by Dinah McCall
It was Jonah who spotted the car. What startled him was that he recognized the driver. The last time he’d seem Jorge Vega, he’d been running for cover from the DEA. It gave him chills to think that he’d walked right out of the funeral home in plain sight of a man he’d played cards with every night for months. Granted, he’d had long hair and a beard, but Vega was no fool.
He leaned forward and tapped Sugarman on the shoulder.
“We need some backup. Call Ruger and have him send some men to intercept. We’re being tailed.”
Sugarman reacted to the news of without question, quickly relaying what Jonah had told him, as well as their present location and destination.
Carter tightened his fingers around the steering wheel.
“Do you want me to lose them?”
Jonah glanced out his window, watching the side view mirror on the passenger side of the car to see if they were still there. They were. Then he glanced at Macie. They could easily lead the men into a blind and take them down, but it was too dangerous with her along.
“No, just make sure we don’t get where we’re going until we know our backup is in place.”
Carter nodded.
Jonah glanced into the mirror one more time and then leaned back against the seat. Macie seemed oblivious to what was going on, but he wasn’t sure.
“Macie…honey?”
She shuddered, then blinked, as if coming out of a trance. Her fingers tightened around the small gray urn as she turned her head.
“Felicity taught me how to braid my hair. Did you know that?”
Jonah laid a hand on her knee, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the sheer black fabric.
“No, I didn’t, but that’s a good memory to have.”
A sigh passed her lips, and then she nodded and looked away.
“Macie, look at me.”
It was a struggle for her to focus, but there was something in Jonah’s voice that pulled her back.
“What?”
“Back at the estate…when you thought someone was watching you?”
“Yes?”
“You were right.”
That penetrated the miasma of her grief. She gasped and started to turn around when Jonah stopped her.
“Don’t look back.”
Her heart started to pound.
“What are we going to do?”
“Right now, nothing. By the time we get to La Jolla, Ruger will have taken care of the problem, okay?”
“But—”
He put a finger against her mouth, silencing her.
“Trust us.”
“I have no other choice,” she said harshly, and then looked away.
The next few minutes seemed endless. Twice Vega got so close to them that there was only a single car between them, and each time Jonah feared that this was where the other men were going to make their move. He had no idea what they were planning, but with the technology available today, it would be a simple thing to take out an entire car and its passengers without ever stopping. But each time he readied himself for a fight, they would drop back. He didn’t know what they were up to, but it couldn’t be good, and the closer they got to La Jolla, the more nervous he became. Frustrated, he leaned forward again, tapping Sugarman on the shoulder.
“Where the hell is our backup?”
Sugarman’s cell phone was against his ear as he turned and grinned.
“The cavalry has arrived. Look behind us.”
Macie was the first to look as she got up on her knees and peered through the back window. Four city police cars and a half-dozen unmarked vehicles had just cut off a dark gray sedan, bringing it to an abrupt halt in the middle of the street. As they continued to pull away, she watched in disbelief as policemen spilled out of the vehicles with their guns drawn and dragged the two occupants out of the sedan.
Jonah saw the look of disbelief on Vega’s face and grinned. For the first time since they’d walked out of the house, Jonah began to relax. They would find out more later. The only thing that mattered was Macie’s safety.
Then Carter spoke up from the driver’s seat.
“Miss Blaine, we’re almost there. Is there a particular place you want to go, or is anywhere on the water okay?”
Macie turned, immediately recognizing the area.
“What about a boat?” Sugarman added, aware that she intended to spread her sister’s ashes in the Pacific. “If you want, we can have one—”
“Just get me to the beach,” she said. “I’ll take it from there.”
A short while later, Carter pulled up to the curb of a walkway overlooking the ocean. Immediately he and Sugarman got out. Carter opened the door for Macie, while Jonah slid out on the other side. At the same time, Sugarman’s cell phone rang.
“Sugarman,” he said briefly, then listened intently without commenting. When the caller was finished, Sugarman smiled as he looked up. “Yes, sir, and thank you for letting us know.”
“Was that Ruger?” Jonah asked. “Is everything okay?”
“More than okay,” Sugarman said. “Ruger said to tell you that you have a good eye. The tail was a good one. It was two of Calderone’s men, right down to the tattoos. They were carrying guns, and they had a picture of Miss Blaine.”
Jonah’s stomach knotted. “Did they say why she’d been targeted?”
“They aren’t talking,” Sugarman said.
“Damn.”
The door slammed shut on the other side of the car. Both men turned just as Macie stepped up on the curb.
“I’m going down to the beach,” she said. “Would it be possible to please give me some space?”
Both agents looked at each other, then nodded.
Macie clutched the urn a little closer to her breast and started walking toward a stairway that led down to the beach. Jonah hesitated for a few moments, then began to follow.
Sensing his presence, she paused and turned, frowning slightly when she realized he wasn’t going to stay at the car with the agents.
When she stopped, so did Jonah.
She arched an eyebrow questioningly.
He tilted his chin.
The silent standoff lasted just long enough for a strong gust of wind off the ocean to snake beneath Macie’s hair and lift it away from her neck. The skirt of her dress billowed slightly, then plastered itself against her body, and still he waited.
Still frowning, she turned around and resumed her trek, accepting Jonah’s presence without comment.
There were sixty-four winding, twisting steps to the bottom of the cliff. When Macie reached the sand, she paused and stepped out of her shoes, then continued barefoot toward the water, thinking to herself that the sand was warmer than the wind coming off the Pacific. To her right, a pair of seals were sunning on a line of rocks, their coats wet and sparkling in the sunshine from the spray of the crashing breakers. Overhead, a flock of seagulls rode the air currents. Every now and then one would break rank and dive toward the water or the shore, squawking loudly as it came. A pelican was floating on the water a few yards off shore, like a big white cork bobbing on the end of a fishing line.
Macie’s eyes filled with tears. It seemed idyllic—the kind of day that Felicity would have loved. A few moments later, she ran out of sand. Another step and she would be within reach of the ebb and flow of the water. She looked down at the urn, then stepped forward into the ocean, gasping once from the shock of the cold, then took the second step, then another and another, until she was knee deep in the Pacific.
The waves were stronger here, pushing and pulling against her legs like cold, urgent fingers, demanding that she follow the power. The horizon was blurred now, too far away to see through tears. The urn she’d been carrying felt heavier than it had, as if Felicity were urging her from beyond the grave to release her in the only way Macie knew how.
Macie’s hands were shaking as she removed the lid, but she couldn’t look down. Without hesitation, she turned until the wind was at her back. Then she tilted the urn.
Instantly the ashes spilling out of the opening were swept up in a small gust of wind and carried out onto the water. Macie caught a brief glimpse of the ash floating on the surface as it became part of the sea. She watched as the waves carried it away, and still she stood, the urn held fast in her hands.
Jonah was on the shore, waiting for her to come in, when he saw the wave coming. He called out to Macie, but it was too late. It hit her waist high. The urn fell from her hands as she staggered under the onslaught.
He cursed beneath his breath and, without removing his shoes, dashed in after her. She was pale and shivering when he reached her. He put one hand under her knees and the other around her waist and scooped her out of the water. Without saying a word, he started back toward the shore.
Macie wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him as if she were a child, only vaguely aware that she was no longer in the water.
Jonah carried her to the bottom of the steps, where Carter and Sugarman were waiting, and put her down long enough to stuff her shoes into his pockets. Then he slid an arm around her waist, and between the three of them, they got her up the winding stairs and into the car without incident.
Before backing away from the curb, Carter looked over his shoulder at the woman huddled in his back seat.
“Is she going to be okay?”
Jonah glanced down. Her clothes were sodden and plastered to the lower half of her body. Her skin was pale, her lips blue from the chill of the Pacific.
“She has to be,” he said shortly. “Just get us home.”
8
The long drive back from La Jolla had been nerve-racking. Jonah began to relax only after Carter turned off the main highway and began driving up the road that led to the Blaine estate. All the way from the beach, he’d had visions of a second pair of Calderone’s men coming out of nowhere and finishing what Vega had failed to do. He shifted slightly, ignoring the discomfort of his wet shoes and pants to look down at Macie, who was motionless in his lap. He tried not to think of that quick wit and vital personality coming undone and concentrated on just getting her home.
The road leading up to the mansion was a winding two-lane, bordered on both sides by towering trees and heavy undergrowth. While the growth was a way to maintain privacy, it was also good cover for someone with ill intent on his mind.
The media crews that had appeared when the news of the murder/kidnapping broke were still camped out in a small cul-de-sac a short distance from the main gate of the estate. Carter sped past without acknowledging their presence.
Then, in spite of the two on-duty officers, an overzealous reporter spied Macie in the back seat of the car and immediately broke ranks. He grabbed a video-cam, slung it on his shoulder and ducked under the barrier behind which they’d been standing.
“Miss Blaine! Miss Blaine!” he yelled.
“Floor it, Carter,” Jonah muttered, and tightened his grip on Macie as the car shot forward, leaving the reporter in the proverbial dust of their exit.
“I hate reporters,” Carter said, as he negotiated the turn into the main gate.
Aware of nothing but the warmth of Jonah’s body and the security of his embrace, Macie had curled in on herself, holding on to sanity by shutting out everything else.
Jonah looked at her again. Although her eyes were closed, he could tell by the sound of her breathing that she wasn’t asleep. She’d simply withdrawn.
He touched her face. Her skin was pale and clammy, but what bothered him most was that she hadn’t stopped shaking since he’d dragged her out of the water. Carter had driven like a man possessed, taking the I-5 coastal highway north to L.A., but Jonah feared it hadn’t been fast enough.
“We should have called a doctor,” he muttered, more to himself than to the agents.
“Already done,” Sugarman said, as Carter pulled under the grand portico and killed the engine.
Seconds later, Jonah was out of the car and carrying Macie inside. Ruger met them in the foyer.
“What happened to her?” he asked.
“Hell if I know,” Jonah said. “Exhaustion. Emotional breakdown. You name it. All I know is, she hasn’t said a word since we left La Jolla.”
“Why is she wet?” Ruger asked, then looked at Jonah’s pant legs and frowned. “Hell of a day to go for a swim, don’t you think?”
“Where’s the doctor?” Jonah asked.
“Upstairs.”
Jonah looked up at the winding staircase, then down at Macie.
“Need some help?” Ruger asked.
“No,” Jonah said, then shifted his hold on her, tightening his grip as he started up the stairs.
Moments later, he was in the hallway and striding toward her room. He kicked the door open and carried her to the bed, then started taking off her dress.
“Señor…”
He turned around. Rosa was standing in the doorway.
“Help me get these wet clothes off her,” he said.
She hastened toward the bed, muttering beneath her breath. When she saw Macie, she crossed herself, then began tugging at her slip.
“Where’s that doctor?” Jonah asked.
“In the sitting room down the hall.”
“Go get him.”
Rosa left, carrying the wet dress and slip as she went, leaving Macie nude except for a wisp of bra and panties. Jonah grabbed a coverlet from the foot of the bed and quickly covered her, then rushed into the bathroom and began running warm water into the tub.
When he came back into the room, a portly man in a three-thousand-dollar suit and a bad comb-over was leaning over the bed with a stethoscope to Macie’s chest.
“Doctor?”
“Anson Schultz, at your service,” he said without looking up. “What happened to her?”
Jonah briefly outlined the circumstances leading up to Macie’s collapse, while the doctor nodded occasionally, continuing his examination. A few moments later he looked up and then past Jonah’s shoulder.
“Tub’s going to run over,” he said.
Rosa gasped, then dashed past the men, quickly turning off the water.
Dr. Schultz straightened up, then took the stethoscope from his ears and dropped it into his bag.
“Her vital signs are fine. I’ll leave something to help her sleep, but other than that, I think she’s going to be all right.”
“She hasn’t stopped shaking,” Jonah said.
The doctor shrugged. “She’s cold, also a little shocky. A hot bath and something warm to drink should do the trick. Just make sure she doesn’t take any alcohol with the sleeping medicine. Not a good combination, you understand.”
Less than impressed with the man and his bedside manner, Jonah frowned.
“Anything else?” he asked.
The doctor looked down at her again, eyeing the pale skin and wet hair, then up at Jonah.
“Maybe someone could stay with her tonight…a nurse…or that housekeeper, perhaps?”
“She won’t be alone,” Jonah said, and took the sample packet of sleeping pills the doctor handed him.
Moments later, Rosa came back. “The water, señor…it is ready.”
“If you have further need of me, I can be reached at this number,” the doctor said, and handed Jonah a card.
“I will see him to the door,” Rosa said, then looked at Jonah. “Should I come back to help with the bath?”
Jonah shook his head.
She hesitated once, as if contemplating the impropriety of such a thing, then shrugged and left with the doctor in tow.
Once they were gone, Jonah shut the door, then moved to the bed and sat down. He cupped the side of Macie’s face.
“Macie…”
She opened her eyes.
He smiled.
“There you are,” he said softly.
“I didn’t go far.”
“I know.” He patted her cheek and then stood. “You need to get in the tub while the water is hot.”
“Yes.”
“Do you need any help?”
She looked up at him then. “No.”
The tremble in her voice was enough that he would have walked on hot coals to do anything she asked.
She drew a slow shaky breath, then threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“There’s not much left to the imagination, is there?” she said, as the air hit her near naked body.
“My imagination has been working overtime for a while now, but the real thing far surpasses anything I might have dreamed about you.” Then he took her by the hands and pulled her upright before kissing the side of her cheek. “You are a very beautiful woman, now come get in the tub.”
She hesitated for a second, then unhooked her bra and stepped out of her panties, dropping both where she stood. Her steps were slow but steady as she walked into the bathroom.
Jonah stood and watched her until he was sure she was safely seated in the water, then took a deep breath.
“Macie?”
“Yes?”
“I’m going across the hall to get some dry clothes.”
There was a moment of silence, followed by a rather poignant question.
“You’re coming right back?”
“Yes.”
He pivoted sharply and got the hell out of the room. By the time he reached his bedroom he was shaking, but not from cold. He was hard and hurting and in serious want for Macie Blaine. It had taken every ounce of willpower and good sense that he had to walk out of her room before he made an ass of himself, and he had less than five minutes to get himself together before he saw her again.
His fingers curled into fists as he kicked off his shoes. With angry jerks, he yanked off his wet socks and pants and dropped them on the bathroom floor as he stepped into the shower. Without waiting for the water to warm, he turned on the faucets and leaned into the jets. Gritting his teeth, he welcomed the rush of cold on his body. Something had to stabilize this ache he had for her, and a cold shower should do it.
It didn’t take long for the water to get warm, but by the time it had, he was already rinsing off the soap and turning off the taps. He’d promised Macie he wouldn’t leave her alone for long. Keeping that promise was the least he could do.
He dried quickly, then pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt before hurrying back to her room. He knocked once, then, when he heard no response, opened the door and walked in.
