he didn’t see the boys in Patrick’s car worried him. He hoped they were there, perhaps asleep in the back.

  “Now, bring them halfway to me.”

  “First tell me where Mick and David are,” Jack countered.

  “They’re in a safe place, and I’ll tell you exactly where they are once I have the money.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?” Jack asked.

  Patrick’s teeth gleamed white as he smiled. “Well, now, I guess you really don’t know.”

  The red wash of rage threatened to take over Jack, but he tamped it down. He’d never wanted to hurt a man so much, but he realized in this drama he was powerless to do anything but what Patrick asked of him. The stakes were too high for him to gamble in any way.

  As he carried the cases forward, his heart beat so frantically he thought he might be on the verge of a heart attack. A thousand thoughts raced through his head. His heart didn’t just beat frantically for himself but also for Marisa.

  She’d already suffered an enormous loss in her life, and she’d loved the boys enough to give up her personal freedom, to bind her life to his in the best interest of the children. If this all went horribly wrong he recognized that he wouldn’t be the only one devastated.

  He dropped the suitcases where Patrick indicated. “Now step back,” Patrick said. The gun remained pointed directly at Jack’s chest.

  As Jack backed away Patrick moved forward, his dark brown eyes gleaming with triumph, with greed. He knelt to open the first case
but kept the gun focused on Jack.

  “It’s all there,” Jack said. “Two million dollars in unmarked bills. Now give me my kids. We had nothing to do with your father’s murder.”

  Patrick’s smile fell, and raw emotion shone from his eyes. “So you know who I am.”

  “Marisa told me. I managed to get her out of the barn. She told me that you’re Paz Marquez. Harold’s father murdered yours in a mine when you were a boy. This isn’t my fight, Paz, and it certainly isn’t Mick and David’s battle.”

  Paz’s features twisted with rage. “He ruined my life.”

  “And you killed his daughter. I’d say the score is even.”

  “It will never be even,” Paz exclaimed, the cords of his neck standing out. “Yeah, I killed Candace because I wanted the ring, the ring with the diamond that should have been mine. But Candace’s murder was just the beginning. I took it upon myself to make the Rothchilds’ life hell ever since I rid the world of Harold’s precious little girl.”

  “How did you manage to evade the cops for so long?” Jack demanded.

  “I was a master of disguise…and highly motivated. He smirked. “It wasn’t hard to camouflage my identity when I kidnapped Jenna Rothchild and Marisa’s aunt. I would have gladly killed them both if that’s what it would have taken to get back the ring—but it wasn’t necessary.” He shrugged. “I knew Rita Perez had the ring, and I knew the easiest way to get close to her was to get close to Marisa. They made it easy for me to take the ring from Rita’s apartment.”

  He was wired, babbling with pride but the gun never wavered in his grip.

  “Harold tried to make it right,” Jack said, trying to appeal to any reason Paz might possess. “He sent your mother money. He moved you to Arizona so you could have a good life.”

  “A good life?” Paz spat on the ground. “My mother went through money almost as quickly as she went through men. Harold even had a brief affair with her, which is how I knew that he was the one behind our sudden good fortune.” He sneered. “He’d throw us a few dollars and then go back to his multimillion-dollar lifestyle. The score isn’t even. It will never be even.”