The Sooner the Better

by Debbie Macomber

  Jack was beginning to feel downright smug. Perhaps Lorraine was right and he was overreacting. The entire venture had taken all of fifteen minutes. He was walking back to the waterfront when a youngster of seven or eight raced to his side.

  “Señor,” he said, looking up at Jack with wide brown eyes. “Your lady friend sent me to find you.” He spoke in Spanish.

  “What?” Jack was going to kill Lorraine with his bare hands.

  “She needs you.”

  “She’s going to need me, all right,” he muttered.

  “Come, I’ll take you to her.” The boy slipped his hand in Jack’s. “This way,” he said, steering Jack down a narrow lane.

  One request—stay put. That was all he’d asked of her. The woman couldn’t follow the simplest instruction. By the time he got through with her, she’d— His thoughts came to an abrupt halt.

  The sensation he’d experienced earlier—the bad feeling—returned. Except that it was far stronger than before.

  Slowly, with care, Jack turned around.

  Carlos stood at the far end of the street. “Hello, amigo. We meet again.”

  Nine

  The heat belowdecks was intolerable, but Lorraine was determined to prove to Jack that she was capable of following instructions. Under no circumstances was she to leave the boat; he’d made her promise. Not that he had anything to worry about. Lorraine had learned her lesson in La Ruta Maya.

  Despite the heat and discomfort, she would prove to him once and for all that she was a woman of her word.

  The waiting was as unbearable as the suffocating heat. The first hour was the worst, holed up in this tomb with only her thoughts to occupy her—and those were of little comfort. Her mother had lived a lie and her father… Lorraine didn’t know what to think. She felt angry every time she recalled how he’d passed off the Mayan woman as his housekeeper. When she wasn’t brooding about her parents and the mistakes they’d made, her thoughts took a natural path to Gary. Their relationship had undergone a change in the weeks since her mother’s funeral. Gary sensed it, too.

  Lorraine loved him, planned to marry him, but after her mother died, all she’d wanted was to be alone. Gary had yearned to comfort her; he’d wanted her to need him. She hadn’t.

  Then there was this awful attraction she felt for Jack. Of all the things tormenting her right now, that was perhaps the worst. Her face burned with humiliation as she remembered flaunting herself in front of him. Not since high school had she worked that hard to get a member of the opposite sex to notice her.

  She glanced at her watch. The waiting seemed to go on forever and she felt listless and weak. Jack had promised he’d be quick. Thirty minutes. Wasn’t that what he’d said?

  Then it occurred to her that something had happened to him. He’d been gone well over an hour at this point, despite his insistence that Pucuro wasn’t a port where he was inclined to linger. She imagined all the horrible possibilities—he’d been attacked, accidentally injured, arrested—until she was convinced something had gone dreadfully wrong.

  Then it occurred to her that maybe Jack wasn’t coming back at all. He didn’t like her. He’d let her know it, too. Nor had he restrained himself from telling her, at every conceivable opportunity, that he considered her a pain in the butt.

  Even now, she remembered his look of disdain when her father had brought her down to the waterfront. His attitude hadn’t changed much.

  No, she mused, reasoning away the fear. Jack might want to abandon her, but he wouldn’t leave his boat. He’d be back. Unless—her imagination kicked in again—unless he’d run into trouble.

  The panic rose in the back of her throat, nearly choking off her breath. If something had gone wrong, he might need her help. Not knowing what to do, she paced his cramped living quarters, more convinced with every passing minute that she needed to take some sort of action on his behalf.

  Her hand was on the door, ready to pull it open, when she came up with yet another possibility. This might be a test to prove that she could be trusted. It’d be just like him to force her to demonstrate her dependability. For all she knew, he could be sitting on the wharf this very minute, waiting to see how long she’d keep her promise.

  Well, if he wanted proof, she’d darn well give it to him.

  Determined not to act on her instincts, she sat back down. Hell could freeze over before she’d leave this boat.

  Her determination lasted all of ten minutes.

  Fears followed doubts, and with the doubts came questions. How long should she wait for Jack to return? What if she passed out in the heat? What if he was injured and had no way of letting her know? Maybe he was in jail. Or the morgue. The inventory of less-than-comforting possibilities began to mount again.

  Just when Lorraine was sure she’d go mad, she heard voices. Faint at first, then louder and more distinct. Listening carefully, she realized there were two, possibly three men, speaking in Spanish. They were on the dock right next to the boat. A minute later the boat tilted and there was the sound of footsteps on the boat itself.

  Could Jack be with them?

  She was about to call up and ask, then remembered that Jack had specifically told her to stay belowdecks until he personally came for her. Then and only then was she to show herself.

  She couldn’t tell exactly how many people were on the boat—two men or three. It was difficult to distinguish voices. Two seemed to do most of the talking, but she thought she’d heard three separate sets of footsteps. The two who did the talking were having some kind of argument.

  The door leading belowdecks rattled. Lorraine froze and thanked God she’d had the sense to lock it earlier.

  The argument escalated. The men argued back and forth, but as far as she could tell nothing had been decided.

  She continued to listen and to wait. There was movement above; the boat swayed repeatedly as the men climbed on and off. She heard boxes or containers set down heavily—they must be carrying the supplies on board. One question remained, though: Where had Jack gone?

  Then there was silence, but she didn’t think they’d left the boat. Her breathing grew shallow as she listened intently. After a while, she heard bottles being opened. They’d probably found Jack’s stash of beer and were helping themselves.

  The boat pitched sharply to one side as the men clambered off and trudged down the dock. Their loud boisterous voices slowly faded.

  Lorraine wasn’t sure which was worse—not knowing what had happened to Jack or the waiting. Feeling weak and disoriented, she laid her head down on the table and closed her eyes.

  She might have drifted off to sleep, but she didn’t think so. The next thing she heard was footsteps. A single pair this time.

  Jack.

  She bolted upright as relief rushed through her. Everything was fine. He was back. Almost immediately her exhilaration turned to anger. Keeping her waiting like this had been a rotten thing to do. He’d done it on purpose, too; she just knew it. He was punishing her for what had happened in La Ruta Maya.

  Well, she had every intention of letting him know exactly what she thought of that. By the time she finished with him, he’d be more than happy to get rid of her—but no happier than she was to get rid of him.

  Opening the door, she paused long enough to draw a breath of fresh cool air into her starving lungs, then climbed out. She marched purposely onto the deck. She could hear the sound of the boat’s twin engines purring contentedly in the background. That Neanderthal was about to pull out of port without letting her know he’d come back! Why should she be surprised? This was typical of everything else he’d done.

  “It took you long enough,” she raged—then nearly swallowed her tongue in shock.

  It wasn’t Jack who’d come on board, but Carlos.

  Lorraine gasped and remembered too late that she’d left the gun belowdecks.

  Gary Franklin was worried. He hadn’t heard from Lorraine since she’d gone on this crazy trip to Mexico. To his way of thinki
ng, there was something strange about the entire business. She’d been so desperate to find out everything she could about her father she’d refused to listen to him, refused to be reasonable.

  At one time Lorraine would have heeded his advice, but everything had changed when her mother died. Now he sometimes felt he didn’t know her at all. He tried to be patient, although it was increasingly difficult. After her mother’s death she’d withdrawn completely into herself, blocking out the world—and that included him. Frankly it had hurt; he’d wanted to comfort her, to hold her in his arms and help her through her grief. But she wouldn’t allow it. He’d finally realized it wasn’t anything personal. Lorraine might not have wanted him, but she hadn’t wanted anyone else, either.

  Virginia’s death had devastated her, of course; it had been a shock to him, too. He’d heard all the mother-in-law jokes and laughed with the rest, but Virginia wasn’t like that. Wouldn’t have been like that, he corrected himself. She was gone now. The wedding was still set for late autumn, and he figured the sooner they were married, the better.

  Lorraine needed him more than ever, and he loved her. At thirty-six, he’d waited longer than most men he knew before deciding to make the leap into matrimony. He’d been looking for the right woman; at least that was what he’d told his parents. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth.

  Unlike his peers, he hadn’t felt any urge to settle down. To put it like that made him sound immature, which wasn’t the case, either. He happened to enjoy his freedom. But he felt it was time he got married, and he and Lorraine were compatible in the ways that mattered. They liked the same things, believed in the same causes. Both were sensible and not easily swayed by popular opinion. He liked an orderly world; so did she.

  Gary leaned back in his office chair and clasped his hands behind his head. Lorraine had given him the phone number where she could be reached, with the understanding that she preferred to contact him and not the other way around.

  This was one of the traits that irked Gary about his fiancée. She could be uncompromising. Occasionally she seemed a little too quick to form an opinion and cling to it. While he admired her straightforward manner, there were times he wished she’d been more willing to bend. Still, he had faith in her common sense. Despite his uneasiness, he supposed she’d manage all right, even in some out-of-the-way Mexican village.

  His phone pealed, and Gary reached for the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Gary, it’s Marjorie Ellis.” The woman hesitated as if she expected a reaction.

  Gary didn’t give her one.

  “I’m on the road right now, but I’ve got a couple of questions for you, if you have the time.”

  Marjorie was new on the job and needed some guidance. A whole lot of guidance, if the truth be known. Their company, Med-X, sold medical supplies and equipment to hospitals, doctors’ offices, nursing homes and the like. Gary had been in the field for ten years and had recently accepted a management position.

  Marjorie, who’d been hired as his replacement, lacked almost every skill he considered crucial to the job. She was disorganized. She wasn’t punctual. Her computer skills were inadequate, and he had to explain things three and four times before she grasped them. What redeemed Marjorie Ellis was the fact that Med-X clients loved her. That was surprising, but he couldn’t argue with success. Two months on the job, and she’d outsold every other trainee in the company. Now that was impressive.

  “What do you need to know?” Gary asked, keeping his tone friendly and helpful.

  “It’d probably be best if I came into the office and we talked about it. That is, if you have the time,” she said again.

  Time was something Gary had plenty of, now that Lorraine was away. “Not a problem.” He glanced at his watch. “When?”

  “Is this afternoon at four convenient?”

  He flipped noisily through the pages of his appointment calendar, doing his best to make sure she heard it. He already knew the slot was open. No use letting Marjorie think he wasn’t a busy man, though. “Does four-thirty work for you?”

  Gary heard the rustle of papers in the background and suspected she’d dropped a file. “Sure,” Marjorie said. “I’ll see you then.” Her voice was faint. Gary could picture her with the cell phone tucked under her chin while she bent to retrieve the spilled paperwork. Typical.

  “I’ll look forward to it.” As he replaced the receiver, Gary realized how true that was. Marjorie was a ditz with plenty of…well, ditzy moments, but she was also likable and had a delightful easy laugh.

  Without Lorraine, he was actually lonely. He missed her and somehow doubted she missed him with the same intensity. An hour in Marjorie’s company—even if he had to explain the same computer program half a dozen times—would at least be a distraction.

  Carlos intended to kill her. Lorraine knew it the minute she saw him. She looked wildly around, hoping someone would see her plight and help—or send for the police. There was no one, and even if there’d been people nearby, she wasn’t sure they would have risked becoming involved.

  Slowly, as if he enjoyed the anticipation, Carlos advanced toward her. For every step he took, she retreated one until her back was against the bulkhead. His breath made her want to gag, but she refused to show her terror, refused to flinch.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded with false bravado.

  “I come to teach you a lesson.” His smile vanished, and using both hands, Carlos ripped apart her blouse, sending the buttons flying.

  Lorraine gasped at the unexpectedness of his action and attempted to knee him but missed. Her knee wasn’t her only means of defense, however, and recovering quickly, she clawed her long nails down his face, leaving bloody streaks.

  Carlos backhanded her with enough force to split her lip. Blood filled her mouth and she spit at him. He might rape and kill her, but she wouldn’t make it easy.

  A shout came from the dock and she caught a glimpse of Jack. Jack. Thank God. It hadn’t registered at first, but if Carlos had reached her, he must have either killed or injured Jack.

  At the sound of Jack’s voice, Carlos glanced over his shoulder and cursed loudly. He grabbed for a gun tucked in his belt behind his back and would have fired if Lorraine hadn’t acted immediately. Using the full weight of her body, she threw herself against his side.

  The gun fired, then flew out of Carlos’s hand, landing on the deck. The bullet went wide, and Jack leaped aboard Scotch on Water, rocking the boat fiercely.

  Without hesitation, the two men dove at each other like wild beasts tearing into a fresh kill. Lorraine nearly tripped over the boxes of supplies as she scrambled to get out of the way. Arms and legs flailed and barely escaped hitting her. She danced a complete circle around the men, looking for a chance to assist Jack.

  Not knowing what else to do, she jumped on Carlos’s back and wrapped her arms around his neck as tightly as she could in an amateurish endeavor to strangle him. He tossed her off almost effortlessly. She hit the side of her head when she landed, and for a moment saw stars.

  Stunned, she sat and waited for her vision to clear, then struggled to her feet. Refusing to stand by and do nothing, she reached for the bucket. If she could clobber Carlos over the head with it, or better yet put it on his head, she might actually be able to help. Unfortunately he wouldn’t hold still and she ended up chasing him around the deck, pail in hand, ready to act once the opportunity presented itself.

  Jack proved an able-bodied combatant, but Carlos outweighed him by forty or fifty pounds. He, too, seemed to be an expert at hand-to-hand combat.

  “The gun!” Jack shouted at Lorraine. “Get the gun.”

  Of course. That made perfect sense and would be a great deal more help to him than chasing after Carlos with a yellow rubber bucket. Adrenaline pumping, she hurried below for the Glock .22 he’d given her.

  As she disappeared she heard Jack curse. Frantic, she grabbed the weapon from its hiding place and checked to make sure it was
loaded. Then, her hands trembling so badly she could hardly manage it, she released the safety and climbed back to the main deck.

  It didn’t dawn on her until a shot rang out that Jack hadn’t been referring to the gun belowdecks but the one she’d knocked away from Carlos. The one that had just been fired.

  The sound was like an explosion that echoed in her ears long afterward. She prayed with all her might that it was Carlos who’d been hit. Not Jack, please, not Jack.

  But God hadn’t heard her desperate plea. When she reappeared on deck, she found Jack lying in a pool of blood. He stared sightlessly up at the sky, unmoving.

  Jack, who’d put himself in harm’s way to protect her.

  “No!” she screamed. She didn’t hesitate as she leveled the weapon she held at Carlos. “You dirty son of a bitch,” she sobbed, thinking Jack would be proud of her. Because she’d advanced beyond darn.

  Blindly she fired the gun. Once, twice. Again and then again. The first bullet knocked the weapon out of his hand. He roared in anger and sprang back. The second shot grazed his shoulder. The next two went wide.

  Lorraine paused and aimed more carefully, figuring that if she’d hit him once she could do it again.

  Her calm determination must have frightened him. With a cry of outrage, Carlos jumped overboard. Lorraine would have shot him in the water if not for the men racing toward the waterfront, shouting and waving guns. A bullet bored into the wood next to her head as two men pointed their weapons at her from the wharf.

  Acting purely on instinct, she reached for the boat’s throttle and shoved it forward. The powerful engines heaved and roared, but didn’t budge. Groaning with frustration and fear, she pushed them into full power as Jack had showed her earlier. Again nothing happened. Then, all at once, the boat surged forward with such force she was nearly hurled overboard. Her grip on the wheel was what saved her.